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#Post#: 51--------------------------------------------------
Storm And Silence
By: Shaxee Date: March 1, 2016, 2:52 am
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HTML https://alifepress.files.wordpress.com/2016/03/alifepress.jpg
In a world where women's only role in life is to sit at home and
look pretty, Lilly is determined to fight for her freedom.
There's only one problem: a powerful man blocking her way.
#Post#: 57--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: Shaxee Date: March 1, 2016, 4:13 am
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Arrested for Good Manners
The young man's reflection glared back at me out of the shop
window, suspicion etched into his roundish face. He probably
thought I was doubting he looked manly enough, and to be honest,
I was.
"Come on," I muttered, morosely. "Manliness, manliness... give
me some manliness!"
I turned sideways, and he turned with me, thrusting his chest
out at the exact same moment I did. It looked flat as a board,
betraying not a hint of femininity, so that was going to be no
problem, at least.
Farther down though... My eyes wondered to the young man's
behind, where my uncle Bufford's old trousers bulged in a
distinctly un-manly way. Yes. The young man's behind was
definitely a bit to fa–
No.
Not the f-word. Generous. That was the word. It was just a bit
too generous.
"Hell's whiskers!"
I made an impolite gesture at the young man in the window, which
he duly reciprocated. Who was he trying to fool? He was no man.
He was a girl. Which meant that, as much as I would have liked
to pretend otherwise, so was I.
"I don't like you," I informed my reflection in no uncertain
terms. It scowled at me, not at all pleased about being spoken
to so disrespectfully.
"It's your own fault." I scowled right back. "If you were
skinnier, and didn't have so much of this–" I pointed to my
derrière, "then you'd look a bit more convincing in this getup."
Distastefully, I tugged at the tailcoat and trousers which felt
odd over the tight corset.
"If we get caught it's your fault for looking so... so chubby!
We're trying to look manly here. Couldn't you at least get hold
of a false beard or a prominent, masculine jaw?"
A pedestrian walking by gave me an odd look.
I decided that if I wanted to appear more masculine, it was
probably time to stop talking to my reflection in a shop window
and be about my business.
Throwing a last, discontented look at the well upholstered,
tanned young man in the shop window, I hurriedly stuffed my hair
under the huge, heavy top hat that was part of my disguise from
my uncle's wardrobe. My hair wasn't too long to be a man's,
really, it only reached down to my shoulders. But not many young
men had shoulder-length brown locks. Silently thanking my uncle
for unknowingly providing such a monster of a hat, I turned to
face my destination.
It was still some way away and concealed by the thick layer of
mist that obscured most of London's streets at this time of day,
but I knew exactly where I was going. I had spied out the place
days ago, in preparation for my secret mission.
Secret, solitary, and illegal.
I started down the street again and felt my throat go dry. The
stop in front of the shop window had been a temporary one, a
last chance to check I looked the part I was trying to play. It
had granted me a short reprieve, but now the time had come.
Blast! What if they recognize me? If they realize I'm a girl?
Panicked thoughts shot through my head like bees in a beehive
being rattled by a hungry bear. What if they grab me and... God
only knows what they might do!
Calm down, Lilly, I told myself. You are on a mission for all
womankind. If you should fall, hundreds will follow in your
footsteps.
Which didn't exactly make me feel better, seeing as that meant
they would trample over my remains.
Suddenly, the mist before me parted, and there it was: the place
I had come to infiltrate. The place I was forbidden, by law, to
enter. White columns supported a wide, classical portico that
overshadowed the steps leading up to the entrance. The door had
two massive wings of oak, and a guard beside it. Over the door
hung a dark red banner, proclaiming, in black letters the words
"POLLING STATION".
#Post#: 58--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: Miss Gold Date: March 1, 2016, 5:23 am
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wow,another interesting story is here again
#Post#: 59--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: Sir Nafty Date: March 1, 2016, 5:46 am
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Ok I dn land
#Post#: 60--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: Oriade Date: March 1, 2016, 5:53 am
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Ok Im Here Nw, U Can Nw Continue :-\
#Post#: 64--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: Shaxee Date: March 1, 2016, 11:53 am
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Ape Bobby
By the next morning I didn't feel quite so cocky anymore. That
might have had something to do with spending the night in a
prison cell, or with the fact that I had made a total mess of my
plan, or with the fact that I hadn’t been able to get myself
calmed down enough to sleep until midnight.
And when I finally did fall asleep on the hard, uneven bunk bed
in the prison cell, I dreamed of a dozen Bobbies, reinforced by
a whole platoon of Ancient Greek statues, chasing me through the
dark streets of London all night, shouting: “Stop her! Stop the
feminist! She has to be at work on Monday! At nine sharp! Catch
her!” I'm not sure which was more disturbing, the horrifying
chase, or the fact that the stone statues on my tail looked
suspiciously like Mr Rikkard Ambrose.
I awoke sometime around three am, my heart hammering so fast I
knew I would never be able to go to sleep again.
Instead, I surveyed the luxurious hotel suite the nice policemen
had put me in for the night: six square feet of the best of what
London’s police stations had to offer. The walls of my temporary
home were decorated in an intricate pattern of mould and
graffiti. The panorama window – about two square feet covered
with a beautiful set of iron bars – offered a spectacular view
over the gutter of one of London’s finest dingy alleyways. The
door, of course, was designed to fit the standards of the window
and was similarly crafted from of highly decorative iron bars.
The bed, as my back could attest, was also made to fit the
highest standards, and was able to reduce your back muscles to a
tangle of aching knots within five minutes. All in all, it was a
breath-taking place with a charming atmosphere. The previous
tenant had even left me a little present behind, in the form of
a puddle of well-matured goo in the corner. It emitted the most
delicious, stomach-turning odour and completed the whole
ambience to misery in perfection. The pale light of the moon
which filtered in through the small window didn't make the scene
any cheerier.
