Post by poeticsoul on Mar 21, 2007 20:25:37 GMT -5
What I Did To Charlotte
By Kinsey: Age 14
Fictional Writing
Rated T
By Kinsey: Age 14
Fictional Writing
Rated T
Tears cascaded down Charlotte’s face. Her dank and oily jet-black hair fell down in stringy wisps. The waist-length, unkempt strands cast shadows on her would-be-pretty face. She looked as if she hadn’t washed in days, and the saltwater tears painted streaks down her grimy face as they fell. Her eyes, dark gray-blue like the sea after a storm, stared at the scene in front of her.
She sat cross-legged on the icy, cherry wood flooring. Her worn, once violet skirt, now so filthy and tattered that the color was unrecognizable, spread out all around her and rippled like a puddle. Her hands were folded in her lap, olive-skinned arms covered by a white shirt, also covered with dirt and stained in random spots on the bodice and arms. Her skirt was slowly becoming saturated as her tears fell onto the thinning fabric.
The cold feeling of the floor caused a shiver to vibrate up her spine and back down to her lower back. Nothing could cure the insufferable pain that she felt inside at that moment, and no other pain could be compared to it. It was emotional pain… Only her heart was hurt. She was crying physical tears, as well as emotional ones. Her head was spinning with questions. Why had someone done this? What did they gain from destroying these things most precious to her? What good did her suffering do for them? To other people, they had just been china dolls. But, to her, they were much more. They had belonged to her mother.
Charlotte’s story was a heart-rending one, and not many people knew it. I was one of the few that did. When this story is completed, so will you. I have a reason for telling this story, and that will be revealed in due time. For now, just read the story, keeping you mind and heart open.
Her father, William, had been a well-known travel agent. For that reason alone, he moved around a lot… It gave him a reason to move around a lot, without his family. But when he told Charlotte’s mother, Camille that he was traveling to Topeka or Minneapolis he was really traveling to Las Vegas. It was there that he had a reoccurring affair with a hotel waitress, who he would later refer to as his “apprentice,” Paisley.
Admitted, she was prettier than Camille, but that didn’t make it right. Camille was worthier in character, and much more considerate. William had her and Charlotte to think of, but, being the conceited man he was, he tended to his selfish thoughts first. That is the way he worked… As long as he was happy, it didn’t matter how many people he hurt.
The tragic day came when the dreadful sin was revealed and hell broke lose in the household. And no, fair judgment did not fall over the home, but instead stayed hidden, as if even fairness itself was terrified of the scene that presented itself. There were heated shouts and cries from inside could be overheard from the end of the driveway, for a window was open. Only a thin, sun-bleached screen protected the views of onlookers and passersby. Charlotte was only ten. But she had silently observed the terrifying fight, just hidden from view around the corner of a doorway. The two adults she treasured the most fought themselves to tears in front of her. Since then, she had insight to a world other people of any age couldn’t even fathom.
The fight had only lasted five minutes, but to her it felt like it had been years since the struggle between her parents had begun. However, Charlotte realized that something deeper had been happening with every passing moment in the aftermath of the shouting match. The fight, although it had just reached the boiling point and filtered through her parent’s tough exteriors, had been going on for much, much longer than just those few minutes. It had been a constant yet silent battle between the two adults since the day her father had come home, his hazel eyes, so unlike Charlotte's, frosted over in a dazed look, after his first visit to “Milwaukee.”
Her mother had known something dishonest was occurring under her roof, but had not confronted anyone about it. Being a person of character, admitting that something suspicious was going on in her household would cause people to press her for questions. She did not lie, but questions about such things might just push her to the point of an utter breakdown. She was a person of virtue. Anything “shady” would ruin her family’s reputation as the upstanding people their exterior portrayed.
Camille had always been laid back and charming. However, every time William left on another “business meeting,” she would become uncontrollably irritable and harsh. She yelled when she didn’t intend to. She punished her child when for the smallest misdemeanor, such as not finishing her food. When this behavior progressed, Charlotte knew something was wrong, but still kept quiet.
Charlotte had always figured something had gone astray. That something had happened in her usually quiet home. But, at the time, had been too infantile and innocent to ask about it. She now realized that she was relieved she hadn’t asked about the situation when it presented itself for the first time..Or at anytime after. She was uncertain about what kind of dreadful answer she would have gotten... Or how truthful her mother would be willing to be with her at such a juvenile age. She trusted her mother and didn’t want Camille to have to lie to her about anything. That was, in deed, the last thing she wanted.
For ten minutes, Camille and Charlotte packed their few and simple belongings that were scattered throughout the three bedroom, two bathroom house. As Charlotte began to pack her possessions, she realized how out of control her bedroom had become. She couldn’t remember having thoroughly cleaned it since her mother’s tirades had started.
She peered around her room for possibly the last time, eyes wide disks and watery. The floor could be seen, but hadn’t been visible just moments before. Now the only things resting on it were Charlotte and the two suitcases resting on the floor beside her. Both suitcases were colored pink and had obviously been used more than once. That was in the time before the affair had begun… When Camille and Charlotte went with William on his trips. They both had been hastily packed and now contained souvenirs from past vacations, stuffed animals, bathroom supplies, and clothing. A few jean pant legs and sleeves of miss-matched shirts were hanging out of them.
Since its last cleaning the carpet, usually the hue of a manila folder, had turned a disgustingly dark shade. It looked as if the fibers were rotting, leaving dark patches in their place once they had fallen apart. The walls had been painted a subtle violet shade in the late fall two years prior. Now they had become grimy and the paint had begun to chip off, leaving white patches here and there. Charlotte’s small, twin sized day bed sat in one corner. The bedding had been striped from it, leaving only the yellowed mattress and headboard, which had been painted a soft pinkish hue.
The only other furniture in her room was an old bureau. She looked at it lovingly. The drawers, which usually had socks, pant legs, and other articles of clothing hanging out of them, were now emptied completely. In some way, the bureau was like an old, lived-in home. Its occupants had emptied out, and now they were moving away and would probably never see their “house” again. This was a sad thought for Charlotte, as she was moving away from her home, also. It wasn’t fair that the two who didn’t commit the sin were the ones who had to move out… That was how fairness stayed away that day.
As I already said, it's so wonderfully written. I'm all about descriptions and visuals, you did a good job of painting the picture. I can't wait to read more!