HomeElizabeth Taylor
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Elizabeth Taylor
TMcCaine Sat Jun 27, 2009 9:56 am
Part 1
The scouring pad rubbed against the counter in a circular motion leaving behind dark raised plows of soapy bubbles. A small framed barefooted woman in a homely dress wrapped in an apron stained with various confections, watches with a solemn face as her hand push the pad around creating a droll scratching sound. The kitchen remains dimly lit from artificial lamps and the sun remains tightly packed behind boarded and insulated windows. Rags and towels poke through cracks helping fight the creeping sunlight from the few windows that still don the sheer drapery. The apartment is small, and cramped, its effects pushed close together making the three rooms in this closed off world.
The kitchen contained a simple table with two chairs, one counter that elbowed into a large metallic sink which butted into a long cupboard. The small and cramped space appeared oversized with the small, young form standing in it staring at the growing soapy mass. Her distant glare focused on something beyond her duty, peering deeply into the counter and focusing within her own mind where she dwelled. Next to the kitchen was a short hallway that possessed two closed doors, one led into a bedroom and the other a closed. The living quarter sat across the kitchen and was only slightly larger with two cushioned chairs, an end table with a lamp and a chest of drawers that faced the kitchen.
A sudden exasperated gasp filled the apartment from wall to wall and the young woman jerked in response letting the pads soapy contents fly onto the walls. She drew her hands in still holding onto the pad allowing it to stain her apron. The gasp expanded its owner’s lungs slowing into a low idle gasp followed by metal on metal clanging as the body began to reanimate. The time she had been down was a quiet, passing moment. Only hours before she was screaming and lamenting upon her state in tongues and physical convulsions fighting against the shackles she was bound with before she passed out.
A second later the apartment was a cacophony of metal shackles fighting the metal frame they were attached to, a wailing of cries from pain, and a bed frames spring resistance to a struggling body bouncing around in a futile struggle. The girl stands in the kitchen remaining perfectly still in response. The cold water soaks through the apron onto her dress but she remains motionless. Her care taker, her family member, her sister is stranded in her bed during the fit and there is nothing at the moment that can be done about it.
Her other sister has left to retrieve the medicine that will calm her as it works miraculously well for a woman in her condition. This ailment has no name. It has no reason. It just happens, to all of them, and it scares her as she knows that this means her time is coming soon. Hopefully, with a hearty supply of the medication it won’t remain an enduring episode, outside of her restrained aunt. Her state of consciousness comes and goes throughout the day, the night, and into the dawn of the next morning. There are a few brief times of peace, but no moment is guaranteed and every passing instance is only a reminder of the calm that will be interrupted or the chaotic clamor that can’t be tamed.
When her aunt finally arrives she thrusts open the door without closing it behind her allowing it to bounce off of the wall shaking the dusty picture frames that hung loosely on the wall. She charges past the kitchen wielding a small paper bag and goes immediately into the bedroom and wakes her sister to administer the elixir. The young woman gently closes the door behind her latching it securely sealing their apartment once again from the outside world. Once she administers it the effect is immediate, she calms down and the apartment’s demons quiet once again.
The younger woman shyly approaches the bedroom and peeks around the corner holding onto the door frame hiding the rest of her body from them. The small room holds two beds juxtaposed against each other with a small night stand between them. The stand, dimly lit by a single electrical lamp casting a yellow glow over the entire room, holds the brown bag with the medicinal contents inside. The sisters sit on the bed facing one another, one of them hunches over stricken with exhaustion as a small bead of sweat forms on her forehead. She brings out the shackles she held in her lap and holds them up to her sister giving them to her as she has no need for them now.
The exchange has a symbolic meaning, a conclusion. She lovingly puts the shackles in her sister’s hands and closers her fingers around them. Her sister lays her back down on the bed and covers her in the sheet embracing her head with a gentle kiss and walks towards the door. Her eyes meets the young maidens eyes who wasn’t expecting the stare as the sister thrusts the shackles in her chest, followed by the door closing her off from them. Alone, and without an impending episode, she goes to the living quarters and pulls a small mat from behind a chest of drawers and places it on top of the round rug in the middle of the floor. She lies down and easily falls asleep with the shackles still in her hand.
She wakes to the jostling of drawers and a pleasant murmur and laughter from her sisters bedroom. They move about, talk, laugh, and continue their discussion with an airy presence in their voices. The young woman sits up on her mat and touches the apron on her shoulders and looks down at the stained dress covering her knees. Touching her face she pulls back the wisps of hair that tickle her eyes and nose. She rub’s her eyes together and pulls herself up from the mat to stand in a sobered posed still exhausted. She gathers the mat, places it behind the chest of drawers and finds her purse placing the shackles back inside. Their iron on iron musical pings muffled by the leather and fabric of their prison as she seals it putting them out of view and tucking the purse on the side of the chest of drawers.
Her sisters emerge from the bedroom. Their cloths, off white and green, mirrored each other in style, not in color. Their small rounded hats, longs beaded pearls, purses, and heeled shoes covering their faceless bodies. Her sisters were always there, in her mind, but they possessed no form outside of their what the cloths created. She saw them, but not beyond the shells of stylish bodies. She knew when they smiled, she understood when they looked into her soul, she cold feel it. But they never made a face, wrinkled a brow, or had eyes in their eyes. They will say things to her, she knows they do, for their words formed in her head as if she heard them say it. What to buy, what to do, what to look out for. Her daily orders, her only instructions and they her only security, but their mouths weren’t there on their empty faces.
They opened the bedroom door silencing the airy voices into a stillness of sound that can only be found in graveyards. Her ears strained to hear even the faintest of sounds, a foot step, breathing, shuffling, but there was nothing. The sisters looked at the young woman with their faceless, colorless expressions and they peered into her. Their eyes hollowed out from their faces into peering silhouettes of eyelids, but no eyes. She could hear them speaking to her.
“Elizabeth,” the voices came out sternly. “No day walking, no speaking to strangers. We need food for tonight’s meal, and coffee. Have it ready for when we return in 5 hours.” With that they looked at each other and their eyes closed back into the formless faces and they left latching the door behind them. Once they were out of sight she could hear them again giggling and talking to each other in their distant airy voices. They proceeded down the hall and these noises they made slowly faded into a natural quiet.
She pulled a coffee container resting in a kitchen cupboard, removed the money held inside and put on a simple pair of canvass shoes and waited by the door to be sure she wouldn’t see them when she left. After some time went by she opened the door and stuck her head out to see down the hall. It was a long narrow corridor leading from one end of the building to the other, and a staircase sat in the center of the building some distance away from their apartment. She closed the door and remained facing the doorframe holding onto the doorknob until the hall was painfully quiet. She then leaned back and looked down the hall towards the staircase, took in a deep breath and hurried down the narrow corridor stopping at the entrance of the staircase looking down and listening.
This pattern of looking, waiting, and dashing from location to location continued because her sisters instilled a feeling of paranoia about the world. Not of them, of the world and the evil it possessed. There were monsters in the night, but the night is the only world she lived in now. It was the day in her former life, before her sisters, that was even scarier to her if she were to believe her memories. Instead of asking to understand, she was happy to oblige her sister’s instructions, they continued to keep her safe and secure. Before them, the world was larger, and the shadows longer, the sounds were more horrifying, and ominous. Now they were part of her world, she was happy to hear the things that went bump in the night, as she felt a strange connection with them.
She walked calmly down the street listening with her head pointed upwards smelling the air, listening to its noise, and looking at the moon and stars as they lit the cobbled street. There was only one place she could go to at this time, a small shop a few miles down the road, with a gentle soul that tended the counter just for her. She walked there at a steady easy pace and arrived at a corner of a Neman Marcus building, and even in the late night a light shone onto the sidewalk through the windows of a rented corner store. The sight was uplifting, comfortable, and made her feel a little more alive and a part of the small world she lived in that was confined by the small apartment walls.
She walked through the door in a pleasant mood and came to the counter to greet her clerk who was currently absent. She put her hands on the edge of the counter followed by her nose peering across the worn pitted surface at the back wall. This wall was the display of the most beautiful and ornate decorations she had ever seen. She didn’t know what they were for, what they did, and why he sold them, but they were enticingly beautiful. She loved the store for this display, as no other shop in town had such a variety of colorful wares other than Christmas displays. Her eyes squinted and she let loose a giggle that exhaled through her nose and onto the counter. She slid across its front face away from the register eyeing the items slowly despite the fact she had memorized the displays contents and could tell when something had been purchased, moved, or restocked.
From behind a wall, a man emerged through a doorway with no door, and carried with him a milk crate filled with various perishable items. He sets it on the counter and stops to eye the young lady staring at the back wall.
“We need coffee,” she says without looking away from the back wall.
He reaches under the counter to organize the shelf intentionally ignoring her while she studies the back wall.
“Bernerd,” she quietly proclaims. “Coffee,” she says quietly mouthing the words with an exaggerated motion. She pulls her gaze away from the back wall and lifts herself up on her hands reaching over the counter to tug on his hair. He pulls back in response and looks up at her from under the counter. “Coff-ee,” she mouths again.
He stands up and gives her a glance as if to say, “I know,” but instead he claps his hands and rubs them together. He then walks behind the door in the wall disappearing into the storeroom. She watched him leave and once he could be heard shuffling around she turned around and started browsing the isles stopping only at a small rack of books of various ages resting alone and often ignored. Their dust covered status was nothing to worry about for her. Their status was familiar, almost as if the forgotten tombs belonged to her in spirit. No one bothered with them no one bothered with her, skipping over their visage for the more modern and flashy counterparts.
