|Sarah (standard:Psychological fiction, 2305 words)|
|Author: Charlotte D'Espoir||Added: Jul 08 2003||Views/Reads: 1889/990||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Adult Read: This story is about a girl who had learned to survive in an unhealthy environment in a different way than most. She had help from three close... friends. This is meant for adults for small use of profane language and slight violence.|
He was only thirty-two and did this for a living. Every day he would enter this shabby little room with no windows. He would sit on his heels and watch her profile. Always, always, she would be sitting. Indian style. She said that she was looking out the window onto the terrace. She did this while rocking ever so slightly, back and forth. Her blank brown eyes, glazed over, a Mona Lisa smile dancing at her lips, her long brown hair surrounding her, she would just sit there. Waiting. "What are you waiting for today, Simone?" the nice man smiled as he said it. He knew what she was waiting for. He was just asking to make conversation. Why else would he ask something so obvious? "Waiting for the flies, silly." She shook her head. Her brown hair dancing around in soft tendrils. "Of course. I forgot," he looked out the window, "I don't mean to be a bother, but why are we waiting for the flies again?" He looked confused. He was acting, I could tell. And it was very smooth to slip in the word we. Don't listen to him Simone, just ignore him. "I can't believe that you've already forgotten." sigh, "I'm waiting for the flies, so I can do my job." She just kept staring out of her window. But I could tell by his blank expression, he was still pretending that he didn't know what I was talking about. Simone continued, "Every summer it's my job to wait for the flies, once they come it's my job to kill them. After all, we can't have flies buzzing around the dinner table, now can we." Back and forth, back and forth. Her own little tide, pulling her forward and back. "Of course not. Of course not." Then he left. Simone kept sitting. Sometimes I get angry and yell at her and she cries. But I don't think she knows why she's crying, just that she should. I feel so lonely. I wish I could go back home. ~ Clink. Clink. Clink. Mary was setting the dinner table. Each plate, with contact to the mahogany table would make a clinking sound. Clink. Clink. A tear slid off her face onto the plate. Quickly she wiped it off, and continued to set the table. It was a table set for eight. Henry would sit at the end. Mary at the other. Jonas on his right, cute little Jonas with his curly hair. And Sarah to his left. Sarah's curly hair, too long to be curly so it had become a wavy mass, loosely tied back down to her waist. Mary wished she could sit next to her children. But she had to sit at the other end. Then everyone was seated and dinner was served. Mary reached for her glass of wine; her third for the night, and carefully maneuvered it towards her mouth. Henry would not be pleased if she spilled some on the new baby blue placemats. They were hand made knitted doily like things. Served no purpose at all. But she never said this out loud. No one ever did. I watched as they ate. I always did. But sometimes I didn't. Today I did, today was going to be bad so I was sent out. Then it happened. Henry reached out and grabbed some of Jonas' hair, staring at Mother. "I thought I said to cut this mop. He looks like a girl. Stupid fagot. Do you want our son to be a fagot?!" His gravely voice echoed in the quiet room. It wasn't time yet. Mother made no reply. "I'm talking to you woman!" He stood up, knocking over the chair. He had forgot to release Jonas hair, but Jonas knew better and kept quiet. Henry released him and marched to the other side of the table. It was time. I turned around and faced Sarah. She looked at me. We watched each other for a moment then she looked at her plate. Sarah went away and I took her place. I watched Jonas. Jonas finished eating his meal at the same time as I finished mine. We both stood up and left. A plate crashed, and silverware dropped, Mother screamed, Henry shouted. But no one turned to look. We went upstairs. I took Jonas to the bathroom and sat him down. I pulled out the old buzzer and proceeded to shave off most of his hair. After tucking Jonas into bed, I went to Sarah's room and Sarah came back and went to bed. ~ A few hours later, I awoke; I looked up and saw that Mother had entered the room. She took my hand and led her downstairs into the Click here to read the rest of this story (181 more lines)
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