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Zhi -> RE: Toss a Top;ic #13 (9/24/2008 10:25:32 PM)
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Blaze of Glory Ready. She had been ready to take on the world, in those early days. Raised in the lap of luxury, educated in only the best schools. Yes, things had taken a turn for the worst, her father’s business failed, her mother died, and the headmaster of the school she taught at started flirting with her incorrigibly, but marriage had been an easy way out. At least she thought it would be. Her husband had turned out to be a violent drunk, with a couple of native mistresses on top of that. Indonesia would have been pure torture, had it not been for the culture. The incredible culture... especially the dance. Dance had been her escape, her joy. Finally she had found her calling! She smiled faintly at the memory. Oh, the plans she had made... Aim. Her aim was set for the stars. Why settle for less? She was sure she was good... very good in fact. She only needed to get out of Indonesia, away from that monster of a husband. She fled to Paris, the hunger for fame and a return to the fortune of her youth always driving her onward. She reinterpreted the dances she had learned, making them flirtatious, perhaps even a bit scandalous, especially with those costumes. Perhaps she had been a bit... misleading... about her origins, but why not make herself more mysterious, more desirable?... a princess, perhaps. Everyone had loved her! The parties, the social events, the performances, the friends and finery and excess. There were always men ready to lavish her with anything she desired. Her list of conquests was extensive. There had been military officers, politicians, even a crown prince! All of Europe was her playground. And yet, even then, whispers of conflict had been in the air, whispers that soon turned to cries of war. She had tried to stay out of it, tried to continue her life, her carefree movement from lover to lover, country to country. Trying had not been enough. If anything, it had made things worse. Tears filled her eyes, fear rose in her chest, though she was careful not to let it show. It was so unfair! Why had it all gone wrong? She wanted to be known as a dancer, an artist! Would her adoring fans and lovers remember her as she had been? Exotic, beautiful, artistic, full of life? Or would her name carry down through the centuries, spoken only in venomous whispers? Would the thin veneer of hatred that coated the name Benedict Arnold now edge the name of... Mata Hari? There was nothing left for her now. She would face her death as she had faced her life: proud, elegant, and unafraid. No blindfold would muss the coiled braids of her black hair. No bonds would sully her posture or snag at her velvet cloak. She fixed the men before her in a cold and steadfast gaze, daring them to blink, defiant to the last. Fire. =========================================== I hope I'm close enough to the intent of the topic. My brain went down an admittedly odd path when I saw the word. I had initially thought about making it entirely fictional, but after a few false starts, I thought... why not throw in some actual history? That might be fun... Either way, I mostly could use some critique, and I definitely need the practice. ;) 500 words is always too little. *sigh* Edit: Thought I should bold the title. Oops!
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