Thanks for opening this, guys! I love you so much!
Well, this is for the Writers Anonymous Character Development Challenge. You can find it by going to the general forums, and then basically, go to the first forum. (It's entitled Writer's Anonymous.) Then the forum, Game: Character Development Challenge - Deadline: July 31st - And Alternate Format Winner.
Yeah, anyway, there are rules there, but basically, you have to take a story, and pick a character, (any fandom) and if you start out with a positive outlook on this dude, you have to change it to a negative, or vice versa...pretty self-explanatory.
So...I don't know if I did good job with doing that, cuz its actually pretty hard.
It's probably not good at all, but I enjoyed writing it, as I hope you will enjoy reading it.
Blood. Death. That was what he was known for. His life had not been easy. The lines in his battle-scarred face showed it.
Count Olaf was a murderer. He murdered who he wanted, when he wanted.
People fled in terror before him.
It was true.
He captured who he wanted, when he wanted.
Count Olaf smiled, as he looked down from the cliff by the sea, upon his latest prisoners. They were ragged, many of them were crying, weeping for their dead.
His eyes shone as he looked down upon the blood soaking into the sand, and spray of the sea splashing upon the glazed eyes of the dead.
This was who he was...and he would never change, because he never could.
In a cold stone castle, some years later...
The girl stood wearily, holding the mop in her hand, by a dirty pail of soapy water. Her bare toes peeped out from underneath the filthy hem of an equally filthy and ragged dress.
Her dull eyes stared off into the distance, comprehending things that had happened long ago, too long ago to be changed.
The girl straightened her weary back, and began to run her mop over the ancient stone floor.
She had been enslaved for Count Olaf, a rich man, who owned much. Now she worked long hours, for little pay. Sometimes as little as a crust of bread and a glass of murky water.
Her skeletal arms hung down at her side, her tangled hair hanging down the back of her neck.
She reached down, picked up the bucket, and struggled to carry it to the window.
Finally, Violet Baudelaire gave up. She dragged the bucket over to the opening in the wall, and then, fighting with her arms, wishing for them to be strong, heaved the bucket up into the window, and then dumped it.
Violet sank to the floor in a heap, exhausted. "Got. To. Get up." She breathed.
But she was too tired. Her tired, aching body would not obey her. She fell the rest of the way to the floor, her tattered dress billowed out around her like petals thrown to the floor for a bride.
Count Olaf stared out through the windows of his castle. A castle that had, for years, been his prison.
People thought of him as a tyrant...and he was.
He put his head into his hands, and felt the familiar itch in the back of his eye. The tears began to flow, and he put his head in his large, well-worn hands, and sobbed.
The there was a knock on the stone door, and he dried his eyes hurriedly. "Come in." He called.
A man stepped into the room, his face obscured with shadow.
Olaf narrowed his eyes, trying to see. "Step into the light." He commanded, his voice ringing with the authority of one who had once been a good leader. "I can't see you."
The man stepped into the light, and Olaf swallowed.
"Yes?" He said, trying not to let his fear show.
"You fool!" The man screamed. "You worthless, good-for-nothing idiot!" The man's eyes gleamed with the cruel light of a cutthroat.
Olaf felt his heart thud wildly in his chest. He was done. "Sir." He began, but the man cut him off.
"Listen!" He said. "I told you that if you did what I wanted, I would let you live." Then the man smiled. He stepped closer to Olaf, who took a step farther away. The man continued walking until he had backed Olaf into a wall.
"The girl." The man said, his smile cruel.
Olaf stared at the vile creature that stood before him. "Girl? She's fine. She's doing what you told me to make her do. Kitchen duty. In fact," He paused, glancing at the clock that hung on an old stone wall.
The clock, a smear of crimson in the middle, read 3:50.
Count Olaf smiled. "Right now, she should be scrubbing chamber pots. I also added a little more to her duties, at your command, of course. She was supposed to clean out horse stalls afterwards."
The man's eyes bored into Olaf's. "Listen." He sneered. "I told you to keep her alive. I said to work her, and work her hard. But I did not say to work her to death."
Olaf's face held a look of disbelief. "I was following orders!" He snapped, then realized that was the worst mistake he could have ever made.
"Don't you dare raise your voice to me, Olaf!" The man's blue eyes snapped.
Olaf gulped. "Sorry, sir." He said quickly, his voice shaking. "But I don't understand why. Why did you want me to work her half to death? And why did you bring her to me in the first place?"
