DEAR READERS,
Those of you who attend DragonCon may have heard me read from this little gem of teenage fan-fiction. I had promised FOR YEARS to make it available online and I only now rediscovered the file and was able to open and convert it. So, as promised forever ago, here is my Edward Scissorhands, the epilogue:
Edward & Rose - An Edward Scissorhands Fan Fiction by Leanna Renee Hieber, written around the tender age of 17 or 18 (The now multi-published and award-winning author is now many years older but still loves this little tale, enjoy)
The window he stared out of was cracked, and frosted
white-blue in the winter air. The attic
was quite cold, of course, in December, but he didn’t mind, for the open hole
in the attic’s rooftop gave quite a lovely view of the midnight sky and was
well worth the chill.
Snow had drifted in and settled in a conical pile
directly beneath the open lattice-work of rotting boards and splintered
rafters. Sheets of ice lay in patches
near the pyramid of snowflakes, wide and fluffed hundreds of thousands, that
had fallen silently all night, all day, without wind or breeze. Silent snow.
He left the window.
He worked.
He sculpted.
Occasionally, he would return to the frosty window and
stare, wide dark eyes surveying the expanse of snow-covered woodland sparsely
speckled with leafless trees, appearing like veritable twigs from the height of
his attic perch.
Now and then he noticed animals scurry from tree to
tree, pattering across the white ground, birds flitting in and out of branches,
disappearing in tufts of white-capped evergreens.
He liked the view over the woodland.
The opposite window looked out over the town below.
He preferred the view over the woodland.
The woodland was peaceful.
The woodland did not remind him.
Of anything.
A large animal had scurried behind a shrubbery earlier
that day. He was curious what sort of
creature it was. He wished for a second
look at it. He wished to sculpt it, and
hoped he could catch a better view of it.
He had sculpted her a thousand times.
Many winters had passed since that first shower of
snowflakes, but the image of her remained as fresh, as vibrant, and as beloved
as if that night were only yesterday.
The memories, at least, could not melt.
He had waited many winters to see her again.
She did not come.
Perhaps she was old now.
He’d once scored marks upon the attic wall, counting
the winters, but he’d scratched it out with a rending sound of metal against
hard plaster in a rather unpleasant bout of what he suspected was heartsickness.
But that was a while ago.
He continued to sculpt, not easily bored.
It was dawn and he hadn’t seen the strange creature
scuttle by again.
The sun burst over the horizon in a usurping ball of
fire.
He pursed his lips.
While a bright sun was welcome, it would ruin his art.
But at least it may make flowers grow, he thought, and
he rather enjoyed those.
He had been awaiting the winter crocuses for a whole
month.
The front lawn was speckled with them; white, golden and royal purple; circling the large
evergreen topiaries that were maintained in excellent care.
He descended the inordinately large staircase that led
down to the cavernous space that was the foyer of the castle that he solely
inhabited. The gigantic arched door opened with a resentful groan. Spiderwebs rustled in the subsequent flow of cool air. A pale face blinked at the dawn, the subtle humming
twitch of metal the only sound. He looked down at the bottom of the front steps
expectantly.
No Crocuses. He
pursed his lips again.
He stepped into the snow and moved to the large topiary
in the shape of a dancing, turning young lady whirling around at the center of
his front lawn.
Still no Crocuses.
But there was a strange-looking girl hiding
behind the topiary with a mouth full of crocus petals.
The girl’s eyes were wide, pearlescent white with
bright, grass-green irises.
The girl gulped the crocus petals nervously.
Two very pale faces blinked at one another curiously.
Two pairs of blank eyes registered a sort of
recognition, though they surely had never met.
The girl who had apparently ate all of his crocuses was
covered in a thick grey cloak that shrouded her trembling body. What could be seen of her face from beneath
the shadow of her hood appeared waxen white and tinted greenish, tiny scars the
only slight blemish to a porcelain doll face.
“Do you have any more flowers? I’m terribly sorry. I’m starving.” Said the girl, in a soft voice with an accent
foreign to his ears.
They blinked at one another through a long pause.
“I... I think you ate them all.” He replied simply. The girl downcast her emerald eyes that were
clearly not of the township’s making.
