I'm writing more than just a "fan fiction". I know my story has potential to become a hit. I don't have an illustration of my own so I will use pictures that I find on the internet, with permission of course to post on my blog so I can better illustrate my certain excerpts from my book. My friends and family support my book, they have given me criticism, but now I think its time to introduce my story to strangers and get a public opinion on my story. Now who is Diana Prince? Diana herself is trying to find out who she is herself. My version of the origin story takes places in Macedonia where a happily married woman begins to question the mysteries of her life.
Illustration from Jordan Gibson
Tumblr: http://gibsoncomics.com/
Instagram: https://instagram.com/gibsoncomics/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/gibsoncomics
Twitter: https://twitter.com/gibsoncomics
Who is Diana Prince? Diana is trying to find out who she is herself. She is not like the others in her village, the average height for a man of her time was 5'7, and the average height for women was 5'3. This woman stood 6'0. Being a small village at first she appeared a freak to them, but they soon got use to it. Possessing great strengths, that is comparable to the mythical Hercules. Speeds as fast as Greek God Hermes. But aren't they just myths? She questions who her parents are, she knew it wasn't the humble farmers that raised her, though she loved them with all her heart. Where is she from? She also had great love, compassion, and forgiveness, and also a strong sense of what is wrong or right, never letting her feelings get in the way. The biggest mystery she had was why she showed no signs of age like her friends. She figured that she stop aging between 25-30. Most people in there 40s would love to have that but when you’re over 60 it definitely raises questions.
Diana Prince: The Last Amazon (Journal Entry 1)
When I was five, I told my mother that my hair was unbreakable. "That’s impossible Diana," she replied. My hair was becoming a problem; my mother did not want it to reach the floor and scissors did not work on my hair. My mother wanted to try something sharper this time around. She grabbed the sharpest knife in the kitchen and a chunk of my hair and she forced the knife on my hair. At the rate she was going, she could have started a fire. She then took a small strand of my hair and after a while she was able to finally cut it off. I can tell she was overwhelmed; it took all that energy to cut one skinny strand of my hair. She gave up and went downstairs to go prepare dinner. I only wanted to make her happy, and I knew my strength so I started ripping out clumps of my hair. I was young, and I didn't really understand why she wanted to cut my hair. I approached her downstairs. "Look mama," I called to her. The image of my mother’s reaction is still fresh in my mind today. My hair was so uneven. "Did it hurt?” she asked. "No" I responded. "Diana, don’t ever do that again,” she snapped. "Why mama, this is what you wanted, and it doesn't hurt," I replied. She hugged me tightly, as if she almost lost me. "Don’t do it for mama, I don't like to see you or even think about you in pain," she said. "But mama!" Before I could continue I saw tears in her eyes. "For mama, please," she asked. I nodded my head and gave her another hug. If there’s one thing I hate to see, it’s her cry. That day, I learned how truly unconditional my mother’s love was for me.
My hair was always a problem. The people in my village assumed I had poor hygiene. I was often made fun of by the other children. My parents were not embarrassed to be seen with me. My hair was literally something beyond their control, and they both accepted that. They often responded to the criticism with “Mind your own business.” They lost many friends that way. What made it worse was my height. When I was 10 I was 5’6, taller than my parents. Growing up I was a little insecure because of my appearance; of course my parent’s made me feel beautiful but everyone else made me feel like a monster. I went through years of constant ridicule. On the day before my 16th birthday my mother sent me out to run some errands. While on the route through the forest I noticed the most beautiful women I have ever seen. She was sitting on a bench, had long red hair, luminous green eyes and wore the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. I envied her but at the same time a strong sense of desire overwhelmed me. We locked eyes and she smiled at me. I blushed and continued to walk. I knew I didn’t feel for women that way, but something about her made me question my sexuality. I tried to forget about her but I couldn’t. I made my way back to the village, picked up the supplies my mother asked for, and made my home. Hopefully I wouldn’t see her again. I wanted her off my mind.
To Be continued.
Log in to comment