Chapter One
Vera
Asiren’s song is a powerful thing.
It can calm the sea, control the creatures that live under the sea, and charm the minds of man.
As a princess of the seas, I’m sure that my song would have been the most beautiful of all.
It’s such a raw opening line and I don’t care that it relies too heavily on narration. All the best movies begin with narration. Who cares if it’s cliché?
Cliches exist for a reason.
I groan as I bury my face into my hands, letting my hair fall over me and shelter me from the world.
Of all the producers I had to work with, it had to be one that believed that everything he created had to be a brandnew fresh idea? No building off what already works, that’s boring.
And no narration, that’s cliché.
I grip my pen, clicking it aggressively as I silently curse the name of James Pearson. My scripts were perfect and he knows it. He is just being difficult because he doesn’t want to greenlight it. After all, what’s fresh and new about a retelling of not just one or two stories?
“It isn’t about what you retell,” I mutter to myself as I boot up my laptop, bracing myself to finally go over his review. “It’s how you retell it.”
Every story has already been told at least twice, but apparently no one bothered to tell James Pearson that.
As my laptop whirs to life, fighting for its life because it’s older than my writing degree, I allow my eyes to slide over to the two books stacked on my desk. Their covers are worn, and the pages are ragged from so much reading. My childhood copies ofPeter PanandHans Christian Anderson’s Tales.
I press my eyes shut, reminding myself who I’m really doing this for. My inner child who loved those stories but always felt that the villains did not get enough of the story. Now if only I can convince my producer that my inner child’s dreams deserve a chance to be put on the big screen.
I pull up the email from James and begin typing.Dear, Mr. Pearson…
I stare at the blinking cursor and consider making myself some tea while I debate how to respond. I need to be firm in some areas and concede other edits all while knowing that if I’m too troublesome they could just get a new script writer.
But does he really have to go after my beginning?
Outside my apartment, a peal of thunder sounds followed by the sound of pouring rain. I sigh, sinking further into my seat. At least the weather manages to match my mood. I tap my finger against my laptop, and stare at Mr. Pearson’s name until my eyes start to blur. Suddenly I feel a slight shock run up my finger from my laptop.
I jerk my hand back with a short cry. “Ow!”
Just as the words escape my lips the power cuts out, unfortunately taking my laptop with it since it’s been operating without a battery for some time now. I groan as I drop my face onto my desk. This is what I get for not buying a new battery after my last one gave out. I kept saying I’d just put the money toward a new laptop, but instead the money usually goes toward rent and making sure that I don’t starve to death.
I nestle further into my arms as the storm continues to rage outside my dark apartment. Well, in the very least Ibought myself some time to figure out how I’m going to somehow please Mr. Pearson.
I just can’t believe how much the man micromanages anyway. Why should he have a problem with my script? It was perfect the way it was!
Eventually in the midst of my turbulent thoughts and petulant sulking, I must drift off to sleep, lulled by the sound of the pounding rain.