“Ah well.” The
girl said ruefully, in that clipped, clarion speech of hers. Uneven shoulders shrugged. “Perhaps in the city?”
“Perhaps.” He
replied, not used to speaking to someone in his front lawn, especially not
someone who looked as if they may perhaps be one like him. A great while had passed since he had spoken
at all. She didn’t look at him in shock or surprise and he found this quite
refreshing.
“Ah.” Said the
girl, shaking and appearing rather drawn.
She turned and began to walk towards the path that led out to the gate
far below and out into the cul-de-sac and out into the town.
“I’m... I’m not sure I would... go down... there if I
were... you.” He hesitantly called to
the cloaked girl.
The figure turned, and her hood fell behind her to
reveal thick tufts of flaxen-white hair interwoven with leaves and rose petals
that fell in unkempt tendrils all about her frail shoulders.
“Why?” She
asked.
“They...” He
began, and lifted an arm, gesturing with a long blade. “They...don’t like people like us.”
“I see.” She
replied, at a loss, and plopped down wearily in the snow like a rag doll.
A thought occurred to him.
“Oh. I may...
have a Geranium that is still alive in the study...if you like...”
“Oh, very much, if it wouldn’t be too much
trouble.” She exclaimed, bounded to her
feet and ran forward eagerly in jerking steps.
He turned and walked towards the open front door.
He stopped at the threshold and turned back to face his
surprise visitor.
“Welcome to my home.”
He stated in a polite monotone and turned, walking into the cool dark
cavern of the foyer. His leather-like
black suit and tousled black hair almost made him disappear into the shadows,
and the girl had to blink a few times in order to follow, following the sound
of heavy footsteps and the slight rattle of metal.
She lost sight of him through an arched corridor across
the empty floor.
She heard a slight rustle, and then, by dim shafts of
light that came through several open doorways and filtered down from a large
staircase, she saw him return again with a potted plant that bore a few wilted
crimson blossoms.
She moved forward weakly, as if to embrace the
Geranium.
He shook his head.
“Follow me.” He
said, his boyish voice ever gentle.
She did so, out of the cavernous foyer into yet another
vast room bearing a long, narrow table, centerpieced by an angled candelabra.
An elaborate, unlit lamp fixture dangled and glittered
in shades of grey from an arched ceiling.
A place was already set, as if waiting for an
undetermined visitor.
He set the Geranium near the white china plate, leaned
over and blew the dust off the setting.
He gestured for the girl to sit at the head of the
table, before the geranium and the plate.
She did so, staring up at him with wide innocent
emerald eyes.
A whirring noise was heard.
The blades and spikes and knives that were the man’s
hands clipped and snipped and trimmed and cut.
His hands returned to his sides.
The Geranium and its blooms lay organized artfully upon
the plate. The plant itself remained
stripped naked in its pot.
The girl breathed a sigh of great admiration and
delight.
He looked down at her and his purplish lips slightly
curved.
“What is your name?”
She asked, as equally enamored by her chef as she was by her dinner.
“Edward.” He
replied.
“I’m Rose.” The
girl declared, and her there was a rustling in her lap.
A hand made entirely of vines and sharp, thorny rose
stems crept out from beneath her cloak.
“I’ve been made too.”
She confessed softly.
She offered her hand out very gingerly.
He cocked his head to the side and looked nervously at
his own hands and their edgy protrusions and looked then at the girl, expecting
her to see the difficulty of a formal greeting.
She stared right back, fully aware of the difficulty she too possessed.
The girl placed her hand of twigs and thorns and thin
woven vines beneath the dull edge of a long blade and shook gently.
“Pleasure to meet you, Edward.” She said sweetly. Blood red lips smiled. Purplish, boyish lips twitched into a nervous
smile in response and there was an exhale of breath that sounded somewhat like
a pleased chuckle.
“And you, Rose.”
Edward said, in his most refined demeanor, unaware that he had adopted
her foreign accent.
Rose giggled.
Her hands returned to her lap.
Edward looked down at the plate and nodded, and scurried to take his
place across the long table.
Rose removed her cloak, revealing a pure black dress,
made of a thick burlap fabric, corseted and fitted to a slender body frame, and
trimmed with dark red ruffles. She was
picturesque; all porcelain doll and flaxen flower-tangled hair, folds of black
burlap and thorn ridden hands.
