I don’t usually (and probably won’t again) post anything fiction, but a while ago I wrote a short story that I wanted to be read (by someone…). I’m kind of nervous about posting it because I don’t know if it’s any good or not. Well here it is (if you like it/dislike it, let me know, please, any critique is welcome, thanks!):
A small girl sat frozen; her owl-like eyes somber. She looked at the wet cobblestone street. Her pale face was expressionless. A faint trembling shook her small frame. Her pale skin was chapped from the icy wind. Her fingers and toes tinged with blue. She pulled her cover, a disgusting rag, tight around her shoulders, ignoring the stench of the filthy city air and the dirty rag that partially covered her nakedness. Her back was pressed against a cold brick wall. She shifted; her soft skin scraped against the rough brick. A single tear fell down her face. She closed her eyes and remembered the night that ruined her life.
Six months prior:
“Mama! Mama, where are you?” The small girl cried.
The girl’s ears perked up. She heard her mother’s twinkling laughter coming from the garden. Curious about her mother’s laughter, she ventured toward her mother’s large garden. At the entrance to the garden, was a white picket fence, with a heart shaped gate. The sweet scent of jasmine and lavender perfumed the air. As she ventured further into the garden, faint smells of rosemary and vanilla drifted into her nose from her mother’s small patch of herbs in the front corner of the garden where the sun was the warmest while the soil was soft and moist. The girl poked her head around a hedge of pink roses. The little girl gasped.
Her mother, a lady of high fashion, sat on the impeccably clean bench. The sun’s fading rays glimmered on the golden curls piled on her head. Wearing the little girl’s favorite dress, a pink muslin gown, the lady sat up straight with perfect posture. The small girl smiled, watching her mother’s light complexion glow with radiance, bright and pleasing to the eye, like an angel, peaceful. There was a shimmering halo above her mother’s smiling face. Lifting the hem of her lavender dress, the child prepared to run in to her mother’s arms. She was cut short by the sight of a large shadow. The girl stilled; her mother, the angelic lady, wasn’t alone.
A man walked around the bench to sit by the angelic lady. The girl couldn’t see the man’s face; the night’s falling shadow shaded everything but his body’s outline. Unlike her father’s frame, the stranger’s frame was broader in the shoulders; he was taller and more musculear. The girl frowned, her face wrinkling in confusion. She was too young to understand the implications of the couple’s closeness. The man bent down, his lips close to her mother’s ear, his lips parting. His voice was too soft for the wind to carry it toward her. Another peal of her mother’s laughter colored the air. The man laughed as well. His laughter was loud and coarse, as if he were surprised. The girl cringed from the awful cackling, but her mother leaned closer.
The girl’s wide eyes swallowed her face as she watched her mother’s arms wrap around the stranger’s neck. Her mother’s glow dimmed as the two bodies grew closer together; their bodies grinding. He mother made a breathy sound. Pale as death, the girl ran toward the house. Her legs throbbed with pain as they strained against the speed she was going. Her legs had always been weak, but now they begged for mercy. Still she ran. She tripped over a dislodged root. Her body flew through the air. Her body crashed to the ground with a heavy thump. Her teeth jarred inside of her mouth. Her face connected with a jagged rock. The rock sliced the tender skin of her temple. Blood poured from the deep gash. She cradled her head in her hands.
She pushed herself into a sitting position, panting, trying to catch her breath. She assessed the damage of her person, fighting the dizziness. Her pulse raced and she was out of breath. Her legs were numb, except for a dull ache. She grimaced at all the tears in her blue dress. She started to cry, not because of the scene she had just witnessed, not because of the blood pouring into her eye, and not because of the worsening pain she started to feel in her legs and bloodied arms; no, she cried because she had ruined her beautiful blue dress her father had bought her for Easter.
Thinking about her father, she got to her feet and limped the rest of the way to the beautiful white manor. Tears and blood blurred her vision. The door was ajar to let in the springs warm air. She pushed the door open the rest of the way, leaving two small bloody handprints on white panel. A maid had wondered from her father’s study. The maid was carrying a sterling silver tray. The tray was carefully balanced so the crystal glass on it wouldn’t fall. She closed the door with a soft click and turned around. Looking at the girl she screamed. The tray crashed to the floor. The crystal glass plummeted to the ground and broke into a thousand tiny shards.
“What’s going on out here?” The girl’s father demanded as he rushed out of his study to the scene of a shrieking ghostly white maid pointing at his bruised, bloodied, trembling scrap of a daughter. Ignoring the maid, he pushed past her and rushed to his daughter’s aide.
Cleaned up and tended to, the little girl was sitting on her father’s lap. He rocked her in his arms. She sniffled and held tightly on to her father.
“I’ll buy you a new dress,” he promised her. “It’ll be a lovely indigo, more lovely than the first.” His smooth baritone was comforting to her ears. Her mind wondered back to the stranger holding her mother. She looked up at her father’s deeply tanned face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the ones that proved that he had lived happily. Should she tell him? Should she just keep quiet? She looked into honey brown eyes, identical to hers, and tears poured out.
“Why is my princess crying? Why are heaven’s fountains leaking?”
The girl buried her face into her father’s coat; she didn’t feel like a princess. She felt ugly, tired, and she was suffering from a dull aching pain that the medicine hadn’t taken away. She felt guilty too, guilty for not telling her father what she had seen. She felt like she should tell him, but was afraid that she would be punished for seeing something that she shouldn’t have.
“Hush now. You’re alright. You’re papa’s got you.” He whispered as he kissed her forehead underneath the stitched up laceration. There was a knock at the door. Her father’s head turned around, looking over his shoulder at the door. “Enter.”
The butler entered the room. He bowed at the waist. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes my lord.”
