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Elorah Winters Chronicles - World of Twilight (UD 07-01-04)
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<blockquote data-quote="Captain Claymore" data-source="post: 1616380" data-attributes="member: 12634"><p><strong>Introduction</strong></p><p></p><p>AWAKENINGS</p><p>Elorah Winters Chronicles</p><p>A World of Twilight Story</p><p></p><p></p><p> I’ve always been reclusive and somewhat dark. It must be part of my genetic make-up. That propensity for solitude, intelligence greater than those around me and an insatiable thirst for knowledge cause most normals to fear and shun me. In the eloquent words of so many great minds before me... “Screw them.”</p><p></p><p> My name is Elorah Winters. I’m eighteen years old, have green eyes, brown hair and am a really good swimmer. Since it seems customary to measure ones worth by their parents achievements I’ll say right now that yes, my father was ‘the’ Sir Jonathan Merrywhether Winters III. A great man of science and learning, an absolutely abysmal father, just ask my mother. Oops forgot, she drank herself to death eight years ago. Well, so much for the glowing spring memories of youth.</p><p></p><p> In truth it wasn’t all so horrible. My father did care more for his acclaim than his offspring but I got to vacation in some really cool spots. Archeological digs were my daycare, stuffy professor-types my nannies. I could name the phaeroic line of succession when other kids were learning their first alphabet. Between tutors and computers I had my high school equivalencies at twelve. By sixteen I was working on my second masters and could speak half a dozen languages. If I could just get that walking on water trick down I’m sure I’d qualify for godhood. At least in some minor pantheon of a third world country somewhere. hehe, Professor Prescott would slap my wrist for saying that.</p><p></p><p> Ah yes, now we come to the professor. Edward Prescott. Sometime colleague of my sperm-father and in many ways more a father to me than dear ol’ dad. True my feelings started out more as prepubescent infatuation but they soon took on a more familial quality. Professor Prescott was the first adult to take me seriously and care about my feelings. My other tutors saw me as either a paycheck, a chance to get in good with daddy dearest, or an unwanted but necessary distraction. The professor recognized me as a fellow human being. He took my thoughts with the weight they</p><p>deserved despite my age. I need to stop writing about him as if he’s not around anymore. We’ll get back to the professor later.</p><p></p><p> My father died two years ago. He was on a field assignment in Peru when his plane went missing over the Sira Mountains. A rescue mission found the plane two weeks later. Though his body wasn’t found, the report noted large quantities of blood at the crash sight - which later turned out to be a DNA match to mine. The official report states that his body was most likely dragged off by scavengers. I was saddened by the news. No really. No matter how awful a parent might be, there’s still a connection that transcends words and deeds. A bond of blood. For all that I despised him a great deal of the time, he was fifty percent responsible for my creation. My mother was equally responsible and they’re both gone now... Ah the darkness of depressive thoughts. Its a conundrum and paradox that they make me feel better.</p><p></p><p> I’ve found myself with quite the inheritance and a lot of free time now. I sold several of the family properties and reside in a beach house here in San Francisco. I drive a 1969 Volkswagen Carmengia and attend college at Saybrook Graduate School and Research Center - part time. I swim a lot. partially for the exercise but mostly because water is my element. No matter what excrement is going on in my life, I’m at one with the universe when immersed in cool water. The Professor jokes that I’m part neriad.</p><p></p><p> As stated earlier I have a limited social calendar. I’ve had two boyfriends. The first of which wanted my money and the second of which wanted my body. I’m sure he would have wanted my money too, but I neglected to tell him about it. They were both put off by my mind. For social outings, I like some of the more subtle goth clubs in the city. Their not overly social and the culture speaks to my need for darkness. There’s a certain anonymity that can be gained behind makeup, lace and piercings. Besides that, my friends in that circle are much more receptive to my new quest.</p><p></p><p> Quest you say? Well perhaps quest is too strong a word. Quest is a word the Professor would use. It has to do with Ireland, Egypt and Atlantis. Yes I said Atlantis. I know, if you’re like most people the mere mention of it conjures disney animated features and all sorts of imaginative hooey, but Plato believed in it and so do I... I think. I’ve certainly come across some things in my short life that can’t be explained by the facts of the world to date. The connections and hypothesis I’m formulating are leading me down heretofore untrod paths. I’m hesitant to even write about it. For fear of what you ask? A good question. I’ll end this particular thread by simply saying, “I’m starting to believe in magic.” (Quack, quack.)</p><p></p><p> Much of the previous paragraph is due to Professor Prescott’s influence. I was in his company during all but one of those previously mentioned unexplainable events. Those times and a chance encounter with a ‘pale man’ at a local goth club opened my eyes (trust me, he was paler than the others). Well, the room is still dark but I’ve opened my eyes to a new blackness at any rate. Now that the Professor has disappeared I’ll have to add his mystery to the others I’m researching. Knowing the professor, I’ll wager they’re closely linked.</p><p></p><p> I’ll end with these parting words from Ambrose Bierce, in response to all who may read this and think, ‘That Winters girl is whacked.’ “All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusion is called a philosopher."</p><p></p><p>Good night... Sleep tight.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Captain Claymore, post: 1616380, member: 12634"] [b]Introduction[/b] AWAKENINGS Elorah Winters Chronicles A World of Twilight Story I’ve always been reclusive and somewhat dark. It must be part of my genetic make-up. That propensity for solitude, intelligence greater than those around me and an insatiable thirst for knowledge cause most normals to fear and shun me. In the eloquent words of so many great minds before me... “Screw them.” My name is Elorah Winters. I’m eighteen years old, have green eyes, brown hair and am a really good swimmer. Since it seems customary to measure ones worth by their parents achievements I’ll say right now that yes, my father was ‘the’ Sir Jonathan Merrywhether Winters III. A great man of science and learning, an absolutely abysmal father, just ask my mother. Oops forgot, she drank herself to death eight years ago. Well, so much for the glowing spring memories of youth. In truth it wasn’t all so horrible. My father did care more for his acclaim than his offspring but I got to vacation in some really cool spots. Archeological digs were my daycare, stuffy professor-types my nannies. I could name the phaeroic line of succession when other kids were learning their first alphabet. Between tutors and computers I had my high school equivalencies at twelve. By sixteen I was working on my second masters and could speak half a dozen languages. If I could just get that walking on water trick down I’m sure I’d qualify for godhood. At least in some minor pantheon of a third world country somewhere. hehe, Professor Prescott would slap my wrist for saying that. Ah yes, now we come to the professor. Edward Prescott. Sometime colleague of my sperm-father and in many ways more a father to me than dear ol’ dad. True my feelings started out more as prepubescent infatuation but they soon took on a more familial quality. Professor Prescott was the first adult to take me seriously and care about my feelings. My other tutors saw me as either a paycheck, a chance to get in good with daddy dearest, or an unwanted but necessary distraction. The professor recognized me as a fellow human being. He took my thoughts with the weight they deserved despite my age. I need to stop writing about him as if he’s not around anymore. We’ll get back to the professor later. My father died two years ago. He was on a field assignment in Peru when his plane went missing over the Sira Mountains. A rescue mission found the plane two weeks later. Though his body wasn’t found, the report noted large quantities of blood at the crash sight - which later turned out to be a DNA match to mine. The official report states that his body was most likely dragged off by scavengers. I was saddened by the news. No really. No matter how awful a parent might be, there’s still a connection that transcends words and deeds. A bond of blood. For all that I despised him a great deal of the time, he was fifty percent responsible for my creation. My mother was equally responsible and they’re both gone now... Ah the darkness of depressive thoughts. Its a conundrum and paradox that they make me feel better. I’ve found myself with quite the inheritance and a lot of free time now. I sold several of the family properties and reside in a beach house here in San Francisco. I drive a 1969 Volkswagen Carmengia and attend college at Saybrook Graduate School and Research Center - part time. I swim a lot. partially for the exercise but mostly because water is my element. No matter what excrement is going on in my life, I’m at one with the universe when immersed in cool water. The Professor jokes that I’m part neriad. As stated earlier I have a limited social calendar. I’ve had two boyfriends. The first of which wanted my money and the second of which wanted my body. I’m sure he would have wanted my money too, but I neglected to tell him about it. They were both put off by my mind. For social outings, I like some of the more subtle goth clubs in the city. Their not overly social and the culture speaks to my need for darkness. There’s a certain anonymity that can be gained behind makeup, lace and piercings. Besides that, my friends in that circle are much more receptive to my new quest. Quest you say? Well perhaps quest is too strong a word. Quest is a word the Professor would use. It has to do with Ireland, Egypt and Atlantis. Yes I said Atlantis. I know, if you’re like most people the mere mention of it conjures disney animated features and all sorts of imaginative hooey, but Plato believed in it and so do I... I think. I’ve certainly come across some things in my short life that can’t be explained by the facts of the world to date. The connections and hypothesis I’m formulating are leading me down heretofore untrod paths. I’m hesitant to even write about it. For fear of what you ask? A good question. I’ll end this particular thread by simply saying, “I’m starting to believe in magic.” (Quack, quack.) Much of the previous paragraph is due to Professor Prescott’s influence. I was in his company during all but one of those previously mentioned unexplainable events. Those times and a chance encounter with a ‘pale man’ at a local goth club opened my eyes (trust me, he was paler than the others). Well, the room is still dark but I’ve opened my eyes to a new blackness at any rate. Now that the Professor has disappeared I’ll have to add his mystery to the others I’m researching. Knowing the professor, I’ll wager they’re closely linked. I’ll end with these parting words from Ambrose Bierce, in response to all who may read this and think, ‘That Winters girl is whacked.’ “All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusion is called a philosopher." Good night... Sleep tight. [/QUOTE]
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