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Jan. 2nd, 2005 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
backupmemoriesOkay! I bring fic...sort of.
See, this may or may not be a fanfic, and it may or may not have fandom characters in it, and it may or may not be a completely original fic. I'm not telling you yet (and if you're someone who I've told about my opinion on it, don't mention it to anyone else! ^^)
This is the first part; I already have some of the other parts done. I'll update them when I finish fine-tuning and such. Please tell me if you like it.
Who We Are - Prologue
I was born without my right hand.
No, really. My body is perfectly normal, until you reach my right wrist. There the skin tapers off into a stump, a perfect and unscarred stump that was never a hand because, you see, I never had that hand. I was born without it.
The doctors tell me it was probably because of a mutation in the homeotic genes, whatever that means. Not normal, but not life threatening. It could have been much worse: by all rights, a mutation there should have aborted the embryo – me – but it had not been a bad enough mutation to do that. My mother told me that one of the doctors was crass enough to suggest that they cut of my other hand, so I would match.
I believe my mother slapped him for that.
Oh, my mother...
My mother is one of the most important people in my life, and, in fact, has been haunting my thoughts lately. She loved me, when other people might not. She thought me a treasure even when my father passed away, leaving her alone. She gave me her lovely red hair, which we shared with pride. She also gave me my name, my strange name, and she gave me my pride.
You see, my mother loved her books, more than she loved anything else in the world, expect, perhaps, for me. She had always wanted a child of her own that she could call after something in her books, and she had waited eagerly for my birth, as much for me as for a chance to use one of her names.
When she saw me, and my...I hesitate to call it a deformity, for my mother never called it so, and I respected her wishes not to do so myself. When she saw me, and my hand, she knew immediately what she would name me – after a book it took me a long time to ever read, for she always said that it was too hard, or too early, or too ill-fated.
She named me Maedhros.
It will get more interesting later; I promise! ^___^ Tell me what you think, good or bad.
See, this may or may not be a fanfic, and it may or may not have fandom characters in it, and it may or may not be a completely original fic. I'm not telling you yet (and if you're someone who I've told about my opinion on it, don't mention it to anyone else! ^^)
This is the first part; I already have some of the other parts done. I'll update them when I finish fine-tuning and such. Please tell me if you like it.
Who We Are - Prologue
I was born without my right hand.
No, really. My body is perfectly normal, until you reach my right wrist. There the skin tapers off into a stump, a perfect and unscarred stump that was never a hand because, you see, I never had that hand. I was born without it.
The doctors tell me it was probably because of a mutation in the homeotic genes, whatever that means. Not normal, but not life threatening. It could have been much worse: by all rights, a mutation there should have aborted the embryo – me – but it had not been a bad enough mutation to do that. My mother told me that one of the doctors was crass enough to suggest that they cut of my other hand, so I would match.
I believe my mother slapped him for that.
Oh, my mother...
My mother is one of the most important people in my life, and, in fact, has been haunting my thoughts lately. She loved me, when other people might not. She thought me a treasure even when my father passed away, leaving her alone. She gave me her lovely red hair, which we shared with pride. She also gave me my name, my strange name, and she gave me my pride.
You see, my mother loved her books, more than she loved anything else in the world, expect, perhaps, for me. She had always wanted a child of her own that she could call after something in her books, and she had waited eagerly for my birth, as much for me as for a chance to use one of her names.
When she saw me, and my...I hesitate to call it a deformity, for my mother never called it so, and I respected her wishes not to do so myself. When she saw me, and my hand, she knew immediately what she would name me – after a book it took me a long time to ever read, for she always said that it was too hard, or too early, or too ill-fated.
She named me Maedhros.
It will get more interesting later; I promise! ^___^ Tell me what you think, good or bad.