She pulls a book from the rack and opens the cover to flip through its pages. She finds the beginning of one chapter and starts reading its passages. She has the talent of reading quickly, and the book seems familiar. She succumbs to a sense of Déjà vu and her gaze drifts off to a half remembered moment of her previous life. She sees the pages of the book lit with the orange glow of the sun, shrouded by the foliage of a trees shade. She is sitting under it and she can see her own hands holding the book open to the same chapter, but her dress is bright and colorful. The memory changes to the quick glimmer of a sharp blade as she sees her neck open up in front of her as if she were looking into a mirror. Blood spills out of the open wound in her neck and she can feel its warm embrace run over her bosom.
The scouring pad rubbed against the counter in a circular motion leaving behind dark raised plows of soapy bubbles. A small framed barefooted woman in a homely dress wrapped in an apron stained with various confections, watches with a solemn face as her hand push the pad around creating a droll scratching sound. The kitchen remains dimly lit from artificial lamps and the sun remains tightly packed behind boarded and insulated windows. Rags and towels poke through cracks helping fight the creeping sunlight from the few windows that still don the sheer drapery. The apartment is small, and cramped, its effects pushed close together making the three rooms in this closed off world.
The kitchen contained a simple table with two chairs, one counter that elbowed into a large metallic sink which butted into a long cupboard. The small and cramped space appeared oversized with the small, young form standing in it staring at the growing soapy mass. Her distant glare focused on something beyond her duty, peering deeply into the counter and focusing within her own mind where she dwelled. Next to the kitchen was a short hallway that possessed two closed doors, one led into a bedroom and the other a closed. The living quarter sat across the kitchen and was only slightly larger with two cushioned chairs, an end table with a lamp and a chest of drawers that faced the kitchen.
A sudden exasperated gasp filled the apartment from wall to wall and the young woman jerked in response letting the pads soapy contents fly onto the walls. She drew her hands in still holding onto the pad allowing it to stain her apron. The gasp expanded its owner’s lungs slowing into a low idle gasp followed by metal on metal clanging as the body began to reanimate. The time she had been down was a quiet, passing moment. Only hours before she was screaming and lamenting upon her state in tongues and physical convulsions fighting against the shackles she was bound with before she passed out.
A second later the apartment was a cacophony of metal shackles fighting the metal frame they were attached to, a wailing of cries from pain, and a bed frames spring resistance to a struggling body bouncing around in a futile struggle. The girl stands in the kitchen remaining perfectly still in response. The cold water soaks through the apron onto her dress but she remains motionless. Her care taker, her family member, her sister is stranded in her bed during the fit and there is nothing at the moment that can be done about it.
Her other sister has left to retrieve the medicine that will calm her as it works miraculously well for a woman in her condition. This ailment has no name. It has no reason. It just happens, to all of them, and it scares her as she knows that this means her time is coming soon. Hopefully, with a hearty supply of the medication it won’t remain an enduring episode, outside of her restrained aunt. Her state of consciousness comes and goes throughout the day, the night, and into the dawn of the next morning. There are a few brief times of peace, but no moment is guaranteed and every passing instance is only a reminder of the calm that will be interrupted or the chaotic clamor that can’t be tamed.
When her aunt finally arrives she thrusts open the door without closing it behind her allowing it to bounce off of the wall shaking the dusty picture frames that hung loosely on the wall. She charges past the kitchen wielding a small paper bag and goes immediately into the bedroom and wakes her sister to administer the elixir. The young woman gently closes the door behind her latching it securely sealing their apartment once again from the outside world. Once she administers it the effect is immediate, she calms down and the apartment’s demons quiet once again.
The younger woman shyly approaches the bedroom and peeks around the corner holding onto the door frame hiding the rest of her body from them. The small room holds two beds juxtaposed against each other with a small night stand between them. The stand, dimly lit by a single electrical lamp casting a yellow glow over the entire room, holds the brown bag with the medicinal contents inside. The sisters sit on the bed facing one another, one of them hunches over stricken with exhaustion as a small bead of sweat forms on her forehead. She brings out the shackles she held in her lap and holds them up to her sister giving them to her as she has no need for them now.
The exchange has a symbolic meaning, a conclusion. She lovingly puts the shackles in her sister’s hands and closers her fingers around them. Her sister lays her back down on the bed and covers her in the sheet embracing her head with a gentle kiss and walks towards the door. Her eyes meets the young maidens eyes who wasn’t expecting the stare as the sister thrusts the shackles in her chest, followed by the door closing her off from them. Alone, and without an impending episode, she goes to the living quarters and pulls a small mat from behind a chest of drawers and places it on top of the round rug in the middle of the floor. She lies down and easily falls asleep with the shackles still in her hand.
She wakes to the jostling of drawers and a pleasant murmur and laughter from her sisters bedroom. They move about, talk, laugh, and continue their discussion with an airy presence in their voices. The young woman sits up on her mat and touches the apron on her shoulders and looks down at the stained dress covering her knees. Touching her face she pulls back the wisps of hair that tickle her eyes and nose. She rub’s her eyes together and pulls herself up from the mat to stand in a sobered posed still exhausted. She gathers the mat, places it behind the chest of drawers and finds her purse placing the shackles back inside. Their iron on iron musical pings muffled by the leather and fabric of their prison as she seals it putting them out of view and tucking the purse on the side of the chest of drawers.
Her sisters emerge from the bedroom. Their cloths, off white and green, mirrored each other in style, not in color. Their small rounded hats, longs beaded pearls, purses, and heeled shoes covering their faceless bodies. Her sisters were always there, in her mind, but they possessed no form outside of their what the cloths created. She saw them, but not beyond the shells of stylish bodies. She knew when they smiled, she understood when they looked into her soul, she cold feel it. But they never made a face, wrinkled a brow, or had eyes in their eyes. They will say things to her, she knows they do, for their words formed in her head as if she heard them say it. What to buy, what to do, what to look out for. Her daily orders, her only instructions and they her only security, but their mouths weren’t there on their empty faces.
They opened the bedroom door silencing the airy voices into a stillness of sound that can only be found in graveyards. Her ears strained to hear even the faintest of sounds, a foot step, breathing, shuffling, but there was nothing. The sisters looked at the young woman with their faceless, colorless expressions and they peered into her. Their eyes hollowed out from their faces into peering silhouettes of eyelids, but no eyes. She could hear them speaking to her.
“Elizabeth,” the voices came out sternly. “No day walking, no speaking to strangers. We need food for tonight’s meal, and coffee. Have it ready for when we return in 5 hours.” With that they looked at each other and their eyes closed back into the formless faces and they left latching the door behind them. Once they were out of sight she could hear them again giggling and talking to each other in their distant airy voices. They proceeded down the hall and these noises they made slowly faded into a natural quiet.
She pulled a coffee container resting in a kitchen cupboard, removed the money held inside and put on a simple pair of canvass shoes and waited by the door to be sure she wouldn’t see them when she left. After some time went by she opened the door and stuck her head out to see down the hall. It was a long narrow corridor leading from one end of the building to the other, and a staircase sat in the center of the building some distance away from their apartment. She closed the door and remained facing the doorframe holding onto the doorknob until the hall was painfully quiet. She then leaned back and looked down the hall towards the staircase, took in a deep breath and hurried down the narrow corridor stopping at the entrance of the staircase looking down and listening.
This pattern of looking, waiting, and dashing from location to location continued because her sisters instilled a feeling of paranoia about the world. Not of them, of the world and the evil it possessed. There were monsters in the night, but the night is the only world she lived in now. It was the day in her former life, before her sisters, that was even scarier to her if she were to believe her memories. Instead of asking to understand, she was happy to oblige her sister’s instructions, they continued to keep her safe and secure. Before them, the world was larger, and the shadows longer, the sounds were more horrifying, and ominous. Now they were part of her world, she was happy to hear the things that went bump in the night, as she felt a strange connection with them.
She walked calmly down the street listening with her head pointed upwards smelling the air, listening to its noise, and looking at the moon and stars as they lit the cobbled street. There was only one place she could go to at this time, a small shop a few miles down the road, with a gentle soul that tended the counter just for her. She walked there at a steady easy pace and arrived at a corner of a Neman Marcus building, and even in the late night a light shone onto the sidewalk through the windows of a rented corner store. The sight was uplifting, comfortable, and made her feel a little more alive and a part of the small world she lived in that was confined by the small apartment walls.
She walked through the door in a pleasant mood and came to the counter to greet her clerk who was currently absent. She put her hands on the edge of the counter followed by her nose peering across the worn pitted surface at the back wall. This wall was the display of the most beautiful and ornate decorations she had ever seen. She didn’t know what they were for, what they did, and why he sold them, but they were enticingly beautiful. She loved the store for this display, as no other shop in town had such a variety of colorful wares other than Christmas displays. Her eyes squinted and she let loose a giggle that exhaled through her nose and onto the counter. She slid across its front face away from the register eyeing the items slowly despite the fact she had memorized the displays contents and could tell when something had been purchased, moved, or restocked.
From behind a wall, a man emerged through a doorway with no door, and carried with him a milk crate filled with various perishable items. He sets it on the counter and stops to eye the young lady staring at the back wall.
“We need coffee,” she says without looking away from the back wall.
He reaches under the counter to organize the shelf intentionally ignoring her while she studies the back wall.
“Bernerd,” she quietly proclaims. “Coffee,” she says quietly mouthing the words with an exaggerated motion. She pulls her gaze away from the back wall and lifts herself up on her hands reaching over the counter to tug on his hair. He pulls back in response and looks up at her from under the counter. “Coff-ee,” she mouths again.
He stands up and gives her a glance as if to say, “I know,” but instead he claps his hands and rubs them together. He then walks behind the door in the wall disappearing into the storeroom. She watched him leave and once he could be heard shuffling around she turned around and started browsing the isles stopping only at a small rack of books of various ages resting alone and often ignored. Their dust covered status was nothing to worry about for her. Their status was familiar, almost as if the forgotten tombs belonged to her in spirit. No one bothered with them no one bothered with her, skipping over their visage for the more modern and flashy counterparts.
