My Dear Lenore and Thy Raven

Ok this is a story I wrote that was inspired by the poem The Raven written by Edgar Allan Poe.

I claim this plot idea but the poem is all the idea of the genius poet Edgar Allan Poe.

My Dear Lenore and Thy Raven

There she sits, I think to myself, with her brown hair curling down her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkling, her fingers working on her embroidery ring, and her legs soaking up the last rays of the summer sun. I walked up to her and picked up a red rose on my way.

"I must say this rose's loveliness dulls while in your presence." I bowed and handed her the rose. She looked up at me and my heart fluttered at the sight of her eyes.

"Why my lord what a pleasant surprise, I did not know you were in country." Her smile was as radiant as the sun in its highest hour of the day.

"I am always around if you are here." I sat down beside her and took the embroidery ring out of her hands. I held her hands in mine and opened my mouth.

"O, Why my lord I am flattered by your attempts of flattery but I have someone else who has already stolen my heart." She tugged her hands out of mine but I held fast.

"Who is this man who has stolen your heart?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"My dear lord I do not wish to tell you. If I do there may be dire consequences." She wrenched her hands out of my mind. I stood and towered over her.

"Lenore you must tell me because this man has your heart. You cannot live without your heart." Lenore stood up grabbed the embroidery and began to walk away.

"Tell me now who the man who stole your heart is. Or I shall die with a torn heart." I shouted waiting for her to turn around.

"My dear lord do you not understand?" she looked at me expectantly, "The man who has my heart has it by free will."

"I do not understand." She grasped her hair and growled.

"I love a man and I gave him my heart by my own free will. I DO NOT LOVE YOU!" She shouted in to my face and stormed away.

I have been sitting on this stone bench for some time now. I have still not been able to figure out why Lenore does not love me. I have always been able to get what I want when I want. Every single girl I desire has come to me like flies attracted to honey. So why is Lenore not coming to me like that? And who is this mystery man that she speaks of? I must find out. Standing up from the stone bench I go to find my man-servant- Zachariah.

"Good afternoon My Lord how was your conversation with the charming Lenore?" Zachariah bowed and handed me a glass of brandy. I took a swig and swiveled it around my tongue, and swallowed.

"She has found another man and she loves him not me." In my rage I threw down the brandy glass, it shattered and the brandy soaked the top of my shoes.

"Do you know who this mystery man is? We can have someone who can take care of him." Zachariah pulled out the gun that was clipped round his waist.

"That would be very desirable but I do not know who he is."

"I can easily find out." I nodded and Zachariah walked out of the garden. I looked down at the broken brandy glass and kicked some of the shards away.

"That mystery man is what you will be in a few hours." I muttered to myself.

A few hours later when the sun had fallen Zachariah returned. I got up from my chair and walked over to him.

"Any news?"

"Yes the mystery man is taken care of. The evidence is cleaned up and no one will ever know it was murder." I relaxed and grinned.

"Wait what did you do?" I grasped his arm and squeezed.

"I shot him in the head but I left a different gun in his hand. It looks like he has done away with himself." I laughed and laughed. I was laughing when I went to my bed chamber. I was laughing when I was asleep. I was laughing when I woke the next morning and prepared myself for service. I was chuckling as the service was said. I laughed as I went to brunch with my church folk. I laughed when I went into town shopping for a new outfit. I laughed until evening when I made my way over to Lenore's house.

I knocked on the door but no one answered. I knocked again, once again no answer.

"Lenore it is me. Please answer the door, or I shall freeze to death." I got impatient and opened the door. There were no candles lit and the hall was stuffy with a strong foul odor circulating through it. I called for Lenore and made my way up the stairs. I looked into every bedroom until I reached Lenore's room. The odor had increased the closer I had gotten toward the room and now the pungent smell seemed to fill me. I held an arm over my nose and pushed the door open.

There on the ceiling was a hook. Hanging on that hook was a rope. Hanging from that rope was a body. A body of a woman. A body of a woman with brown hair that fell past her shoulders. A woman with green eyes that were wide open with no sparkle. They looked past me right over my right shoulder staring at nothing. Hanging there from the rope that hangs from the ceiling was the body of my dear Lenore. I fell to the floor my sobs echoed in the empty house.

I sit in my manor in my big red chair that faces the fire pit. The fire burns low and it cannot warm my cold heart. I have sat here since I have come back from discovering her. I told my man-servant the news and then came and sat here. I do not know what has become of him. I sit here alone staring at the dying embers thinking of my Lenore. I get up and slowly walk toward my desk. I pull out a piece of parchment and take out a quill. My hand shakes as I dip it in the ink. I begin to write.

"The Raven"

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!"