This is the story of a medieval girl with Tourette's Syndrome. I have it severely now, it was exacerbated by something that we haven't figured out... but that's beside the point. I'm talking about Elsa. She stands for the people in the past who had this, because their stories lie untold. I want to show you what it's like to have Tourette's, and what it would have been like. So here's part two:
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She raced for the river where the ships sat moored, and fell into the rushes, sobbing. The muddy, itchy grass concealed her, the tall, lean blades creating endless thickets of green in the pools of brown-green water. She wanted to escape, to run away from the miserable place she now stooped, to go find somewhere else to live. Another town with a less strict church, perhaps, where a handsome boy would fall in love with her? Or a ship to a faraway land, like the Orient, where people wore red silks that blew in the wind. She continued to daydream, wishing for a way out of the mess that had entangled her in its webs of slimy misunderstanding.
A new thought slowly crept into her mind: she would still do all the strange things she felt the need to do. Wherever she went, her urges, her actions would still exist. And those people would shun her all over again. Nothing, no new land, nor any person could change the miserable existence that had tied her down. She couldn’t hold it in, either, though. The strange actions that she did were so innate, so immediate and instinctive that there was no way to truly thwart the urges.
At these anxious thoughts, she began to feel a tension in her back and core. She knew what it wanted her to do. This urge was for the whole-body spasms. She fell soon into what appeared to be a gran mal seizure, with every perfect detail but the action of her eyes. They drifted open and closed, still focused, perfectly dilated. Her blood pressure soared, the sounds of her heart pounding in her ears as she flailed in the mud, stretched out on her back, jerking movements wracking every muscle in her body. After endless seconds, as always, it slowed, until her body allowed her to fall still. She managed to lie there, motionless for a time, but then she felt a tension in her neck. It was forcing her mouth open. It didn’t scare her though, she knew this tension was an urge as well. Soon she began to chant in a singsong voice, “Snail-cat. Tree- mouse! Purrr!” “Snail-cat! Tree-mouse! Purrr!” She didn’t want the people of the town to hear her, but the urge was so strong… Her skin was dotted with little beads of sweat, tiny bumps inside her skin formed by pores that told her panic. She had to, the was no way she could stop her chant. But the people of the town, they’d hear her! The deacons and priest, the exorcists, they’d try to find her again, perhaps to capture her and redo the entire awful ritual! All the fear inside her made her want to shout yet louder. The words she sang over and over increased in volume, and they became screeches, emitted through the tense lips of a locked jaw, a dry mouth. “SNAIIILLLL-CAAAT! TREEII-MOUUUUUSE! PUURRRRRR-URRR-URRR!”
Tears now flowed freely from her eyes, and she only lay there, the hope soaking out of her tired young body into the mud.
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I have similar vocal tics to Elsa's. Plus, the entire range of tics she exhibits and her experience with the 'urges' are from my current experience. I will write more if you care to follow her.
Yells:*Feedback Welcomed!*
Critique this girl vox out the door.
Cheers!
--Vox
narrative voice, yours was powerful and poignant, developed properly it could be amazing. First, you must recognize just why your narrative is so strong and what we could do to improve it.
we need something to distinguish her from everyone else.
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