The man took a step back, and smiled. "Because." He said. "Her family. She was after me. Me!" He shouted the word, as if he couldn't believe someone would dare threaten him.
"So why send her to me?" Count Olaf asked, still wary of the man's flashing eyes, and strong body.
"Because you're the villain!"
Olaf's eyes wandered, losing interest as the man ranted and raved before him.
His mind wandered to all the people he'd killed, to all those he'd slaughtered, because he wanted to live himself.
I traded thousands of lives for my own.
Suddenly, his thoughts were broken by the slap of a hand on his cheek.
"Olaf? Did you even hear anything I said?"
Olaf looked up dully at the man. He didn't care anymore. He knew why the man had sent the Baudelaire girl to him.
The man was scared. Scared of what the masses would think of him. He didn't want to be the villain, so he used Olaf as a pawn.
People were scared of Olaf...not him. He could have the power, while Olaf had nothing but a stone castle.
He was a murderer. This was who he was, and he could never change, because he didn't know how.
The dark, silent night seemed to call Count Olaf out into it.
He was to be executed in two days, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered to him anymore. He was trapped on the grounds of his castle, but he didn't care. The castle had held him captive before. It was no different now.
All he wanted to do was go back and fix the wrongs he had done in his life.
His thoughts turned the Violet, the girl who had died not too long ago.
She was a pretty little thing, with her wondering doe eyes and thick brown hair.
He wondered if her siblings were still alive. He wondered if he had killed them too.
Wondered. That seemed to be his word. He wondered if people could forgive. He wondered how people would remember him. As a murderer? A weakling?
He knew he wasn't a murderer...but a weak man who couldn't stand up. He had been afraid to lose his life, and it had cost others their lives.
Olaf turned his head up to look at the full moon, and suddenly, as if on impulse, he walked towards Violet Baudelaire's grave-if you could call it that.
A mound of dirt stood over the remains, and Count Olaf knelt down next to it. "I'm sorry, Violet." He whispered. "I'm sorry."
He looked up at the moon again, this time to attempt to stop the flood of tears that threatened to invade.
It was gorgeous, shining its dim light on a dark world...his dark world. All he'd ever wanted to do was do his job...but he had never expected his job would contain killing.
His world had been turned upside down.
He had hated the killing, but after a while, he didn't mind it.
He knew that he was evil, villainous, but all he wanted to do was stay alive.
Now as he looked up at the bright and shiny moon, it seemed wrong for this kind of time.
He heard horses hooves in the cobblestone path leading up to his castle, and he froze. If...if...he should find him, Olaf knew he would be tortured to death.
He crouched down beside a rose bush, the thorns digging into the palms of his hand. He folded his tall body in half, hoping the rose bush hid him from view.
He walked by. His back was straight, and he held in his hand a long knife.
The moonlight caught it, and it seemed to shine, yelling, "This is intended for you, Olaf, murderer!"
Olaf bit his tongue, trying to keep himself from screaming.
He looked back at the gelding, tied to the hitching post by the eerie castle.
Olaf glanced around him, seeing that the other man had gone into the castle.
Straightening, he stood up, and walked quickly towards the horse. It whinnied softly when it saw him. Olaf froze, hoping he hadn't heard him.
Then he saw what he was looking for. The blade of a knife. It seemed to beckon him, call to him.
Count Olaf picked it up. Time for one more murder.
Both Lemony Snicket and Count Olaf died that night, each by the hand of the other.
They lay, side by side, the crimson stain billowing around them like a rosy cape, in the dark night.
Violet Baudelaire's death had been accounted for.
And Count Olaf had finally done something worthwhile: sacrificing his life to end the life of the real murderer.
For when one is a pawn, the crimes he does can only be pointed back to the hand that moves the pawn.
So, I don't know if that was quite what was wanted...I feel like all that is felt for Count Olaf at the end was pity.
Then again, I'm the author...so I don't quite know. Oh, well. It was still really fun to write this...like, I had a blast. I didn't know I could write angst.
Oh, and also, I thought it would be cool if I made Lemony Snicket the "bad guy" since he wrote the books...I don't know if you can follow my train of thought on that, but yeah, I just thought it would be cool. For those of you that are fandom blind, that probably makes no sense. Then again, that probably makes no sense anyway. I'm hopeless.
Anyway, please review, and tell me how I did.