The Fisherman's Tale (On Hiatus)

Prologue: Polly Armstrong

Hi everyone :)  This is what I'm writing for NaNoWriMo 2012 :)

The Prologue is a little more on the Romance side of things, but it is required to give you an idea of the characters' backgrounds. The Prologue is mainly based on Chuck's wife, Polly, and I would appreciate it if you commented so that I have an idea of what to edit into it once November is over :)

Thanks,

Lauren :)

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Prologue:

Polly rubbed her forehead in frustration. Her newborn baby was wailing in the background; she just would not shut up. Not even for five seconds, which would allow Polly to think. She needed to sort this problem out, as it couldn't go on forever. Well, it could, but she'd rather it didn't.

"Brett, sweetie, please leave your sister alone," she sighed, rubbing her temples in a circular motion. She had tried to talk to her son in a calm tone, but it had only come out as a snap, which caused her son to look at her like a deer caught in headlights before running back to his wooden train set.

She walked out of the room with the screaming baby, desperate for it to be quiet, just for once. She had had her second child two months ago, and the screaming, wailing and crying had almost never ceased. It had been two months since she wrote a letter to her father, trying to gain some contact.

'Father,

I know we have not had the best relationship, but I do not think that you should let this interfere with the relationship you have with your grandchildren. You have never seen Brett, your first grandchild, though you have taken the time to spoil my siblings' children with lavish gifts and frequently visit them.

Brett has never met his only grandfather. Chuck, my husband, was orphaned at the age of 15, so Brett has no other grandparents. It would mean the world to me if you could visit him at some point. I cannot bear to think what questions Brett will be asking later on. "What is my grandfather like?" "Do I have any similar traits to him?". No, I want my son to find out for himself what his grandfather is like.

As for my daughter, Robyn, who was born just last week, it is the same situation. I would like my children to meet you, if that is not too much of a trouble. I would hate it if you passed away and they had never met you. Think of that; not knowing your grandchildren and just letting time pass by without making the slightest of efforts. We do not live that far away, Father, and I am most sure that it would not take very long to just pay a visit.

I would appreciate it if you at least considered this, as you are missing so much of their growing up.

Yours,

Penelope'

She had sent that letter two months ago, and there was still no reply. Polly had known that she wouldn't receive one, and yet she had still taken the time to write to him. He hadn't even graced her with a letter in reply, let alone a surprise visit. Even so, she knew that her children could easily cope without having known any grandparents. It felt like so long ago since she had been a 'Daddy's girl'.

Polly's name was Penelope Compton. She lived in the richest part of town, had all the privileges in the world and never once took the time to appreciate that everything was just handed to her. She was the kind of girl that wore pigtails in her hair with ribbons, and would wear pretty frocks on Sundays. She was the typical snob, just like her parents, and she was growing up to be exactly like them. Her parents were the richest in the area, and everyone respected them, but for the wrong reasons. Her father was fearsome, and her mother haughty. Her elder sister was the mirror image of her mother: tall, slim, black hair cascading down her back, though usually it was done up in a tight, smart bun that pulled at her face slightly and made her look much older, sharper and just posh. Young Penelope, however, slowly began to change. She ran through the rose gardens instead of walked, scuffing her freshly-polished shiny black shoes across the grass. Her pigtails would unravel, and there was always a maid who would try to stop her running around so that she could redo her pigtails; she couldn't have her mother see her in such a state. Penelope would just end up with a brutal slap, which would leave a stain of pink across her face for the remainder of the day, or she would be given extra work to do in her private classes. She would also go on the swings, jumping off and into the air before landing back on the ground. However, sometimes these jumps wouldn't turn out how she'd hope, so her designer pink frilly dress would become caked in mud and sometimes even torn. In short, Penelope was an 'improper lady', who would need extra schooling to put her into shape. Having said this, Penelope did enjoy her lessons. She was soon fluent in French, German and had even begun learning Latin by the time she was practically herded out of her home. Before then, she had spent the hours that she wasn't indoors in the library, reading book after book, particularly fantasy stories about pirates and faeries and lands that were far far away. She had dreamed of exploring, but it was never the done thing for a lady.