She pulls a book from the rack and opens the cover to flip through its pages. She finds the beginning of one chapter and starts reading its passages. She has the talent of reading quickly, and the book seems familiar. She succumbs to a sense of Déjà vu and her gaze drifts off to a half remembered moment of her previous life. She sees the pages of the book lit with the orange glow of the sun, shrouded by the foliage of a trees shade. She is sitting under it and she can see her own hands holding the book open to the same chapter, but her dress is bright and colorful. The memory changes to the quick glimmer of a sharp blade as she sees her neck open up in front of her as if she were looking into a mirror. Blood spills out of the open wound in her neck and she can feel its warm embrace run over her bosom.
Last edited by TMcCaine on Sat Jun 27, 2009 3:40 pm; edited 1 time in total
TMcCaine- Posts : 85
Join date : 2009-06-08
Location : Dallas TX, USA
Re: Elizabeth Taylor
TMcCaine Sat Jun 27, 2009 3:35 pm
Part 2
She closes the book and takes a startled breath. Dust flies from its edges creating a small cloud that fades quickly. She then places the book back on the rack to free her hands so she can touch her neck. She feels the cold skin of her fingers run across her neck, but there is no hole, she looks down at her stained dress and notes the stains from her chores and duties that are smattered across her apron. She lifts the apron up to her nose and smells it, a stench of stagnant water and soap fills her lungs. She remembers what she did yesterday, and the day before, she remembers what she just went through. And she feels ashamed for wearing such undignified clothing.
She walks to another isle and sees a rack containing one summer dress, a short ribboned dress with a simple elegance to it. “Made in France” the tag stated, and she took it off the rack and put it to her face inhaling the material. She could smell the fabric, it smelled nothing like what she was used to. It had no odor of lye, no perfume, no sweat; it hadn’t been worn by anyone. She again looked down at her dress and sized her small frame against it. It was too big for her young, small frame.
The man emerged from the doorframe again and this time he had a silver can and put it on the counter. He went to the cash register and began totaling the contents for her. He knew what she was here to purchase, how much, and of what types that she liked. The register chimed in response to its whirlwind of mechanical levers and machined precision properly totaling the provisions.
“One fifty,” he and the machine said. He watched her, he knew where she was hiding and watched her emerge from the isles and reluctantly walked away from the items. She watched draw away from her as her feet carried her towards the counter. She arrived and looked at him as he stared back at her. He was a working man and had short-ish dark hair that was always kept in a mess, his shirt was wrinkled and he wore a brown heavy apron often stained with dark colors and possibly rust. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his masculine form made it hard to button the top two buttons of his shirt. He used his green eyes to look at her, but they didn’t stare, they saw her. This was comforting to her and she always felt like he was someone she could confide with, but never did.
She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the proper amount. The one dollar bill folded in half, cupped to support the fifty cents that was made up of a collection of dimes and nickels. But this time he didn’t take the money. He looked at her and didn’t move. This made her uneasy as he had never done this before. He typically took the money and offered to help carry the food home for her. Said that he would close up shop and walk with her, didn’t matter how far, but she always turned him down in a polite, proper way. This time, he stopped and he didn’t seem happy, nor angry. His face looked down at her, the eyebrows turned down and he asked, “Why?”
She felt confused at the question and drew her hands back as if to instinctively protect the money.
“Why?” He asked again emphasizing the question more. “Doesn’t it make you ill?” She hears his question but it still has no meaning to her.
“I don’t,” she starts.
“The food,” he responds, “it should make you ill.”
She looks at the food, it seems normal, well taken care of. It has no rat bites or insect scratches along its waxy outer coverings. It’s pristine, perfectly preserved as it should be. Confused, she shakes her head and looks at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” he answers. With that he looks away at the milk crate and adjusts it on the counter, turning it slightly. “I need to show you something,” he unexpectedly states.
“What?” Her reply is nervous and she makes no effort to mask her confusion.
In a calm compassionate tone he stated, “There is something you should see.” It lacked sternness and its words reassured her that his intentions were genuine and lacked maliciousness.
“Ok,” she said nodding her head nervously turned her head towards the ground watching his feet as he came from behind the counter.
He ushered her out of the store and turned off the light and closed the door behind them. She looked up at him in wonderment, he has never before taken such aggressive actions towards her and he has never been any less than a gentleman to her. He wasn’t being one now and he took her hand with forwardness and escorted her down the street towards a movie house whose lights were turned off. Hundreds of glass orbs covered its façade and framed large letters of unknown names and cryptic passages. He stopped short of the front of the building and ducked down the narrow passageway between the film house and the adjacent buildings taking her with him.
Now she felt the need to interject, “No, a lady shouldn’t go down such a path,” she pleads.
He stops and turns to face her with an impatient expression. She forces her hand away from his and retracts back to the sidewalk looking down at his large worn leathery shoes. “Alright,” he sighs and puts one hand through his hair and looks around the film house front. The entry doors appear to be secured, but he proceeds to one of them anyway and gives it a tug. With that, it pops open with a chunk sound and he steps in. She waits there for him wondering what he expected of her. He emerges from behind the large wooden door and holds it open for her, “please,” he says motioning for her to enter.
She slowly walks forward looking into the lit interior of the movie houses foyer. It had red carpet, gilded columns, and velvet rope suspended on brass poles. It was a beautiful sight and it pulled her in slowly. Once inside the foyer led into two hallways, one to the left, and one to the right, as well as a large arched doorway in front of the entrance. She looked to him as he tried patiently to wait for her to absorb the spectacular interior on the next course of actions.
Noticing her intrigue he went to a small secrete door that was designed to look like part of the curved sweeping wall on the far side of the foyer. He opened it and displayed a simple narrow staircase that it was hiding. She stared at it, the secrete path he exposed to her was enticing. She looked at him and he smiled signifying that the passage was safe so she continued up the stairs. They were steep steps and took some effort to navigate. They turned and spiraled upwards and as she made the corner she could see a bright red door with a worn brass handle at the top. This beautifully simple door was a curiosity, but had no aura of danger. She was reminded of a girl named Alice, who went through a door and found herself in a grand adventure. She felt she must push forward.
She grabbed the brass handle and pulled herself into the door and stood there, listening. There were no sounds coming from the other side of the door and she pushed it open. It obliged without resistance and swung open revealing a room of cabinets that surrounded a single metallic contraption in the center of the small room. The contraption was the most important device in the room, it had to be. It was clean, it had no dust on it like some of the cabinets and random flat circular tin containers, and pointed out a window on the far side of the room. The cabinets held unique machined wheels that wouldn’t work for a cart or any contraption she has ever seen.
She continued in the direction it pointed at and followed it to the window looking out. She cold see a man standing behind a podium addressing others who sat in beautifully crafted chairs that aligned themselves to all point at the stage. He stood there talking to the others and his voice didn’t carry far enough to be heard all the way up here.
Bernard came through the door and took off his apron, she looked at him over the metallic contraption and he asked, “Who are you?”
The question again was as enigmatic as the previous ones. This placed hadn’t given her any answers and his manner was becoming more alien and confusing with every passing moment. She stared at him and breathed a little faster becoming even more nervous, “I don’t know how to answer you,” she replied.
“Do you hear them,” he asked pointing to the crowd below.
“I can, but I don’t understand them.”
Bernard went to the window and squatted in front of it. He closed his eyes and turned a ear to the strangers below. “I can, if you listen you could. We all can, its not beyond our means.” His statements, again strange, but she felt compelled to try. He stood up and reached out a hand to envite her to the window. “Come on, I’ll help.”
She steps forward and takes his hand as he guides her to the window. She kneels down and listens intently through it concentrating on the people below.
“There are still some issues to address,” the man at the podium stated, “but we can’t tackle them all. For now I think we should allow certain members who have a few statements some floor time.” He stopped for a moment and she could hear his hand run over the paper, “The floor recognizes William Makeshift.”
With that she was taken back and stood up walking backwards towards the machine. She stopped when its pointing apparatus poked her in the back and she held onto the table it was resting on.
“You heard, for the first time I bet,” he says to her with a calm congratulatory tone. He steps closer to her and she shakes in response darting to the other side of the mechanical contraption to a rack of flat circular tins each labeled in their own categorizational style. She cups her hands over her ears and feels her heart race in her chest. The noises she picks up on aren’t overwhelming, just startling. “The question is more rhetorical that literal,” he starts again watching the conversation below, “asking yourself that question yet?”
She stops and stares around the room. He goes to a corner where a coat rack hides behind a shelf and takes out his long jacket. The dirty pea soup style jacket fits him well as he looks at her from across the room. She can see him clearly, but his stance changes. She can sense his demeanor shift. He begins to scare her as he wraps his scarf around his neck.
“Don’t you feel it,” he begins, “they are the same as I, the same as you.”
She, again not understanding his words, pulls back into the rack.
He turns to face the window again, “The night has comfort for you. It is peaceful, but you don’t realize you are a part of the night. We are part of it.” He slowly turns towards her, his eyes glowing with an unnatural red. Her eyes widen in terror as he says “You need to see yourself for who you really are.”
She gasps for air and holds her hands over her mouth to hold in the scream.
He turns to completely face her and steps forward. “You don’t see yourself for who you really are. Look at yourself!” he barks at her with a voice that echoes in her mind over and over again. Its words to leave her and she feels compelled to do what he says.
She looks down at her apron and sees a body that is strange to her. Her breasts fill the dress, her hips push it outward, a grown woman’s form is held inside the cloths and she feels that it is not her body. She finds herself trapped in someone else’s body, someone else’s life. She can’t remember how she became a woman, how she grew to feel at peace with the night. She panics, and runs.
She closes the book and takes a startled breath. Dust flies from its edges creating a small cloud that fades quickly. She then places the book back on the rack to free her hands so she can touch her neck. She feels the cold skin of her fingers run across her neck, but there is no hole, she looks down at her stained dress and notes the stains from her chores and duties that are smattered across her apron. She lifts the apron up to her nose and smells it, a stench of stagnant water and soap fills her lungs. She remembers what she did yesterday, and the day before, she remembers what she just went through. And she feels ashamed for wearing such undignified clothing.
