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A löngu síðan á Íslandi ..... [1]

 
Silja Henningsdottir's picture
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Let’s start this with a line from a blog entry by Henning Mortensson posted a while ago.

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                  “Iceland is a pretty place if you like lots of snow, volcanos, mud and a language that makes you go squinty eyed trying to even understand it, never mind speak it.

But despite its 'features' Iceland looked damned attractive to the good folks at LifeNet. Now this might have been because of the island's unique geologic and climatic conditions.  

Or it might have been for its, well....... remoteness. I don't know, but they built a research facility there anyway.”

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             Silja Henningsdottir pulled the heavy pile of blankets around her mass of curly blonde locks, she felt cozy, warm. She curled up in her bed, smiling happily to herself, feeling the weight of the soft bedding on her dainty seven year old frame. She kissed Teddy goodnight and awaited slumber.

              Outside the cold wind blew across the dark naked landscape, driving before it a thick drizzle which froze on every surface it touched. It was the herald for the winter snows which would soon cover the barren landscape of this remote part of Iceland, coating the one story house, the barn and animal sheds of the Mortensson farmstead, high up in the hills some 40 km north east of Reykjavik.

              But that was outside. Little Silja snuggled Teddy a little closer under her chin, she could hear her Momma humming in the kitchen to a clink of pans and plates. Just before Silja drifted into sleep she felt Momma’s warm breath and soft kiss on her cheek. With a final tuck of the blankets, just to make sure the tousled head would be warm enough, Momma whispered “Góða nótt, elskan mín”

             It was some hours later, Silja was startled from her sleep by the sound raised voices and breaking crockery from the living room. Silja screwed her eyes, and slipped out of her bed, dragging Teddy by the paw behind her. Her parents were too busy cursing each other to notice the pair of pale blue eyes peeping from the door jamb. Silja bit her lip.

              Her Poppa, Henning was screaming curses at his wife, Momma screamed back at Henning, she grabbed the near empty vodka bottle from Henning’s grasp and turned, launching the bottle at her man. Despite his alcoholic haze, Henning avoided the missile. The glass bottle flew past Henning’s stubble darkened jaw by a matter of centimetres and exploded on the opposite wall. Henning cursed his spouse, grabbed his coat and with a roar, slammed the door shut behind him, his curses faded quickly in the howling gale which swirled around the tiny farmhouse…

        Momma sank to her knees, sobbing softly, stopping only when a small hand clutching a Teddy Bear touched her shoulder. ….         

        “Momma?”

         Momma turned and cuddled her bewildered daughter,

         “Það er allt í lagi, Silja. Hann verður heim fljótlega..”   

         Silja nodded to Momma’s promise.

 

         But Poppa did not come home soon. In fact, the next time Silja saw her father, circumstances would be much much different.


(( for reference  see 

There are many layers and usually there are tears. (Continuation of the Onion thing)

Comments

Silja Henningsdottir's picture

Iss eggsackertly wot I said .....    Idd-eee- oot !

Canni Belle's picture

(( I liked this .. especially the Iceland description. You painted a vivid picture in my mind of a place I will probably never see. TY

One minute your calm, the next your shooting someone in the face, then your doing your chickendance. If that is not chaos I dont know what is - Aiid

Joe Spivey's picture

((Very nice. I Hope there is going to more of Silja's story?

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

Khal Vorgus's picture

(( While I didn't understand a single word of the Icelandic parts, the descriptions and tone was conveyed so expertly, I didn't even have to use Google Translate to get what was being told. Only to make sure that the language is indeed, Icelandic.

Very nice read! Thank you! :D ))

mah sig!

Interested in roleplaying? Check out this thread for some great advice

Silja Henningsdottir's picture

((  Apologies for the use of Icelandic, but at this stage it is a device I am trying to use which may become aparrent later. I do try, however, in the following text, try and indicate what was said..

Iss eggsackertly wot I said .....    Idd-eee- oot !

Khal Vorgus's picture

(( No apologies needed! It's expertly used and it adds flavor! :) ))

mah sig!

Interested in roleplaying? Check out this thread for some great advice

Silja Henningsdottir's picture

Excuse any self-indulgence on my part. But this is the result of an itch I cannot scratch

 

A few days ago I was watching a 1973 documentary, The Ascent of Man, presented in a wonderful style by Professor Jacob Bronowski. Inside this he made the following statement, I felt I had to share it.

    "It's said that science will dehumanize people and turn them into numbers. That's false, tragically false. Look for yourself. This is the concentration camp and crematorium at Auschwitz. This is where people were turned into numbers. Into this pond were flushed the ashes of some four million people. And that was not done by gas. It was done by arrogance, it was done by dogma, it was done by ignorance. When people believe that they have absolute knowledge, with no test in reality, this is how they behave. This is what men do when they aspire to the knowledge of gods."

Now considering I wrote the series about Silja's orgin more than one year ago. This statement really seemed relevant to the story I wrote, I keep my characters close to my heart, I have deep affection for all of them. Again, apologies for resurrecting my series, but I hope some of the newcomers will take time to read it, and maybe some of the older mambers may revisit Silja's short and tragic childhood with me.

Iss eggsackertly wot I said .....    Idd-eee- oot !



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