Edward sat, not taking his eyes off his guest.
Rose plucked the crimson napkin near her plate with one
thorny finger and lay it across her lap.
Edward skewered his absently with a knifepoint and lay
it across his lap. His plate was bare,
but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Aren’t you having anything?” Rose asked, somewhat embarrassed that she was
so ravenously staring at the artfully arranged bouquet of blossom and greenery
upon her plate.
Edward shook his head and nodded for her to begin eating.
She did so, eagerly, and soon the gourmet prepared
geraniums had been inhaled and gulped with only a few crisp chewing sounds.
“Thank you, Edward.”
She said, with most sincere gratefulness.
“I... I don’t like Geraniums anyway.” He stated.
“What about Crocuses?”
She asked meekly.
“I do like those.”
He replied.
“I’m sorry.” She
cringed. He blinked.
“They’ll grow again.”
Edward responded matter-of-factly, which was often his way. “Why is your voice... different?” He asked simply.
“Oh.” Rose
laughed, a sweet, little-girl sound. “My
Mistress lived in England, before she came to this country.”
“And...you... live...”
He began quietly, a long scissor blade indicating towards the direction
of the town.
“Oh no, the next town over.” Rose replied brightly. “In that castle upon the top of that
hill.” She pointed westward. “Mum said every town needed a mad inventor of
sorts, and that town seemed to be lacking one, so she moved in. I was made a year later.”
Edward looked very impressed.
“Another mad inventor-”
“A mad botanist.” Rose clarified.
Edward nodded.
“And yours?” She
asked politely.
Edward looked at the floor.
“He had lots of machines. I’m not finished.” He replied quietly, and held up his fists of
shears and fingers of blades.
“Mum said she didn’t want to finish me. Mum said I was just perfect, thorns and
all. Why would I want to be like all the
rest, anyhow?” Rose declared
proudly. Edward continued to look at the
floor.
“There are some people it would be... worth it...for. To be...finished...I mean. Normal.”
Rose blinked at him, white-petal-like lids closing and
opening. “Why?”
“S-so you wouldn’t scare them...”
“Who did you scare?”
Rose asked.
“Everyone.” He
replied softly, turning to gaze in the town’s general direction.
“Everyone?” She
pressed.
“Well...except for one.” He said hastily, and rose from the
table. His crimson napkin had become
attached to one of the lower blades and he did not notice it.
Rose smirked and said nothing, as Edward seemed clearly
enrapt in something.
He left the room, a sound of clomping heels and
clicking metal.
She followed.
Up the long flight of stairs.
To an attic.
Rose gasped. Ice
sculptures. A slew of them, in frozen
waltzes across the attic floor. People,
frozen in play, in contemplation. A girl
twirling, enrapt; several of this particular theme.
“Oh Edward.”
Rose sighed, appreciatively.
Edward stood near one wall of the attic, plastered with
old, yellowed, weathered newspaper clippings.
One was an engagement announcement. Edward had a knifepoint held at the top of
the article.
The girl pictured was lovely, blonde, with big dark
eyes just as soft and gentle as Edward’s, standing with a rugged young man.
Suddenly he drew the blade along the article and it
split, wrinkled and tore beneath its edge.
The pictured couple separated into two halves and fell to the
floor. Edward poked the picture of the
girl deftly with one point and returned it to the wall. The other half of the picture remained upon
the floor.
Rose said nothing, only watched intently as Edward
shuffled with heavy steps over to the window and looked out at the town
below. His plain, smooth white brow was
furrowed.
“Why did... you come here?” Edward asked, staring out at the cookie
cutter suburb below.
“I smelled the flowers.
The crocuses.” She began
apologetically. “Mum died a few years
ago. There was no one to keep up the
greenhouse. I did the best I could. But I had to eat, I couldn’t help it, and
soon there was nothing left.” Rose
shrugged and made a face. “Not even any
fertilizer.” She paused. “I had no choice but to scavenge. I am sorry.”
“Don’t be.
Just... don’t go there.” Edward
stated, a little ringing sound of a metal blade against glass, pointing at the
houses below.
“They won’t like me there?” She asked naively.
Edward stared ahead of him.