She walks to another isle and sees a rack containing one summer dress, a short ribboned dress with a simple elegance to it. “Made in France” the tag stated, and she took it off the rack and put it to her face inhaling the material. She could smell the fabric, it smelled nothing like what she was used to. It had no odor of lye, no perfume, no sweat; it hadn’t been worn by anyone. She again looked down at her dress and sized her small frame against it. It was too big for her young, small frame.
The man emerged from the doorframe again and this time he had a silver can and put it on the counter. He went to the cash register and began totaling the contents for her. He knew what she was here to purchase, how much, and of what types that she liked. The register chimed in response to its whirlwind of mechanical levers and machined precision properly totaling the provisions.
“One fifty,” he and the machine said. He watched her, he knew where she was hiding and watched her emerge from the isles and reluctantly walked away from the items. She watched draw away from her as her feet carried her towards the counter. She arrived and looked at him as he stared back at her. He was a working man and had short-ish dark hair that was always kept in a mess, his shirt was wrinkled and he wore a brown heavy apron often stained with dark colors and possibly rust. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his masculine form made it hard to button the top two buttons of his shirt. He used his green eyes to look at her, but they didn’t stare, they saw her. This was comforting to her and she always felt like he was someone she could confide with, but never did.
She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out the proper amount. The one dollar bill folded in half, cupped to support the fifty cents that was made up of a collection of dimes and nickels. But this time he didn’t take the money. He looked at her and didn’t move. This made her uneasy as he had never done this before. He typically took the money and offered to help carry the food home for her. Said that he would close up shop and walk with her, didn’t matter how far, but she always turned him down in a polite, proper way. This time, he stopped and he didn’t seem happy, nor angry. His face looked down at her, the eyebrows turned down and he asked, “Why?”
She felt confused at the question and drew her hands back as if to instinctively protect the money.
“Why?” He asked again emphasizing the question more. “Doesn’t it make you ill?” She hears his question but it still has no meaning to her.
“I don’t,” she starts.
“The food,” he responds, “it should make you ill.”
She looks at the food, it seems normal, well taken care of. It has no rat bites or insect scratches along its waxy outer coverings. It’s pristine, perfectly preserved as it should be. Confused, she shakes her head and looks at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” he answers. With that he looks away at the milk crate and adjusts it on the counter, turning it slightly. “I need to show you something,” he unexpectedly states.
“What?” Her reply is nervous and she makes no effort to mask her confusion.
In a calm compassionate tone he stated, “There is something you should see.” It lacked sternness and its words reassured her that his intentions were genuine and lacked maliciousness.
“Ok,” she said nodding her head nervously turned her head towards the ground watching his feet as he came from behind the counter.
He ushered her out of the store and turned off the light and closed the door behind them. She looked up at him in wonderment, he has never before taken such aggressive actions towards her and he has never been any less than a gentleman to her. He wasn’t being one now and he took her hand with forwardness and escorted her down the street towards a movie house whose lights were turned off. Hundreds of glass orbs covered its façade and framed large letters of unknown names and cryptic passages. He stopped short of the front of the building and ducked down the narrow passageway between the film house and the adjacent buildings taking her with him.
Now she felt the need to interject, “No, a lady shouldn’t go down such a path,” she pleads.
He stops and turns to face her with an impatient expression. She forces her hand away from his and retracts back to the sidewalk looking down at his large worn leathery shoes. “Alright,” he sighs and puts one hand through his hair and looks around the film house front. The entry doors appear to be secured, but he proceeds to one of them anyway and gives it a tug. With that, it pops open with a chunk sound and he steps in. She waits there for him wondering what he expected of her. He emerges from behind the large wooden door and holds it open for her, “please,” he says motioning for her to enter.
She slowly walks forward looking into the lit interior of the movie houses foyer. It had red carpet, gilded columns, and velvet rope suspended on brass poles. It was a beautiful sight and it pulled her in slowly. Once inside the foyer led into two hallways, one to the left, and one to the right, as well as a large arched doorway in front of the entrance. She looked to him as he tried patiently to wait for her to absorb the spectacular interior on the next course of actions.
Noticing her intrigue he went to a small secrete door that was designed to look like part of the curved sweeping wall on the far side of the foyer. He opened it and displayed a simple narrow staircase that it was hiding. She stared at it, the secrete path he exposed to her was enticing. She looked at him and he smiled signifying that the passage was safe so she continued up the stairs. They were steep steps and took some effort to navigate. They turned and spiraled upwards and as she made the corner she could see a bright red door with a worn brass handle at the top. This beautifully simple door was a curiosity, but had no aura of danger. She was reminded of a girl named Alice, who went through a door and found herself in a grand adventure. She felt she must push forward.
She grabbed the brass handle and pulled herself into the door and stood there, listening. There were no sounds coming from the other side of the door and she pushed it open. It obliged without resistance and swung open revealing a room of cabinets that surrounded a single metallic contraption in the center of the small room. The contraption was the most important device in the room, it had to be. It was clean, it had no dust on it like some of the cabinets and random flat circular tin containers, and pointed out a window on the far side of the room. The cabinets held unique machined wheels that wouldn’t work for a cart or any contraption she has ever seen.
She continued in the direction it pointed at and followed it to the window looking out. She cold see a man standing behind a podium addressing others who sat in beautifully crafted chairs that aligned themselves to all point at the stage. He stood there talking to the others and his voice didn’t carry far enough to be heard all the way up here.
Bernard came through the door and took off his apron, she looked at him over the metallic contraption and he asked, “Who are you?”
The question again was as enigmatic as the previous ones. This placed hadn’t given her any answers and his manner was becoming more alien and confusing with every passing moment. She stared at him and breathed a little faster becoming even more nervous, “I don’t know how to answer you,” she replied.
“Do you hear them,” he asked pointing to the crowd below.
“I can, but I don’t understand them.”
Bernard went to the window and squatted in front of it. He closed his eyes and turned a ear to the strangers below. “I can, if you listen you could. We all can, its not beyond our means.” His statements, again strange, but she felt compelled to try. He stood up and reached out a hand to envite her to the window. “Come on, I’ll help.”
She steps forward and takes his hand as he guides her to the window. She kneels down and listens intently through it concentrating on the people below.
“There are still some issues to address,” the man at the podium stated, “but we can’t tackle them all. For now I think we should allow certain members who have a few statements some floor time.” He stopped for a moment and she could hear his hand run over the paper, “The floor recognizes William Makeshift.”
With that she was taken back and stood up walking backwards towards the machine. She stopped when its pointing apparatus poked her in the back and she held onto the table it was resting on.
“You heard, for the first time I bet,” he says to her with a calm congratulatory tone. He steps closer to her and she shakes in response darting to the other side of the mechanical contraption to a rack of flat circular tins each labeled in their own categorizational style. She cups her hands over her ears and feels her heart race in her chest. The noises she picks up on aren’t overwhelming, just startling. “The question is more rhetorical that literal,” he starts again watching the conversation below, “asking yourself that question yet?”
She stops and stares around the room. He goes to a corner where a coat rack hides behind a shelf and takes out his long jacket. The dirty pea soup style jacket fits him well as he looks at her from across the room. She can see him clearly, but his stance changes. She can sense his demeanor shift. He begins to scare her as he wraps his scarf around his neck.
“Don’t you feel it,” he begins, “they are the same as I, the same as you.”
She, again not understanding his words, pulls back into the rack.
He turns to face the window again, “The night has comfort for you. It is peaceful, but you don’t realize you are a part of the night. We are part of it.” He slowly turns towards her, his eyes glowing with an unnatural red. Her eyes widen in terror as he says “You need to see yourself for who you really are.”
She gasps for air and holds her hands over her mouth to hold in the scream.
He turns to completely face her and steps forward. “You don’t see yourself for who you really are. Look at yourself!” he barks at her with a voice that echoes in her mind over and over again. Its words to leave her and she feels compelled to do what he says.
She looks down at her apron and sees a body that is strange to her. Her breasts fill the dress, her hips push it outward, a grown woman’s form is held inside the cloths and she feels that it is not her body. She finds herself trapped in someone else’s body, someone else’s life. She can’t remember how she became a woman, how she grew to feel at peace with the night. She panics, and runs.
TMcCaine- Posts : 85
Join date : 2009-06-08
Location : Dallas TX, USA
Re: Elizabeth Taylor
TMcCaine Sat Jun 27, 2009 4:39 pm
Part 3
She runs out of the theater and towards her home. Her apron’s strings trail along with her hair as she holds one hand over her mouth to remain quiet. Her feet carry her quickly to her home but she looses a shoe in the process. She runs up several flights of stairs, down her hallway, and into her home closing the door as quickly as she can behind her. She props herself on the doorway and slides to the floor crying. She looks at her hands and sees long working fingers on a woman’s hand. They are still strange, the physical maturity is alien and she sobs to herself. The scars on her hands she remembers, but the age of its form is hard to comprehend.
She takes a few breaths to calm down and wipes the tears from her cheeks. At the moment her hand draws across her face she notices her purse lying on the floor, open. She sits still listening for any movement or ruckus from the bedroom and hears none. She slowly gets up and staggers towards the bedroom door which rests slightly ajar. She strains to peer in but sees nothing but darkness inside the room. Stepping up to the doorway she continues to strain to hear any hint that someone is there. A stranger that has broken in? Her aunts? She remembers that she hasn’t gathered the food, made the coffee or prepared for their return.
She stops her breathing focusing on the potential occupants of the room. She tries as hard as she can but her hart fights back. A tense pain fills her chest causing her to gasp for air and it beats in her chest with an inhuman pounding. Standing there frozen from the pain she realizes what’s happening. Her hands instinctively reach out to find the door frame and knocks open the door with her searching hands feeling larger in body than what she is accustomed to. As the door opens the soft yellow light spreads across the floor and the opposing wall but it fails to illuminate the two bodies as the hands bearing the shackles reach through the darkness at her grabbing her body and pulling her in.
