Daily Prompt: Say Your Name

Write about your first name: Are you named after someone or something? Are there any stories or associations attached to it? If you had the choice, would you rename yourself?

Photographers, show us  YOU.

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The picture is just a fragment of me, an important one but only one part out of many.

As for my name… My mother named me Marta because she liked the sound of it. There is no interesting story to it. I wasn’t named after anyone in my family. In fact I think I may be the first to carry that name.

After Wikipedia: Hebrew meaning: “the lady”. Roman meaning: dedicated to Mars. Also known to mean “Lady-Like” and “Strong” in Armenian.

My father of course had to throw his two cents in so he added another name and thus on all official papers my full name is Marta Margaret.

Do I want to change my name? Well, when I was young I thought that it would be cool to have some interesting name and not one that sounds so old and boring. However, with time I realized that my names is one of the gifts my mother gave me, and that she had the biggest right to name me. After all she gave birth to me and raised me with all her love. I am grateful to her, both for the name and for being the best parent a child could have.

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Protagonist’s mother first kiss…

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I will twist today’s daily prompt a bit, to make it more interesting. I will write it from my protagonist’s point of view.

A.’s mother was a woman of a great beauty and charm. She was an elegant and imposing lady even when she merely a young girl, standing on the threshold of adulthood. She had a fair share of suitors but the one she was to join in a holy union was already handpicked for her by her father. She was allowed to be entertained by flocking, young handsome boys but to never engage into anything serious or scandalous. After all she was already promised to someone.

When one stops looking and is indifferent to faith, that’s when the destiny strikes.

That memorable night she was attending a charity ball. It was an event same as many before, people chatting, mingling and sharing mindless talk with each other. A usual boring night in which A.’s mother had to participate. By now she has seen so many similar balls that she lost interest in them. They all looked the same to her.

Except this time, she met him. A man that would finally make her heart beat faster. A man that would stir her from head to toe. She noticed him much later then he did her. She caught him watching her, like a hunter watches its prey. She thought that he was extremely rude, a scoundrel really. But still she kept glancing in his direction. Her attention was going back to him over and over. He was dressed in finest clothes. His demeanor demanded attention, captivating people in that effortless way, many man could only dream of. She imagines he would look good even in rags. He was observing her, watching her every move. Every time he caught her gaze he smirked. It unnerved her. Who did he think he was? He was a handsome rogue that she had to admit. Many women shared her thoughts it was obvious.  There were plenty of females surrounding  him, bating eyelashes and laughing flirtatiously.

He was tall and dark, a striking man with piercing light brown, nearly yellow eyes. His hair was neatly trimmed, curling around the ears with only a few unruly strands. His lips looked like they were made for giving breathtaking kisses, but instead they were curved in that irritating smirk. His long and slender fingers were closed on a glass of whiskey. She hated the vile drink, preferring sophisticated wine instead. Maybe he was a pianist? He definitely was a heartbreaker and a man she should avoid. But why was it that she was so drawn to him. What made him so compelling, so irresistible to her, a girl from good house. A girl promised to another man.

And yet that same night, under a birch tree, in the garden A.’s mother allowed that handsome devil to capture her lips in a fiery union and steal her very first kiss. The men left her yearning for more and little did she know that the ache would not be fulfilled. Not until she met him again. But that is an entirely different story.

Daily prompt from: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=623461397681185&set=a.599260846767907.1073741825.175634409130555&type=1&relevant_count=1.