“It’s just a different world.” He replied.
“But our gardener was so nice. He was one of them.” Rose insisted. A very silent pause.
“So was she.”
Edward glanced at the wall of clippings.
“I was in love with him. Our gardener.” Rose declared.
“What happened?”
“Allergic to pollen.”
“Ah.”
“Do you miss her?”
Rose asked.
“Do you miss him?”
He returned.
The two stared at the city.
“Company. That’s
all I really miss.” She replied
earnestly.
Edward nodded.
“Yes.” He
agreed, after a long silence.
“Yes.” He agreed again, more
convincingly.
He moved to one of the sculptures behind him and
watched the edges drip slowly. A
whirring sound of metal upon ice. Ice flakes
flew out behind a slender form. Rose
moved forward and let the fall upon her face.
She closed her eyes and felt things stirring deep within her. An amorphous human form was transformed into
a vase of roses.
“Bravo!” She
cried, realizing that she hadn’t heard such a delighted sound escape from her
lips in quite some time. She applauded
as best she could, thorns to thorns.
Edward appeared relatively pleased, as much as his
stoic face seemed to allow.
Snow began to fall again.
The two sat upon the floor craning their pale faces
towards the hole in the roof and stared at the open sky, watching snowflakes
with patient admiration. Edward still
did not seem to notice the napkin that clung to one of the tips of his blades
and Rose said nothing.
Perhaps a couple of hours passed.
Time was a suburbian convention. It did not currently apply.
“What are you to do?”
Edward asked finally.
“When?”
“Dinner.”
Rose shrugged.
“Starve I suppose.”
She replied matter of factly.
“Wish I had a greenhouse.” Edward stated.
“How sweet of you.”
Rose murmured, roses upon her cheeks.
Edward appeared to smile slightly.
“Am I...sweet?”
He asked meekly, staring at her feet.
His shears clicked anxiously.
“Very.” Rose
smiled shyly, blinking at him with her sparkling emerald gaze.
She felt something stirring near her chest.
Such a sensation was significant.
A thorny thumb and forefinger fished behind burlap and
stays. She cocked her head to the side,
winced, and a tiny snap was heard.
From her corset she procured a small, fresh white rose
tipped with scarlet.
She stared at the flower excitedly.
Looking up at Edward, she grinned, blood-red lips a
thin, sloping semicircle.
She offered the rose to him happily.
He shook his head as if he wouldn’t dare accept the
gift.
She held it out, insisting. He did not move.
Rose crawled forward and placed the stem in one of the
buckles of his leather suit. He looked
to the side, bashfully. She craned her
neck upside down to look into his downcast eyes.
“I haven’t grown in quite a while.” She whispered excitedly, and blood-red
rose-petal lips kissed him upon the nose.
She flopped back on the floor with a contented sigh and
stared up at the afternoon sky.
Edward responded in turn, flopping noisily upon his
back, spread eagled.
They stared at the sky and watched clouds become shapes
and fancies.
She occasionally itched her wrist.
Finally she sat up.
“Oh dear.” She
stated blandly.
Edward sat up in one fluid motion.
She pulled back the thick black burlap of her sleeve
that covered her wrist. Green fronds
popped out from beneath the fabric. She
sighed.
“I was afraid of that.”
“What?”
“Weeds.”
Edward leaned forward.
One hand carefully came near her.
With a few deft flicks of scissors, wielded with great
flair, the green shafts had fallen to the floor and Rose’s wrist was most
perfectly trimmed.
The two stared at one another. Edward flashed a tiny, pleased smile. Rose giggled a most pleasantly surprised and
quite affectionate giggle.
He leaned back upon both fistfuls of shears and it was
then that he noticed that his crimson napkin was attached to one of his blades
and he attempted to remove it with his other set. However, in a whir of scissor sounds, he
managed to create an unfolding string of hearts out of the cloth rather than
depositing it upon the floor. He looked
down at his inadvertent valentine and a look crossed over his blank face that
was perhaps consternation, or bashfulness.
Rose again clapped thorny hands together in delight.
Twilight came.
The stars burst forth.
They watched them.
They were not afraid of silence.
Silence was familiar.
Company was comfort.
Edward sat up again suddenly.