She screams aloud at the realization that it is her turn to endure her family’s tormenting curse. She fights this fact, but doesn’t intentionally fight her sisters as they pull her in. She kicks and pushes instinctively at the grabbing appendages, but she looses in the end and they bind her hands to the bed frame. The door shuts sealing her in barely muffling the screams in tongues and the convulsive fits. Hopefully soon, her sisters will administer the medicine, hopefully there is enough left to satiate this demon that boils in her blood.
The following hours, days, and nights are a blur of shapes and colors streaking across her eyes. She can make out no passing hour, no sounds, no shapes, there is nothing comforting about these moments that she is forced to endure.
The passing time is a blur. She knows what happens from the experience she has from her older sisters, but this offers no comfort. She feels shameful for this curse, she damns it in her mind but it does no good. When she can think clearly on her own the medicine will have worked its course, she will have been freed from this cycle again and hopefully the time that passes until the next one will be momentous enough to feel as if she cold bare it again. As it is now death would not be a bad alternative.
Her mind clears and the shapeless forms come into focus at the end of the long hallway of her apartment building. She stands there with her hair unbound in a mess around her face. Her apron is falling off of her body and her dress strap has torn exposing her shoulder. Her arms dangle at her sides and her stance is staggered in an ‘S’ shape with her chest curving into her stomach curving into her small hips. Her body is familiar again but she stands there staring down the hallway through her hair. She can see its entire breath from the window she stands at to the opposing window far, far away.
She runs out of the theater and towards her home. Her apron’s strings trail along with her hair as she holds one hand over her mouth to remain quiet. Her feet carry her quickly to her home but she looses a shoe in the process. She runs up several flights of stairs, down her hallway, and into her home closing the door as quickly as she can behind her. She props herself on the doorway and slides to the floor crying. She looks at her hands and sees long working fingers on a woman’s hand. They are still strange, the physical maturity is alien and she sobs to herself. The scars on her hands she remembers, but the age of its form is hard to comprehend.
She takes a few breaths to calm down and wipes the tears from her cheeks. At the moment her hand draws across her face she notices her purse lying on the floor, open. She sits still listening for any movement or ruckus from the bedroom and hears none. She slowly gets up and staggers towards the bedroom door which rests slightly ajar. She strains to peer in but sees nothing but darkness inside the room. Stepping up to the doorway she continues to strain to hear any hint that someone is there. A stranger that has broken in? Her aunts? She remembers that she hasn’t gathered the food, made the coffee or prepared for their return.
She stops her breathing focusing on the potential occupants of the room. She tries as hard as she can but her hart fights back. A tense pain fills her chest causing her to gasp for air and it beats in her chest with an inhuman pounding. Standing there frozen from the pain she realizes what’s happening. Her hands instinctively reach out to find the door frame and knocks open the door with her searching hands feeling larger in body than what she is accustomed to. As the door opens the soft yellow light spreads across the floor and the opposing wall but it fails to illuminate the two bodies as the hands bearing the shackles reach through the darkness at her grabbing her body and pulling her in.
She screams aloud at the realization that it is her turn to endure her family’s tormenting curse. She fights this fact, but doesn’t intentionally fight her sisters as they pull her in. She kicks and pushes instinctively at the grabbing appendages, but she looses in the end and they bind her hands to the bed frame. The door shuts sealing her in barely muffling the screams in tongues and the convulsive fits. Hopefully soon, her sisters will administer the medicine, hopefully there is enough left to satiate this demon that boils in her blood.
The following hours, days, and nights are a blur of shapes and colors streaking across her eyes. She can make out no passing hour, no sounds, no shapes, there is nothing comforting about these moments that she is forced to endure.
The passing time is a blur. She knows what happens from the experience she has from her older sisters, but this offers no comfort. She feels shameful for this curse, she damns it in her mind but it does no good. When she can think clearly on her own the medicine will have worked its course, she will have been freed from this cycle again and hopefully the time that passes until the next one will be momentous enough to feel as if she cold bare it again. As it is now death would not be a bad alternative.
Her mind clears and the shapeless forms come into focus at the end of the long hallway of her apartment building. She stands there with her hair unbound in a mess around her face. Her apron is falling off of her body and her dress strap has torn exposing her shoulder. Her arms dangle at her sides and her stance is staggered in an ‘S’ shape with her chest curving into her stomach curving into her small hips. Her body is familiar again but she stands there staring down the hallway through her hair. She can see its entire breath from the window she stands at to the opposing window far, far away.
TMcCaine- Posts : 85
Join date : 2009-06-08
Location : Dallas TX, USA
Re: Elizabeth Taylor
Elizabeth Taylor Sun Jun 28, 2009 12:11 am
With a quiver of her lip as if she struggling to speak she straightens herself up. "I forgot the coffee...." she says as she slowly attempts to remember that night.
(so where have I ended up? And this is brilliant Cain, if your book is as good as this I will definitely buy it.)
(so where have I ended up? And this is brilliant Cain, if your book is as good as this I will definitely buy it.)
Elizabeth Taylor- Posts : 13
Join date : 2009-06-08
Part 1
TMcCaine Wed Jul 22, 2009 11:11 am
Part 1
<S.T.> She stands there facing down the hallway. She just came to, and realized she didn't quite finish her chores. She is tired and shows every sign of it. Her arms sag, her feet drag, and her dress has become dirtier.
<Elizabeth Taylor> Elizabeth squints in the darkness attempting to survey her surroundings the way Bernard showed her. “S-sis,” she timidly squeaks out, “y-y-ou there? I think its time for my medicine.”
<S.T.> Focusing on the hallway peering down its dark interior, it waves and contorts. She isn’t sure at first if its her moving or the room, but the shadows pull back, the dust particles show themselves, the neighbors and their snoring become louder to her as she can hear the building settle letting off eerie pops and creaks.
With a slight movement of her foot she move it forward feeling the cold hardwood floor scrape underneath. Each crevasse becomes a valley and each peak a mountain underfoot. Dirt, dust, and debris gather at the edge of her advancing appendage and it starts to slide across the polished but unkempt surface.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “This isn't my home. This isn't how I left it. Where am I? How much time has passed?” she ponders to herself trying to regain her lost time and reorient herself to the hear and now.
<S.T.> The auditory trip becomes a grand exploration in senses most often thought mundane. Her senses become alive with the night air, each one picks up on anything and everything. Even the breeze brings to her the scent of blood, an unfortunate smell as it forces open her eyes. The large window she stood by is turned open. Pivoting on an axis in the middle of the window, its underside opened to the outside with the top side open to the hall. It’s early in the evening, the sun set only a few hours ago. "Most likely 10pm," she thinks to herself. The night still young, and many things left to discover.
The night's breeze and the smell draw her to the window. Its dusty curtains emanate a dry odor with a wisp of sweet blood coming from the outside. The thought of blood brought her out of this perceptive adventure and right back into the hallway looking out a dirty window. Outside the street is calm; the wind is the only disturbing force outside a random cat that streaks across the streets.
<Elizabeth Taylor> Elizabeth quickly assesses the situation, realizing that the sisters aren't around. She is free to do as she pleases for the night and lets out a pitched giggle as she sticks her head out the window.
<S.T.> Perching her hands upon the windowsill she pushes it open further as it turns to admit her small figure and the night air rushes across the face of the building.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Well that might help the smell, but this place is a mess!” she says to herself and takes a deep breath of the nights air. “Although that does smell like blood, someone might be hurt! Oh no, no, no. that will not do!” She pulls herself back inside the hallway and finds a need to investigate.
<S.T.> The young girl makes her way to the street level and begins to search around. The blood scent, definitely human, continuously finds its way to her nostrils. She stands up on her toes to raise her nose into the air to smell it again; the scent comes from the southwest, towards the park, carried by the wind.
<Elizabeth Taylor> Liz takes a deep breath as she says to herself, “Come on girl, just a little further!” as she heads down the road following the odor.
<S.T.> She looks over her shoulder knowing that the smell comes from the opposite direction as her friend, Bernard, "but such a chance to indulge in curiosity" she mutters to herself, and allows her feet to carry her towards the unknown.
The walk is mixed with a reminder of her objective, and the bare footed sensations left by the sidewalk as she strides down it. The cobbled worn texture and the previous day’s footsteps keep her entertained as she finds herself suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of blood.
The breeze hits her body and as if she were dropped in a river of blood as her senses are overwhelmed by the presence of the red substance. The sensation washes over to be replaced by the sharp chirped laughter of children playing. Their personal joyous adventure happening close by, at a gothic styled building surrounded by stone walls hiding their interior from view. The buildings walls appear cold and damp, but dry to the touch emanating from within, the scent of blood.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “I hope the children aren't in any trouble!”
<S.T.> The wall is tall, but not tall as one might think a siege wall, but its height makes it a stubborn obstacle for a passerby, especially the short statured Liz.
<Elizabeth Taylor> This doesn’t deter her as she attempts to climb the wall.
<S.T.> While she looks up at the wall the laughter silences, and for a moment the silence is absolutely deafening. As she attempts to climb the wall the silence approaches, only broken by the footsteps made by a single, small pair of feet as they break the silence growing in intensity signaling their approach.
She reaches up to the top of the wall touching the walls capstone, her hands rest on the walls face and she can hear a pair of bare hands slap against the wall as if they too met the wall for a reason. And then again, the quiet.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Hello?” She quietly calls out.
<S.T.> As she stands there straining to listen, she hears a boyish voice from atop the wall talking at her "G-day miss, whut brings you 'bouts 'ere?" he asks as he pulls himself over the top to see her, mid attempt.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “I-I-I thought I smelled something,” she steps down, “and then I heard laughter, I was just checking to make sure everything was alright.”
