#eragonremake

There was a girl Barely 9 years of age She opened a book For the film had made her day

She soon came to see That what had once been surreal Was now within her grasp It wasn’t just a dream

That book became her rock She’d never felt so free

12 years of age She cried cause it was over Writing was her comfort 13 she was by then

By 16 she’d forgotten What magic lies beneath Once more the book was opened Shocked she was indeed

She found the dreams Of the 9-year old girl And once again she knew Why her rock had never failed her

At 17 she wrote A research she had hoped Would give her closure But once more She found she could not let it go Again it was her rock

Now 18 years of age Half of her life she’s spent With the wings of a dragon Carrying her on Not one day of regret

Her rock had carried her Made her go on And not once she’d ever felt The world could go wrong

Because that 9-year old Had given her defence From what could shadow her And that had saved her since

This is a poem I wrote at 18. At 17 and 18, my writing was at its peak. I was passionate about it, did it almost every day even though my schedule was crazy, I was living and breathing the Bronx girl life, as I like to call it. I was planning to publish this poem the day the Inheritance Cycle had been in my life for half of it, but then my writing passion was starting to fade. Now, as a part of the #EragonRemake storm I'm finally ready to share my story.

My story starts with a nine year old girl, unsure of everything. I remember we rented the movie Eragon, since my sister had read the books and never seen the movie. Not knowing anything of the books, I actually liked the film at first. But the next day I went to my sister's room and took the book. It was more than I ever imagined. My world changed forever that day.

Of course, one I'd read the books, I was incredibly underwhelmed by the movie. But I'm still somewhat grateful since I don't know if I'd ever read the books without it.

I remember the day when I was 12, it was near Christmas and the translation of the last book, Inheritance was finally out. It was nearly a snowstorm outside but I didn't care. I took my savings and went and got the book first chance I got.

The night I finished it, I cried through the last chapters. That same night, I started my first-ever piece of writing. An absolutely empty piece of fanfiction of what would happen next, fuelled by my sadness, but that's where I started.

By 13 I'd long forsaken the fanfiction side of things and was mapping out my own book, the Bronx Chronicles. I was about to enter the worst years of my life so far, and writing was my rock. But I'm pretty sure somewhere along the lines I forgot where I started.

Though I might have forgotten where I started, I remember my mum telling me later that those years the only way she could get me to talk was when I talked about the hard life of Galbatorix. I didn't think of it as my roots, but I think deep down I still knew.

At 16 I knew I'd forgotten much of the books so I decided to read them all in four days. A book in a day. By then it had been years since I'd read them and mu years of depression took away much of my memories. But I was amazed that the books I was a fan of at just 9 had still so much for me to discover. It did take me five days though.

That same spring, when having to choose a topic for my high school research paper, I decided to study the series even further, through the Ancient language. The research paper is one of the most-dreaded parts of high school and yet I enjoyed every minute of writing it.

By 18, half of my life had been accompanied by these books. But as my writing inspiration was at a low-point, I didn't fulfil my promise to myself and left the story to myself.

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