“I have an idea.”
“Yes?” Rose said
dreamily.
“Come.” He said,
rising to his feet.
Rose obeyed, and followed him.
She followed him down the steps, through the foyer, out
the front door, and down the path towards the front gate, towards The Street.
“Edward...” Rose
said cautiously.
He stopped by the gate and turned. He gestured for her to catch up.
“But...” She
hesitated, standing at his side, nervously indicating the city that loomed
before them.
“Do you ... think... I’m... “perfect”...blades
and... all?” He asked gently, innocent
honesty mixed with worldly anxiety, while his pale face remained rather
emotionless.
Rose felt that stirring deep within her again.
Blossoming.
A wide smile.
Rose skipped down the path to the gate.
She slid her arm into Edward’s and nodded, a sufficient reply to his
inquiry.
“Well then....”
He stated, and led Rose out onto The Street.
They stood, arm in arm, staring at Suburb for a long
while. Eerie, as always.
It was dark now.
“Where are we going?”
She asked, giddily.
They walked to the nearest house.
A wreath of poinsettias hung upon the front door.
A whirring sound commenced and in a few moments the
wreath was devoid of scarlet leaves and all that remained was an artfully
sculpted ring where the greenery had been.
He offered a fistful of poinsettia to Rose, who giggled and danced a
hitching little dance of delight, and accepted the pieces of plant.
Over the course of the evening, all the poinsettias from
suburban front door Christmas wreaths accumulated in the folds of Rose’s skirt.
They passed one particular house. It looked like any other house. There was a Christmas tree in the corner of
the living room, just like every other house.
Edward’s innocent demeanor darkened.
Edward stood at the mailbox, thoughtfully, for quite
some time.
Rose placed a thorny hand gently upon his shoulder,
soft enough to not mar his suit.
He turned.
Wide, dark eyes stared into wide green ones.
Silence said everything. These two knew silence intimately.
Two solitary tears rolled down two separate cheeks.
“Time to go home?”
Rose asked quietly, sweetly. She
wished to touch his cheek, but she’d made that mistake one too many times upon
her own, as, judging from the similar scars upon Edward’s face, he had as well.
Edward nodded.
He turned wearily.
He began to shuffle off down The Street.
Rose watched him go.
He got to the end of the street, heavy tread and
metallic pings.
Rose felt something wither inside her and she mustered
all of her energy for one fervent request that would have been most likely
construed as a prayer.
Edward realized that Rose had not followed him.
His scissors clicked in a sudden panic.
He whirled around.
She stood staring at the other end of The Street,
crimson poinsettia leaves trickling from her dress.
“Rose?”
“Edward?”
The street echoed with their innocent voices.
Edward pointed a long, knifed finger up the hill to his
home. It was very clear to him what he
was to ask, yet he still paused nervously, staring blankly at the figure at the
end of The Street that just may make the silences more bearable, and company a
comfort.
“There will be crocuses again soon, Rose... If you’ll
be patient... Lilies, and... irises,
too... Will you come... home... Rose?”
Rose scooped up her skirt and ran in an uneven gallop
up The Street, a ringing laugh taking flight into the air.
A kiss occurred then, at the threshold of two
worlds.
A sweet kiss. A
long awaited and beautiful merge.
Thorns touched blades.
Those nestled in suburban beds may not have understood.
Those trapped by suburban confines may not have
appreciated.
No matter.
It never was their fairy tale to begin with.
They had meddled.
Fairy tales are best left to their own devices.
Much gossip occurred when a construction truck arrived
at the end of The Street, and a glittering greenhouse was erected at the top of
the hill.
One wrinkled, haggard face watched from a window with
great interest as the greenhouse had been erected, and laughed quietly when her
neighbors exclaimed that their wreaths had been trimmed clear off.
A bouquet of two dozen lush red roses appeared one
morning on her doorstep, with a note.
“Much love, Edward and Rose”
Tears rolled down an old woman’s face.
It began to snow.
The old woman walked outside and whirled around slowly
beneath the flakes, and silently thanked the forces that create fairy tales
that her one wish had been granted.
THE END
Do you like this little fan fiction? Then I bet you'll LOVE my original novels!
For more information about me, including free reads, resources and more please visit my
website!
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