<S.T.> He eyes her with a questioning glare, one she has seen before. The eyes tell her that she knows, but doesn’t know, they look into her as Bernard did when he asked “why?”
"You weren't sent here by me 'uncle was ya?" he asks.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Uncle? No. I could help you find him if you are lost,” she pleads with him in a soft caring tone.
<S.T.> "Look," he says while drawing his head back behind the wall pointing towards the building, "I live 'ere miss. It’s an orphanage.” He returns placing both hands on the walls top bracing himself in place. “But me uncle stops by ever now 'n then. I think he aims to take me in!" He says with a smile, his face as it beams with the happy though unnaturally wrinkles in the nights light. Age sets upon him in an unnatural fashion, and his collar shows a red stain across its white starched surface as his head wavers in his attempt to hold it up.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Are you bleeding?” She asks, hands drawn to her face.
<S.T.> His neck whittled with bruises, and his appearance fades to a pale complexion as he loses energy. “'scuse me, I best be gettin back.” The sentence ends with his eyes closing and his arms going limp. His body falls but never hits the ground.
The foot steps could be heard again leaving the wall, but this time not alone as a heavy object can be heard scraping across the playgrounds dirt surface.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Wait!” She yells out to get his attention jumping back onto the wall.
<S.T.> She puts her feet on the stone base and pushes herself up as far as she could reach, her hands just barely touch the base of the decorative stone work at the top of the wall. Her arm stretches as far as she can push it just barely able to put fingers over the top.
She steps back and looks up and down the wall to find some way to get at the boy who has found peril somehow on this evening. Focusing intently on the buildings wall she can see its base sharply turning around the corner, and on that side she hears a single gate swinging loosely on its latch.
Elizabeth holds her dress in her hands and takes off for the gate. She turns the corner and sees a small wrought iron servant’s gate loosely secured in the back corner of the orphanages playground.
She opens it and its creaking rings in her ears. She pushes it open wide enough for her to pass through and runs across the dirt playfield following the wall looking for any sign of the boy.
She stops along the wall and sees the ground as it was disturbed by a large form being dragged across it. The wall, being slightly shorter on this side, holds a piece of his uniform as it remains on the walls decorative stone cap, caught between two worked stone pieces. Most likely from his fall, a trail leads one directly to the inside of the orphanage.
The yard is well kept, its just dirt, bits of grass and a stone yard in the middle. She stands off to the side of the playground seeking signs of his whereabouts. She finds a tooth. A single small tooth, most likely from the child.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She picks that up and puts it in her purse as she follow a set of tracks gouged in the ground from the object, most likely the boy, as it was pulled towards the building.
<S.T.> The tracks lead up to a heavy wooden door, most likely a servant’s door. It is a heavy wooden Dutch style door and the lower portion remains slightly ajar making egress unimpeded.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She removes the manacles from her purse as her ‘just in case’ tool of opportunity.
<S.T.> She pushes the door open and it creaks with a much less aggressive sound. It hums silently as the lower door opens. The interior holds many columns as you kneel down to study it; sturdy table legs fill the room with a plethora of cabinetry and cooking equipment. She slide herself inside and stands up peering over the busy room with its many shadows.
<S.T.> She stands there facing down the hallway. She just came to, and realized she didn't quite finish her chores. She is tired and shows every sign of it. Her arms sag, her feet drag, and her dress has become dirtier.
<Elizabeth Taylor> Elizabeth squints in the darkness attempting to survey her surroundings the way Bernard showed her. “S-sis,” she timidly squeaks out, “y-y-ou there? I think its time for my medicine.”
<S.T.> Focusing on the hallway peering down its dark interior, it waves and contorts. She isn’t sure at first if its her moving or the room, but the shadows pull back, the dust particles show themselves, the neighbors and their snoring become louder to her as she can hear the building settle letting off eerie pops and creaks.
With a slight movement of her foot she move it forward feeling the cold hardwood floor scrape underneath. Each crevasse becomes a valley and each peak a mountain underfoot. Dirt, dust, and debris gather at the edge of her advancing appendage and it starts to slide across the polished but unkempt surface.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “This isn't my home. This isn't how I left it. Where am I? How much time has passed?” she ponders to herself trying to regain her lost time and reorient herself to the hear and now.
<S.T.> The auditory trip becomes a grand exploration in senses most often thought mundane. Her senses become alive with the night air, each one picks up on anything and everything. Even the breeze brings to her the scent of blood, an unfortunate smell as it forces open her eyes. The large window she stood by is turned open. Pivoting on an axis in the middle of the window, its underside opened to the outside with the top side open to the hall. It’s early in the evening, the sun set only a few hours ago. "Most likely 10pm," she thinks to herself. The night still young, and many things left to discover.
The night's breeze and the smell draw her to the window. Its dusty curtains emanate a dry odor with a wisp of sweet blood coming from the outside. The thought of blood brought her out of this perceptive adventure and right back into the hallway looking out a dirty window. Outside the street is calm; the wind is the only disturbing force outside a random cat that streaks across the streets.
<Elizabeth Taylor> Elizabeth quickly assesses the situation, realizing that the sisters aren't around. She is free to do as she pleases for the night and lets out a pitched giggle as she sticks her head out the window.
<S.T.> Perching her hands upon the windowsill she pushes it open further as it turns to admit her small figure and the night air rushes across the face of the building.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Well that might help the smell, but this place is a mess!” she says to herself and takes a deep breath of the nights air. “Although that does smell like blood, someone might be hurt! Oh no, no, no. that will not do!” She pulls herself back inside the hallway and finds a need to investigate.
<S.T.> The young girl makes her way to the street level and begins to search around. The blood scent, definitely human, continuously finds its way to her nostrils. She stands up on her toes to raise her nose into the air to smell it again; the scent comes from the southwest, towards the park, carried by the wind.
<Elizabeth Taylor> Liz takes a deep breath as she says to herself, “Come on girl, just a little further!” as she heads down the road following the odor.
<S.T.> She looks over her shoulder knowing that the smell comes from the opposite direction as her friend, Bernard, "but such a chance to indulge in curiosity" she mutters to herself, and allows her feet to carry her towards the unknown.
The walk is mixed with a reminder of her objective, and the bare footed sensations left by the sidewalk as she strides down it. The cobbled worn texture and the previous day’s footsteps keep her entertained as she finds herself suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of blood.
The breeze hits her body and as if she were dropped in a river of blood as her senses are overwhelmed by the presence of the red substance. The sensation washes over to be replaced by the sharp chirped laughter of children playing. Their personal joyous adventure happening close by, at a gothic styled building surrounded by stone walls hiding their interior from view. The buildings walls appear cold and damp, but dry to the touch emanating from within, the scent of blood.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “I hope the children aren't in any trouble!”
<S.T.> The wall is tall, but not tall as one might think a siege wall, but its height makes it a stubborn obstacle for a passerby, especially the short statured Liz.
<Elizabeth Taylor> This doesn’t deter her as she attempts to climb the wall.
<S.T.> While she looks up at the wall the laughter silences, and for a moment the silence is absolutely deafening. As she attempts to climb the wall the silence approaches, only broken by the footsteps made by a single, small pair of feet as they break the silence growing in intensity signaling their approach.
She reaches up to the top of the wall touching the walls capstone, her hands rest on the walls face and she can hear a pair of bare hands slap against the wall as if they too met the wall for a reason. And then again, the quiet.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Hello?” She quietly calls out.
<S.T.> As she stands there straining to listen, she hears a boyish voice from atop the wall talking at her "G-day miss, whut brings you 'bouts 'ere?" he asks as he pulls himself over the top to see her, mid attempt.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “I-I-I thought I smelled something,” she steps down, “and then I heard laughter, I was just checking to make sure everything was alright.”
<S.T.> He eyes her with a questioning glare, one she has seen before. The eyes tell her that she knows, but doesn’t know, they look into her as Bernard did when he asked “why?”
"You weren't sent here by me 'uncle was ya?" he asks.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Uncle? No. I could help you find him if you are lost,” she pleads with him in a soft caring tone.
<S.T.> "Look," he says while drawing his head back behind the wall pointing towards the building, "I live 'ere miss. It’s an orphanage.” He returns placing both hands on the walls top bracing himself in place. “But me uncle stops by ever now 'n then. I think he aims to take me in!" He says with a smile, his face as it beams with the happy though unnaturally wrinkles in the nights light. Age sets upon him in an unnatural fashion, and his collar shows a red stain across its white starched surface as his head wavers in his attempt to hold it up.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Are you bleeding?” She asks, hands drawn to her face.
<S.T.> His neck whittled with bruises, and his appearance fades to a pale complexion as he loses energy. “'scuse me, I best be gettin back.” The sentence ends with his eyes closing and his arms going limp. His body falls but never hits the ground.
The foot steps could be heard again leaving the wall, but this time not alone as a heavy object can be heard scraping across the playgrounds dirt surface.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Wait!” She yells out to get his attention jumping back onto the wall.
<S.T.> She puts her feet on the stone base and pushes herself up as far as she could reach, her hands just barely touch the base of the decorative stone work at the top of the wall. Her arm stretches as far as she can push it just barely able to put fingers over the top.
She steps back and looks up and down the wall to find some way to get at the boy who has found peril somehow on this evening. Focusing intently on the buildings wall she can see its base sharply turning around the corner, and on that side she hears a single gate swinging loosely on its latch.
Elizabeth holds her dress in her hands and takes off for the gate. She turns the corner and sees a small wrought iron servant’s gate loosely secured in the back corner of the orphanages playground.
She opens it and its creaking rings in her ears. She pushes it open wide enough for her to pass through and runs across the dirt playfield following the wall looking for any sign of the boy.
She stops along the wall and sees the ground as it was disturbed by a large form being dragged across it. The wall, being slightly shorter on this side, holds a piece of his uniform as it remains on the walls decorative stone cap, caught between two worked stone pieces. Most likely from his fall, a trail leads one directly to the inside of the orphanage.
