Gina was an ordinary british girl. She would steal a look into the bright dishes after washing them. They reflected her auburn face and added their own silverfish tinge to it. She could write, do maths and play football all of which weren’t noble occupations for a girl her age, or at least so all the ladies in her house told her. She worked in ‘the eagle and a child’ in oxford at a time the place hadn’t reached the heights, it now has. A public house , or as is commonly know , a pub , it was frequented by the writers group called the ‘inklings’, which had at some time included J.R.R Tolkein and C.S Lewis. Life wasn’t very quissential for this little lady and her idiosyncrasies of writing logical analysis or math solutions on the dusty windows with wet hands and playing ball with the street side boys after work, had gotten her into trouble more often than not. They complained about everything that she did including her hand shakes, which they said were always harder and more masculine in nature than should be. Her clothes were way too shabby and baggy. “What a waste, you have such a slender waist and your clothes never get to adorn it”, they would say.
She would ignore all that she had to and go and unite with her religion…
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by frost
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.
The she would rest in the palms of god. Less she knew that fate kept in store for her, boundless glory of a legend ,whose tales would grow as religion. She slept , unaware that the trees and the wind had already begun to sing her name as they gently wrapped her in a warm blanket , curled in which she lay dreaming Aristotle , logic and a cute boy she had served ale to today . Gina slept, for the last time as just an ordinary girl.