At least there was no one else in the cell with me. The
policemen had put me in solitary confinement. I would have liked
to think that was for my protection, but truth be told, they
probably thought it was safer for the other prisoners. After
all, they couldn't want those poor misunderstood thieves,
burglars and murderers in the same cell as a raving madwoman who
had dressed up as a man and thus had given proof of the fact
that she had absolutely no morals whatsoever, could they?
Groaning, I shuffled until I was sitting on the bunk, my chin
resting in my open palm. A truly philosophical position, ideally
suited for pondering my fate. What would be my punishment for my
little subterfuge? Would I be sent to prison for daring to defy
the laws of England? Or put in the stocks? Or deported? That
last thought cheered me up considerably. I had heard that some
of the colonies were much more civilized and advanced when it
came to the independence of women than our dear mother country.
Plus, my aunt and uncle would then be a few thousand miles away
from me.
But then I thought of my friends, and of my little sister, Ella,
and immediately regretted my selfish desire to be shipped off to
a criminal colony. I couldn't leave. And even if I could get out
of England, I knew I would rather stay and fight for my rights.
Running from my problems had never been my style. Grabbing them
by the throat and shaking them until they capitulated, that was
more my way of dealing with things.
Not that this particular strategy had proven very helpful to me
recently. After all, I had tried to grab political freedom for
women by the throat, and it had just slipped through my fingers.
Would it be like that with every other kind of freedom? Yes, it
probably would. It wasn't just voting which ladies weren't
allowed to do. I was well aware that there were other, even more
essential freedoms.
Shifting uncomfortably, I could feel the Mr Ambrose’s card
pressing against my skin where I had stuffed it into my sleeve
to conceal it from the Bobby who had taken my personal affects.
Yes, a lady definitely lacked certain freedoms. Such as the
right to work for a living, for instance.
#Post#: 65--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: Ritagold Date: March 1, 2016, 12:48 pm
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Iyam late
#Post#: 67--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: Chinwe Date: March 1, 2016, 2:31 pm
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following
#Post#: 71--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: nabla Date: March 2, 2016, 5:08 am
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I don land o
#Post#: 72--------------------------------------------------
Re: Storm And Silence
By: Shaxee Date: March 2, 2016, 11:40 am
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Who He Really Is
“Where have you been?” Ella demanded in a breathless voice,
jumping up from the bed, where, judging from the dampness of her
pillows, she had spent half the night crying in despair. “Oh
Lilly, I've been so worried!”
She definitely looked worried. Her normally cream-coloured face
had taken on the hue of a freshly whitewashed wall, except for
her large almond eyes which were shining with suppressed
anguish. With both hands, she held a handkerchief to her mouth,
as if to stifle a scream that was on the tip of her tongue.
Glittering tears decorated her face like diamonds. I had to hand
it to her: she looked like a perfect damsel in distress. And it
hadn't even been her who had spent the night in prison. How did
she do it?
“What has happened to you, Lilly? Were you abducted? Who were
you with? Where were you? And... Why are you wearing uncle
Bufford's old striped trousers? ” At the last question, she
actually stopped crying. Apparently, my wearing striped trousers
had a calming effect on her. I should try to do it more often.
“Don't worry,” I told her, patting her on the head. “I'm
perfectly fine.”
“Yes, but where were you? ” she repeated the question with more
force.
I shrugged. “Out.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere in town.”
“You've been gone the whole night!”
“Have I?” I tried to sound surprised. It didn’t sound very
convincing, unfortunately. “My, my, how time flies.”
“Why are you wearing uncle Bufford's trousers?” she asked again.
Apparently, this point was of extraordinary significance to her.
“Well, I...” desperately I wrecked my brain for some legitimate
reason why a girl should be wondering through London dressed in
trousers.
Instinctively, my eyes slid up and down Ella's figure, who was
dressed in what was considered normal and decent for a young
lady to wear: a pale cotton gown with wide, puffed sleeves and
lace trimmings, and of course the crinoline, a structure for
supporting enormous hoop skirts which was made out of the bones
of whales. The poor sea-creatures had to suffer to give the rear
end of every lady within the British Empire enormous dimensions.
This was what was considered “normal”.
Taking this into consideration, was there a legitimate reason
why a woman would want to wear trousers?
Well, maybe because she actually had some brains...
“Why don’t you answer, Lilly? What is the matter?”
But no, that wouldn't work as an argument with Ella. I bit my
lip, trying desperately to think of something to say.
“Please,” she pleaded, clasping her hands together like a little
child. “Please tell me where you were!”
Darn it! How could I resist her? But I simply couldn’t tell her
what had really happened.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I didn't trust her. I loved
her. I would have trusted her with my deepest, darkest secrets –
if she hadn't been afraid of the dark, that is. If I told her
that I went out, dressed in men's clothes, to illegally vote at
a parliamentary election, was offered a job as a secretary, got
caught by the police, then got thrown into jail and spent the
night next door to three famous murderers, she would have
nightmares for the next three years.
“I… I wanted to go out last night to visit Patsy,” I fibbed.
“And you know... it was so late, and the streets were so dark...
I was afraid something might happen to me, a lone girl, in the
dangerous city.” I affected a quite convincing shudder. “And I
had read of girls dressing up as men when they did not want to
be harassed in some book – I don't remember what it was called
right now – so I thought why not do the same, and so I did. But
then it was so terrible, out in the dark streets, and Patsy said
I could stay the night if I didn't want to return in the dark. I
was afraid, so I stayed. Sorry for worrying you.”
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