“Thank you.”
The butler paused. “Should I take the little miss to the nursery?”
The girl’s father nodded and set the girl down. Her legs were still wobbly, but she didn’t fall. The butler extended his hand to her. Lips still trembling, she clutched his hand tightly.
“We’re having your favorite dinner tonight miss,” he said, “boiled potatoes and beef stew, and an excellent loaf of French bread we have acquired.
They entered the hallway. The butler closed the door to the study behind them. They turned to the left and walked toward the magnificent staircase. The red mahogany matched that of the door, reminding her of her bloody handprints. She looked back. The door was swung in completely; two maids were on their knees scrubbing the door, but the stain was still there.
“It’s a bad sign.” One maid whispered to the other.
The other maid nodded, “An omen.”
The butler tugged her along behind him, careful, not to hurt her. She shivered, suddenly cold. She pushed back her uneasiness and made her throbbing legs keep up with the longer pair that lead the way.
The girl sat on her bed, impatient for dinner. Her stomach growled. She lay back on the bed, swinging her feet. Back and forth, an easy motion. She slowed the tempo, stretching out her legs and wiggling toes.
The door opened. Her nanny stuck her head in the crack.
“Dinner’s ready miss.”
The girl jumped off the bed and hurried out the door. Remembering her incident earlier in the day she slowed. She took each step with gentle care, descending the staircase. She sat down at the bottom step for a brief moment before she jumped up and skipped the rest of the way to the dining room. The butler stood there waiting for her. He opened the door. The girl entered the oriental styled room. She stopped a foot away from the door. The air was perfumed with the scent of wine, fresh bread, buttered potatoes, and perfectly seasoned stew. There was also the scent of their dessert, which was the cook’s delicious chocolate pudding that was sitting on the side board waiting to be savored.
At the table were three people: her father, her mother, and the stranger. Her eyes widened as her gaze fell upon him. Still his face was shadowed, unidentifiable. Her mother was beaming beside him, her cheeks a bright pink. Her mother wasn’t wearing the pink gown she had had on earlier, but had traded it for it for a dress the color of a dark rose.
The girl stood as still as a tree, grounded. Then her body started to tremble, like a leaf in a storm. Her gaze went from her mother to the stranger, back and forth. The butler stood behind her straight and proud, stable; he put a large warm hand on her shoulder. She jumped at the touch.
“What’s wrong sweeting?” Her mother asked.
The girl shook her head, keeping an eye on the stranger, as she crept further into the room.
“I heard that you had quite a fall this afternoon. Are you alright darling?”
The light around her mother dimmed further, her halo disappeared. The girl frowned in confusion. She rubbed her eyes; suddenly her mother wasn’t quite as beautiful as she had been. Her mother smiled. For the first time in her life, the girl noticed a chip in her mother’s front tooth. Confusion clouded her brain taking away her mother’s angelic allusion.
Her mother’s smile fell. She stood up, the men followed suit. Her mother came around the table to stand in front of her.
“Darling, aren’t you going to answer me?”
As the girl opened her mouth, screams at the other end of the manor sounded.
“Fire!”
“Someone get help!”
Wordless screams followed. The girl’s father stood quickly. He strode toward the door. The girl looked past her mother to the stranger, now hidden in the shadows of the drapes. He was holding an object that was pointed toward her father.
“Papa.”
As the word left her lips, a loud cracking noise echoed in the room followed by a puff of smoke. The girl screamed and clutched at her ears. Her mother had turned around, her face ashen. The girl turned to see her father’s body slump forward. There were screams behind her, but she didn’t notice. Her father’s body was on the ground.
“Papa.”
Her sore legs stood beside her father’s body. His burgundy coat was drenched in blood. His pale face was lifeless. His face was contorted with anxiety, surprise, and pain. She touched his shoulder. He didn’t move. She shoved. Still no movement. Her mother’s screams were louder. The girl barely heard them over the thundering pulse in her ears. She was cold. She turned around slowly. Her mother was on the table. The stranger’s hands closed tightly around her throat.
“Mama.”
Time had come to a stop. The girl’s movements were slow.
“Mama.”
Her mother’s face turned toward her, her lips moved. Run. Run. Run. The words were whispered to her. Go. Quickly. Be. Safe. The girl’s legs started to move. She turned and ran. Jumping over her father’s motionless body, her pace quickened. The fire had already spread to the hallway, blocking the door. Her legs didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She launched herself over the fire. The flames licked at her legs, burning her dress.
She ran through the door. A sickening snap bade her farewell. She continued to run, too afraid to look behind her. The flames on the dress scorched her. She ran down a hill away from her decomposing reality. Jack and Jill went up the hill and then came tumbling down! Her father’s voice drifted into her ear. She fell down, her body rolled, putting out the flames. Pain radiated in waves throughout her body. She hit her head knocking her unconscious.
She stirred and opened her eyes. She looked up at the night sky, highlighted with the flames orange tones. She watched the smoke and ash drift through the sky. She smelled the stench of dead bodies and her own burnt flesh.
“Mama? Papa?”
She saw her father’s lifeless face then her mother’s purple one, and the stranger’s shadow. A burning piece of paper drifted through the wind and fell beside her. She reached for it. It was a portrait of her family. She lifted her face toward the sky and screamed.
She sat huddled into herself. Her hands skimmed over the shiny pink flesh, the beginnings of an ugly misshapen scar. Her legs tingled, asleep from the lack of movement. A cough racked her body with painful seizures; she choked on her saliva. She shivered. Drip. Drip. She looked up. The night sky opened up. Rain poured down. The freezing water bathed her with the cities pollutants. She pulled her rag more securely around her. Resting her head on her knees, she waited for dawn.
-Written By AlexEelise
alexeelise 