Throwback Thursday: An Introduction Scene

Part of me really, really wanted to shred this thing to pieces. Thankfully, my inner editor suffered a heart attack after reading, so she was in no mood to correct all of the character mistakes and over-used adjectives.

Welcome to the first Throwback Thursday post. Enjoy!


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I slowly tugged on the rusted handle, cringing at the soft squeal the sliding drawer made. Taking a deep breath, I peered into in the musty opening, deftly sweeping my fingers across the velvet lined bottom. Empty. Sighing, I push the wooden frame shut.

It was third drawer I had explored in the large, rather bulky cedar dresser. The dresser belonged to my Uncle; and before him, his father; and before him, some distant cousin we’d never heard of or from. It was a rather funny looking piece—with wide hips, hideous feet, and a small head which served as a mirror. There had to be at least fourteen different drawers, if not more.

Probably a lot of hiding places in this obscure structure, I mused.

And so far it had stayed hidden.

Though the lush carpeting in my Uncle’s bedroom and moaned and groaned when I had walked upon it, it didn’t even dare to croak as a rich snob glided towards me.

“Thief!” sneered Priscilla. “Give it to me at once, Adelaide Hendrics!”

I whirled and saw the ferocious face of my beautifully spoiled cousin. Her black hair was darker than night could ever be, and now her striking green eyes had a funny look in them.

“I said give it to me!” she shouted.

“I heard what you said.”

“Then obey!”

“I am not your pet, dear cousin.”

“But I am much older, and by far much brighter and cleverer than you are, Adelaide Hendrics!”

For some odd reason, my ugly cousin just loved calling people by their full name. I smiled evenly. “Yet not bright nor clever enough to get what you want.”

Priscilla flinched. Straightening her posture, she resumed her previous rantings. “Give me the key, my thief-ly cousin!”

Key? She had gone mad. I had no key! On sudden inspiration, I threw my hands together behind me, my fingers entwined. Smirking, I cocked one eyebrow and bravely replied:


If my dear cousin wanted to be a fool, then I must encourage her.

“It’s mine!” she screamed.

“What a funny thing! You, putting your belongings in someone else’s dresser?” I smiled. What fun this was!

She replied in anger: “One can do what she pleases with her own possessions, Adelaide Hendrics. I dare say you wouldn’t know; you’ve never owned anything more costly than a hair comb.”

My glory had had ended. Her words hit me in the stomach, and all I wanted to do was roll over and hide. Priscilla came from an extremely wealthy family, while my family was forced to live in the wilderness, barely able to keep food on the table. Wealth was a touchy subject for me, a rather prickly topic on my pride.

Clutching the “key”, I moved swiftly towards the corner of the room and yanked the satin cord by the bedside table.

“No! Stop, you rat!” cried Priscilla.

But it was too late. My protector had already been summoned, and in a matter of seconds revenge would be mine.

A clock that hung on the wall ticked. Somewhere in the kitchen, dishes rattled. Someone laughed a little too loud downstairs.

Unable to contain herself, Priscilla flung herself toward the door with high hopes of escape. She was half-a-step too late.

The oak door burst open. Priscilla ran straight into my helper.

Helga didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch when Priscilla hit her stomach, wobbled back and hit the floor with a shriek.

“If y-you lay your gri-grimy, stupid-id, ugly h-hands on me I’ll—”

Helga had already scooped her up by her expensive dress collar and set Priscilla on her shaky feet. “Me don’t have ugly hands, lass,” Helga smiled a little. “Me hands be strong; strong enough to take care a you as well as ye cousin there.”


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Although I can’t find anymore stories with Adelaide, Priscilla, and Helga, snippets from these characters and ideas still show up in my writing today. I’ve always had an obsession with the name Adelaide, which was often the name of a main character in my writing. Also, the older, protective woman caring for a wild, rambunctiousness girl is a relationship I adore. Something about the difference in class and the mother-daughter like bond really inspires me. I hope you enjoyed this piece penciled  my thirteen year old self! 

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Isabella Stines spent most of her childhood diving into books and breaking the rules by reading past her bed time. Still an avid reader, she spends more of her time as a student and musician in addition to writing, fueling her creativity with Ramen noodles and sweet tea. Stines is currently working on her first trilogy.

You can find Isabella on Pinterest ( ) and tweet with her on Twitter:


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