Inklings | January 2025 Edition

    Greetings! I return to you today with a Very Exciting Gift: a new Inklings post! This month’s prompt is a sunrise in a book or movie and thankfully, I have just the thing. 

    In act 1, scene 1 of Hamlet, a group of soldiers and their Illustrious Scholar Friend (Horatio) are awaiting a strange happenstance that has been “two nights seen”—the ghost of their dead king. It appears once more to them, but flees at the cock’s crow and the sunrise. The group vows to impart this knowledge to their friend and prince, Young Hamlet. 

From the BBC version with David Tennant. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find many other images from this scene, though.

    (Conveniently, I have most of the play and consequently this scene memorised, having performed in a production nigh on a few months ago.)

BARNARDO

    It [the ghost] was about to speak when the cock crew.

HORATIO 
 And then it started like a guilty thing
 Upon a fearful summons. I have heard
 The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
 Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
 Awake the god of day, and at his warning,
 Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
 Th’ extravagant and erring spirit hies
 To his confine, and of the truth herein
 This present object made probation.

MARCELLUS 
 It faded on the crowing of the cock.
 Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes
 Wherein our Savior’s birth is celebrated,
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long;
 And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
 The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
 So hallowed and so gracious is that time.

HORATIO 
 So have I heard and do in part believe it.
 But look, the morn in russet mantle clad
 Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill.
 Break we our watch up, and by my advice
 Let us impart what we have seen tonight
 Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
 This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
 Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it
 As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?

MARCELLUS 
 Let’s do ’t, I pray, and I this morning know
 Where we shall find him most convenient.

    It’s such beautiful language, isn’t it? Hamlet is one of Shakespeare’s most popular plays, and for good reason. (It’s also my favourite, but I’m somewhat biased :P)

   So there you have it. Go forth in peace and read Hamlet! God bless you all :)

—

Soli Deo Gloria,

Hannah

Remember Me

    I've been posting so irregularly lately, not for lack of desire, just for lack of time. Violin, school, and deepening my relationships with people and with God have consumed all my time, and I wouldn't have it any differently. (Though, it would be nice to have some more time for writing.) 

    Anyhow, in the midst of all this I'm beginning work on my first story review post, which should come up before the end of January! (At least, I hope so.) But until then, here's a short story I wrote last semester at approximately ten PM. It may be good, it may not, but I would love some feedback regardless.

Remember Me

Brother, I will not forget you.

It is his first waking thought. His every worry. His battle cry.

On good days he can remember when he and Michael were young, how they would trample their mum’s garden playing pirates, how they never let each other face the monsters under the bed alone. On bad days he remembers only that he had a brother. 

He tries so, so hard just to hold onto even that.

When his son (he’s Michael too, Young Michael, even though he’s fifty-two) comes over every Saturday, he asks for the same stories he had once told. Of his brother, always his brother, how they lived together and should have died together. 

It’s on a Sunday morning (or is it Saturday?) that he forgets his brother’s name. Forgetting names is usual for him—he can’t even remember his own—but this, well. This comes slowly, surely, ominously. He’s puttering about the kitchen as usual, humming mismatched fragments of tunes he can’t name. He opens the window shade to let in light, and on the other side of the curtain there’s the most vivid sunrise he’s ever seen. 

“Oh, you would have loved this,” he mutters, and stops. There’s a vague sense of uncertainty floating in his mind, as though there’s someone to whom he should be talking, and he just can’t remember.

Can’t remember. That’s always the problem, isn’t it?

He struggles into the nearest chair, bony knuckles grasping the arms. Who else would be there? Who else should?

Brother. The word gently eases into his mind. Brother, I’m sorry I forgot you. I’m sorry I can’t remember.

There’s a knock on the door. Absently he paws at the tears clinging to his nose and rises, shaking. 

“Come in.” 

A tall, middle-aged man with a shock of fair hair is standing at his doorway. Behind him in the hallway is a pretty, round-faced woman herding a gaggle of children.

He has no idea who they are.

“What are you doing in my house?” he demands, irritated. Surely he should have the right to know who his guests are, before coming uninvited.