The yard is well kept, its just dirt, bits of grass and a stone yard in the middle. She stands off to the side of the playground seeking signs of his whereabouts. She finds a tooth. A single small tooth, most likely from the child.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She picks that up and puts it in her purse as she follow a set of tracks gouged in the ground from the object, most likely the boy, as it was pulled towards the building.
<S.T.> The tracks lead up to a heavy wooden door, most likely a servant’s door. It is a heavy wooden Dutch style door and the lower portion remains slightly ajar making egress unimpeded.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She removes the manacles from her purse as her ‘just in case’ tool of opportunity.
<S.T.> She pushes the door open and it creaks with a much less aggressive sound. It hums silently as the lower door opens. The interior holds many columns as you kneel down to study it; sturdy table legs fill the room with a plethora of cabinetry and cooking equipment. She slide herself inside and stands up peering over the busy room with its many shadows.
TMcCaine- Posts : 85
Join date : 2009-06-08
Location : Dallas TX, USA
Part 2
TMcCaine Wed Jul 22, 2009 11:15 am
Part 2
The room yields no sign of a struggle, but dirt remains on the floor as the boy was most likely dragged through the room. She follows the displaced playground dirt out of the kitchen and into a hallway. The small particles of dirt remain through the moonlit hall as the reflecting light highlights the odd shaped clumps. The pieces of dirt lead her to a single door which is slightly ajar too and she looks into the darkness on the inside. The darkness inside affords her no view, but the slow deep breaths of a small body can be heard.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She attempts to slide her hand inside the room looking for a light switch hoping to illuminate the room.
<S.T.> Her hand creeps inside the door and searches the wall until it finds the switch box for the light. She gives it a turn, the click echoes in the room but no light comes forth.
The switch stirred something from within. A foot, doned with a soft soled shoe, rubs against the floor and steps towards the door. The small footstep, that echoed through the playground steps forward again, towards the door.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She takes a step back from the door putting some distance between her and whatever is on the other side.
<S.T.> The cold, cold air escapes from the inside of the room. The 'thing' on the other side that stepped towards the door opens pulling it from the inside allowing it to be swallowed by the darkness. She can feel the chill go down her spine as the darkness swallows the form showing only the greatest of highlights, its socks, its collar, and one small hand resting at its side.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She drops her purse to make use of both of her hand standing in anticipation and in slight fear of this thing that she can’t make out.
<S.T.> The voice of a sweet child comes from the darkness echoing in her mind, "Your name, you should give it to me." it says in a youthful tone that sets her at ease and compelling her to obey.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Elizabeth Taylor.” She says timidly but without hesitation.
<S.T.> "Feel no fear here. This is my haven. But you must tell me why you are so compelled to come here, at night to a place, known to be tainted with the most hellish tinge of my existence?" he says clearly and distinctly.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I smelled blood, so I came to check if someone was hurt. And then the boy was taken, I followed to help him." She says in a pleading tone quelling her nerviousness.
<S.T.> "Do you not know where you have stumbled?"
<Elizabeth Taylor> "To my knowledge this is but an orphanage."
<S.T.> "You have stumbled upon a dire place." He says and stops talking suddenly stepping forward. His feet hit the ground with the soft souls as her ears focus on each step. He comes out into the moonlight and his youthful face is twisted in a long scowl of bewilderment. "I don't," he pauses, "know you. You don't know me as well?"
<Elizabeth Taylor> "No I don't know you, I only know a few people in this city."
<S.T.> "You’re an unfortunate pitiful soul." He says this in response turning away from her, heading back down the hallway walking away from her. His words echo an age his face doesn't reflect. "Follow me," he gestures, "if you would be so kind. The boy, he needs his rest." He walks down the hall without looking backwards at her, without using words that echo in her mind, but a gentile set of words with an honest meaning.
<Elizabeth Taylor> After reacquiring her purse she follows along behind the boy. Liz asks "Will the boy be alright?"
<S.T.> "Of course, He will be called upon soon enough. He must be kept in good health." He answers with a most unemotional tone. He leads you around a few corners and into a large rather uninspiring hallway. Each door is undecorated and a smell of rosemary permeates from each room.
"You should come back sometime soon," He says as his voice trails off. His body begins to disappear leaving her alone in the hallway with only his echoing voice, "I wouldn't mind seeing you again."
<Elizabeth Taylor> Talking mostly to herself Liz mutters "o-okay."
She then turns with the intention of proceeding to the nearest exit.
<S.T.> As he blends into the black, a strong authorative voice booms from down the hall, "you there! Show yourself or the pittance will be a heavy one for you, yes it will."
She turns to see a fully dressed large woman endowed with a habit and nightgown waddling down the hallway pointing at directly at her.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She steps out to where she can be seen.
<S.T.> The woman peers down the hallway, "Who might you be Miss?" She asks moving her head into the darkness seeking you out through the shadows.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "Um... I'm Elizabeth." She answers in ernest.
<S.T.> "Elizabeth?" She repeats, stepping closer but yet remaining far enough from her assessing her disposition. She reciprocates in an attempt to remain passive, in a servant’s disposition to the old woman, but something inside Liz stirs. Something unnatural.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I was just bringing a boy in,” she responds as her voice becomes uneven. “He was playing outside and I thought it was little late for him to be out." Liz can sense the presence of something unnatural in her mind, a presence pulls at her to act out of place.
<S.T.> A voice comes from within, a small one at first it becomes the focus of her attention The voice is strong, primal, and dominant, drowning out the nuns voice as it continues to drill her with questions.
The voice creeps into her subconscious with intents on pushing the woman aside, treating her like trash, and dominating her. This voice refuses to allow her to remain submissive, but her mild temperament prevails, but the voice isn't silenced.
It makes you nervous, anxious, and your body language changes enough to be noticed.
"I said, what boy?" She asks again close to Liz now, she sees how anxious she is in her near panic state, "You alright?" she asks changing her tone into a very concerned manner.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I didn't c-catch his name and h-he’s asleep right now.” She talks with her eyes darting around, looking into her subconscious, and her hands search her purse. “Could you give him this?” she asks as she removes the small tooth. “It came out when he fell from the wall."
<S.T.> She takes it gently in her hand and examines it. "You poor dear," she lets out pushing her down the hall, in the direction she entered. "You need to see a doctor." She demands hurrying her along. The feelings swell, and are barely controllable, she feels they will burst forth from and she won’t be able to control it if she does not escape, she feels the boy might command her to harm the woman or take advantage of her generosity.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I'm sorry I need to go!” she says in a flurry of words, “I have to meet up with a friend of mine and I can't be late. Thank you for worrying about me though" Liz stammers out as she attempts to pull herself away from the nun and exit the building.
<S.T.> She easily breaks free from the nuns loose grasp and once she does the nun stops and yells, "You’re in no condition," and once the woman sees your determination to leave she turns and runs down the hall yelling “Lady Catherine! Lady Catherine," until you make it to the playground and can hear her no longer.
Once she is gone, and you are away from her, the feelings stop.
She walks the playground looking behind her for what ever reason she would, she isn’t naturally paranoid but the level of ‘weird’ in the night is high enough to keep her focused.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “I-I need to go home,” she begins talking to herself wondering what has just happened, “wait for my medicine, hopefully Bernard will find me.” She says this wide eyed and unblinking, a quelling sense of fear finds her, and Bernard becomes an anchor, the alternative to her sisters.
<S.T.> "You have a weak will, but a strong heart," the boy’s voice comes again from above her. She turns upward to see him walking along the wall with his arms reaching outward balancing himself on the tall stone unsteady structure.
"You cast no ill upon the world, you have a dutiful soul.” He says stepping slowly, “Don't leave, its not every day you can see someone resist me so easily." He pleads from the top of the wall.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "You actually want me around... as company?" She replies with a slight tint of excitement. It isn’t great, but just enough to bring a noticeable change in her disposition. Her desire to be with others and out of her own home is strong.
<S.T.> "You have talents of your own; you can be of some use." He looks up into the sky while swinging his legs, one after the other, walking along the wall in an exaggerated motif. "Besides, most of the boys here don't know what to make of me."
<Elizabeth Taylor> "You must feel very alone then,” she says in a matter of fact manner, and then lements at the ease at which she says her next statement, “I at least have my sisters to care for." She stopped against the wall and slides down to sit.
<S.T.> "Your opening a wound," he says as he stops too, and this time looks down upon you, "for both you and me."
"I have no need of sisters," he says moving his body to sit down on top of the wall. "I could only see them as some sort of bondage, holding me down."
<Elizabeth Taylor> "But everyone needs something, and they are all I have. Plus Bernard." She lets a smile at the mention of his name.
<S.T.> "I find no comfort in needing someone, I have a goal, and with that goal, I will find my comfort. It is now that I find unrest." He moves his body on the wall and hangs his feet on the other side turning his back towards her. The sounds of the souls of his shoes hitting the wall can be heard echoing through the streets and back onto the playground as he swings his legs allowing them to bounce off of the stone. His disposition begins to change as he seems a bit angrier than before.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "You look so young, yet talk as if older than me. You have a goal in life; all I have is my little box of a life." Her tones waver from happy, to sad, as she says these passages. Her emotions come out in the tones of her statements in an airy voice.
<S.T.> A howling sound comes over the playground, and a cold chill fills the air. This causes the boy to stop fidgeting and turn to the windows of the kitchen. "Do your sisters," he says jumping down, "come for you?"
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I wouldn't know," she pauses, "they rarely let me out alone. And that’s usually just to buy groceries from Bernard." She says looking into the windows.
<S.T.> From within one can see three dark shadows with only their eyes peering into the playground at the both of them. The eyes dart quickly back and forth between the two in shapes of disapproval and discontent fearing the result of the chance meeting.
