Happiest of Men

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Not only is my main character inspired by Ross Poldark, but this was also the first time I found I was able to continue my story across three different writing exercises. It was something I've seen other members of the Ink Slingers Guild do and it was exciting to be able to do that myself.

Part 1:

  • Crouch
  • Finish
  • God

Ross was crouched down in the lane picking the wild yellow roses that seemed to grow in abundance while he whistled a cheerful tune. He knew he had to finish up because he was expected, but he wanted the moment to be perfect and, God willing, after today he would be the happiest of men. After gathering a dozen of the most perfect flowers he could find, Ross made his way to the great estate. He nervously straightened his grey coat and matching top hat before he knocked on the large wooden doors. Henric, the stoic butler, opened the door and gestured for him to enter, which he did with great enthusiasm.

Part 2:

  • Strap
  • Shower
  • Burn

The butterflies in Ross’s stomach seemed to increase when he saw Emily staring down at him from the top of the spiral staircase. Her blue eyes sparkled as her face lit up with a smile upon seeing him. She raced down the stairs to meet him, the skirt of her pale green dress rustling behind her. Ross felt his face burn as the desire to shower Emily with kisses consumed him. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, then wrapped her hand around his arm as they entered her father’s study to ask for his blessing.

Part 3:

  • Slow
  • Forget
  • Fantasy

It was as if the word “no” came out in slow motion. Ross just couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing or the angry look on Emily’s father’s face. The shade of red was so vivid, it caused his white mustache to stand out dramatically. This was far from the fantasy he had played out in his mind. He had imagined that he and Emily would be inseparable from this day forth, but visions of that future were shattered in mere seconds.

“You will forget about her and never come back,” her father shouted as he slammed his fist on the wood writing desk. Tears were streaming down Emily’s face. Ross squeezed her hand in the small hope that she would feel reassured that he would not just walk away. Her father has never dealt with the likes of him and he would not give up so easily.