The man just looks sad. “It’s me, Michael. Your son.”

Something comes to life in his memory. “Michael.”

“Yes. Your son,” the man repeats.

“I have a son.” The thought is foreign. “I must have had a wife, too. And a brother.”

It hurts, that he knows these things must be true, but they have no life in his mind. 

The Michael-man looks even sadder, if that were possible. “Dad, can we come in?”

He nods, the bare motion of a gesture, and then putters back through the kitchen. But then he stops. Brother. I had a brother.

“You are my son?” he asks, voice trembling in the thin air. “Then tell me about my family. My brother. I want to remember, before I die.”

The Michael-man looks as though he’s about to weep, but instead he sighs. “Dad—”

“Tell me. Before I die.”

Brown eyes glisten with tears. “My mom, your wife, her name was Julia. She died three years ago.” He sucks in breath. “Your brother was also named Michael. He was killed during the war, you told me, but never anything else. I’m sorry, Dad.”

He feels for his son’s hand and awkwardly pats it. As though he’s the one giving comfort. 

“Thank you.” His voice is hoarse. Brittle. “For helping me.” He sits down again, leaning against the slotted chair back and closes his eyes. Michael, brother, I’m sorry I forgot you. I will remember your face soon enough. We’ll be together again.

He feels his son moving next to him, moving the woman and children towards the door. “We’ll be back tomorrow,” the Michael-man’s voice says, but it sounds far away. He feels himself moving toward sleep already. Dreams are the only place he can remember more than fragments.

He falls asleep smiling.

——

They find him there, the next morning, the smile still etched onto his pale cold face. His still-warm hands are frozen around the chair’s arms. 

“Thanks for everything, Dad,” Michael whispers, and a tear squeezes out from beneath his eyelid. “I promise I’ll remember.”

---

soli Deo gloria,

Hannah

The Close Of 2024

     It’s been almost a month since I posted last. And now it’s 2025, which is a strange thought. 2024, in hindsight, went by so quickly, but so much happened. So much. God was, is, and will continue to be so incredibly good to me and those around me. 

A Year Of Courage

    While I was thinking and praying about this post, though, one word in particular stood out among many in memory of last year, and that is courage. God has grown my courage in so many ways, my courage to trust in Him when things are difficult, and especially when it seems as though they’re going just fine. (“‘seems’, madam? I know not seems”, like Hamlet said.) Courage in love, courage in learning, in literature, in music, and most of all, in my faith. And so my new years’ promise this year is to continue that—continue glorifying God through my music and my writing, striving to increase my faith and the trust I put in the Lord. We can have complete and utter assurance that He is always there, beyond the end of the age. 

    This year has also been one of incredible growth, especially in my music. Of course I’ve always been passionate about violin, but with my experiences this summer, combined with the impactful things people I trust have spoken over me, have led me to see it in a new way. “I know the plans the Lord has for me” (Jeremiah 29:11) and they are good plans. Now all I need to do is heed the call and put in the work to fulfil it. And so my prayer for next year is this: that God will ignite the fire in my blood and give me the courage of a lioness to carry out His purpose for my life. Amen.

Other Updates

    In other news! Because of my many taxing goals with violin, my writing has fallen a bit behind. And while it’s saddening, it’s something I’m okay with. There will be times when I can write a good deal more, and times when I can barely write at all. This has been one of the latter. Fear not, though, because our new years’ eve trip this year afforded some lovely short story ideas, and I will hopefully be posting some of those in the next year!

    Also (and this is kind of a significant announcement) I have decided that I no longer need a pseudonym. When I publish anything, I want it to be under my real name, and so I’ve made the decision to make the same change to this blog. The name Astrya has served me well (and I will still continue to use it, because it’s my Latin name as well!) but I think it’s time. So, nice to meet you. My name is Hannah. Pronounced like Hana, by the way—now that you know it, you may as well get it right! (Because of this, my bio has also been changed, if you ever want to check out what’s happening over there ;P)

    So, happy new year, everyone! May God bless this next year abundantly <3

Namárië,

Hannah