The chill continues until it is as cold as winter in the playground. A fog begins to form and the windows begin to ice up hiding everything but their faces.
"Stay away from the docks tomorrow," he says as he walks transfixed on the Dutch door, "don't shop there." The door opens for him, both halves swing violently open, as he walks in and shut with an impact breaking the aura of the cold as the fog is kicked up and fades back to where it came from returning the playground back to normal.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "Alone again." She says in a sighing manner turning her gaze back to the grounds and turning to the rusted servant’s gate retreating back to the street.
The room yields no sign of a struggle, but dirt remains on the floor as the boy was most likely dragged through the room. She follows the displaced playground dirt out of the kitchen and into a hallway. The small particles of dirt remain through the moonlit hall as the reflecting light highlights the odd shaped clumps. The pieces of dirt lead her to a single door which is slightly ajar too and she looks into the darkness on the inside. The darkness inside affords her no view, but the slow deep breaths of a small body can be heard.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She attempts to slide her hand inside the room looking for a light switch hoping to illuminate the room.
<S.T.> Her hand creeps inside the door and searches the wall until it finds the switch box for the light. She gives it a turn, the click echoes in the room but no light comes forth.
The switch stirred something from within. A foot, doned with a soft soled shoe, rubs against the floor and steps towards the door. The small footstep, that echoed through the playground steps forward again, towards the door.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She takes a step back from the door putting some distance between her and whatever is on the other side.
<S.T.> The cold, cold air escapes from the inside of the room. The 'thing' on the other side that stepped towards the door opens pulling it from the inside allowing it to be swallowed by the darkness. She can feel the chill go down her spine as the darkness swallows the form showing only the greatest of highlights, its socks, its collar, and one small hand resting at its side.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She drops her purse to make use of both of her hand standing in anticipation and in slight fear of this thing that she can’t make out.
<S.T.> The voice of a sweet child comes from the darkness echoing in her mind, "Your name, you should give it to me." it says in a youthful tone that sets her at ease and compelling her to obey.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “Elizabeth Taylor.” She says timidly but without hesitation.
<S.T.> "Feel no fear here. This is my haven. But you must tell me why you are so compelled to come here, at night to a place, known to be tainted with the most hellish tinge of my existence?" he says clearly and distinctly.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I smelled blood, so I came to check if someone was hurt. And then the boy was taken, I followed to help him." She says in a pleading tone quelling her nerviousness.
<S.T.> "Do you not know where you have stumbled?"
<Elizabeth Taylor> "To my knowledge this is but an orphanage."
<S.T.> "You have stumbled upon a dire place." He says and stops talking suddenly stepping forward. His feet hit the ground with the soft souls as her ears focus on each step. He comes out into the moonlight and his youthful face is twisted in a long scowl of bewilderment. "I don't," he pauses, "know you. You don't know me as well?"
<Elizabeth Taylor> "No I don't know you, I only know a few people in this city."
<S.T.> "You’re an unfortunate pitiful soul." He says this in response turning away from her, heading back down the hallway walking away from her. His words echo an age his face doesn't reflect. "Follow me," he gestures, "if you would be so kind. The boy, he needs his rest." He walks down the hall without looking backwards at her, without using words that echo in her mind, but a gentile set of words with an honest meaning.
<Elizabeth Taylor> After reacquiring her purse she follows along behind the boy. Liz asks "Will the boy be alright?"
<S.T.> "Of course, He will be called upon soon enough. He must be kept in good health." He answers with a most unemotional tone. He leads you around a few corners and into a large rather uninspiring hallway. Each door is undecorated and a smell of rosemary permeates from each room.
"You should come back sometime soon," He says as his voice trails off. His body begins to disappear leaving her alone in the hallway with only his echoing voice, "I wouldn't mind seeing you again."
<Elizabeth Taylor> Talking mostly to herself Liz mutters "o-okay."
She then turns with the intention of proceeding to the nearest exit.
<S.T.> As he blends into the black, a strong authorative voice booms from down the hall, "you there! Show yourself or the pittance will be a heavy one for you, yes it will."
She turns to see a fully dressed large woman endowed with a habit and nightgown waddling down the hallway pointing at directly at her.
<Elizabeth Taylor> She steps out to where she can be seen.
<S.T.> The woman peers down the hallway, "Who might you be Miss?" She asks moving her head into the darkness seeking you out through the shadows.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "Um... I'm Elizabeth." She answers in ernest.
<S.T.> "Elizabeth?" She repeats, stepping closer but yet remaining far enough from her assessing her disposition. She reciprocates in an attempt to remain passive, in a servant’s disposition to the old woman, but something inside Liz stirs. Something unnatural.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I was just bringing a boy in,” she responds as her voice becomes uneven. “He was playing outside and I thought it was little late for him to be out." Liz can sense the presence of something unnatural in her mind, a presence pulls at her to act out of place.
<S.T.> A voice comes from within, a small one at first it becomes the focus of her attention The voice is strong, primal, and dominant, drowning out the nuns voice as it continues to drill her with questions.
The voice creeps into her subconscious with intents on pushing the woman aside, treating her like trash, and dominating her. This voice refuses to allow her to remain submissive, but her mild temperament prevails, but the voice isn't silenced.
It makes you nervous, anxious, and your body language changes enough to be noticed.
"I said, what boy?" She asks again close to Liz now, she sees how anxious she is in her near panic state, "You alright?" she asks changing her tone into a very concerned manner.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I didn't c-catch his name and h-he’s asleep right now.” She talks with her eyes darting around, looking into her subconscious, and her hands search her purse. “Could you give him this?” she asks as she removes the small tooth. “It came out when he fell from the wall."
<S.T.> She takes it gently in her hand and examines it. "You poor dear," she lets out pushing her down the hall, in the direction she entered. "You need to see a doctor." She demands hurrying her along. The feelings swell, and are barely controllable, she feels they will burst forth from and she won’t be able to control it if she does not escape, she feels the boy might command her to harm the woman or take advantage of her generosity.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I'm sorry I need to go!” she says in a flurry of words, “I have to meet up with a friend of mine and I can't be late. Thank you for worrying about me though" Liz stammers out as she attempts to pull herself away from the nun and exit the building.
<S.T.> She easily breaks free from the nuns loose grasp and once she does the nun stops and yells, "You’re in no condition," and once the woman sees your determination to leave she turns and runs down the hall yelling “Lady Catherine! Lady Catherine," until you make it to the playground and can hear her no longer.
Once she is gone, and you are away from her, the feelings stop.
She walks the playground looking behind her for what ever reason she would, she isn’t naturally paranoid but the level of ‘weird’ in the night is high enough to keep her focused.
<Elizabeth Taylor> “I-I need to go home,” she begins talking to herself wondering what has just happened, “wait for my medicine, hopefully Bernard will find me.” She says this wide eyed and unblinking, a quelling sense of fear finds her, and Bernard becomes an anchor, the alternative to her sisters.
<S.T.> "You have a weak will, but a strong heart," the boy’s voice comes again from above her. She turns upward to see him walking along the wall with his arms reaching outward balancing himself on the tall stone unsteady structure.
"You cast no ill upon the world, you have a dutiful soul.” He says stepping slowly, “Don't leave, its not every day you can see someone resist me so easily." He pleads from the top of the wall.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "You actually want me around... as company?" She replies with a slight tint of excitement. It isn’t great, but just enough to bring a noticeable change in her disposition. Her desire to be with others and out of her own home is strong.
<S.T.> "You have talents of your own; you can be of some use." He looks up into the sky while swinging his legs, one after the other, walking along the wall in an exaggerated motif. "Besides, most of the boys here don't know what to make of me."
<Elizabeth Taylor> "You must feel very alone then,” she says in a matter of fact manner, and then lements at the ease at which she says her next statement, “I at least have my sisters to care for." She stopped against the wall and slides down to sit.
<S.T.> "Your opening a wound," he says as he stops too, and this time looks down upon you, "for both you and me."
"I have no need of sisters," he says moving his body to sit down on top of the wall. "I could only see them as some sort of bondage, holding me down."
<Elizabeth Taylor> "But everyone needs something, and they are all I have. Plus Bernard." She lets a smile at the mention of his name.
<S.T.> "I find no comfort in needing someone, I have a goal, and with that goal, I will find my comfort. It is now that I find unrest." He moves his body on the wall and hangs his feet on the other side turning his back towards her. The sounds of the souls of his shoes hitting the wall can be heard echoing through the streets and back onto the playground as he swings his legs allowing them to bounce off of the stone. His disposition begins to change as he seems a bit angrier than before.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "You look so young, yet talk as if older than me. You have a goal in life; all I have is my little box of a life." Her tones waver from happy, to sad, as she says these passages. Her emotions come out in the tones of her statements in an airy voice.
<S.T.> A howling sound comes over the playground, and a cold chill fills the air. This causes the boy to stop fidgeting and turn to the windows of the kitchen. "Do your sisters," he says jumping down, "come for you?"
<Elizabeth Taylor> "I wouldn't know," she pauses, "they rarely let me out alone. And that’s usually just to buy groceries from Bernard." She says looking into the windows.
<S.T.> From within one can see three dark shadows with only their eyes peering into the playground at the both of them. The eyes dart quickly back and forth between the two in shapes of disapproval and discontent fearing the result of the chance meeting.
The chill continues until it is as cold as winter in the playground. A fog begins to form and the windows begin to ice up hiding everything but their faces.
"Stay away from the docks tomorrow," he says as he walks transfixed on the Dutch door, "don't shop there." The door opens for him, both halves swing violently open, as he walks in and shut with an impact breaking the aura of the cold as the fog is kicked up and fades back to where it came from returning the playground back to normal.
<Elizabeth Taylor> "Alone again." She says in a sighing manner turning her gaze back to the grounds and turning to the rusted servant’s gate retreating back to the street.
TMcCaine- Posts : 85
Join date : 2009-06-08
Location : Dallas TX, USA
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