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 Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 6:21 am
✘ her morning elegance
It was an old house. A large, square, multi-levelled house with a faded notice of sale in the front window. There were two entrances, one covered in vines and regarded with dismay, the other littered with fallen rose petals. They were exactly alike -- large oak doors with an arched frame, perched upon little pillars of yellow stone which descended sideways into the brick pavement of the street. The front door was left slightly askew, but no steps seemed to lead to the entrance. The only sign of life was a finely spun spider web hanging centimeters above the door frame. Past the open door lay simply garnished rooms of off-white and cream. These rooms, above stairs and down, were numerous and painted all over exactly alike. The bedrooms, which were the least furnished, held only a plain bed with two white pillows and a neatly spread sheet.
Perhaps the most fascinating room of all, and incidentally the most furnished, was the very last, hidden behind a finely crafted redwood door covered with the etch marks of an aging artist who had lived and died many years ago. Bookshelves of various designs lined each wall, copiously filled with novels spanning from Shakespeare to the renaissance, all resting quietly amongst various collections of fantasy novels and poorly cared for journals. Those not placed neatly within the bookshelves found themselves clumsily piled against the walls and spread carelessly across the floor, their pages open, torn and bent, while others were precariously stacked atop of each other, lacking any particular harmony or order. Curtains hung from the windows, bathing the room in a periwinkle blue -- but it wasn't this mere effect that made the room extraordinary from the rest.
In the middle of the dimly lit room, her back leaning up against one frame while her feet pressed uncomfortably against the other, sat a young girl. Her skin was pale and smooth, unmarked despite a light dusting of freckles across her nose, cheeks, and down her arms. Voices could be heard on the other side of the door, but the girl didn't dare move as Lenore entered the room. She gave as little heed as possible; she kept her eyes on the book positioned on her knees and tried to fix her mind. Nalira hated to read in secret. She had a great desire for knowledge, but lacked a certain aspect required for maintaining her intelligence; and this, she'd learn, would cause great unease to Lenore.
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 6:23 am
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 3:07 pm
✘ what if you
Nalira was a healthy, well-rounded child without a trace of her mother's beauty. That's not to say she was ugly -- she had but a plain, soft countenance. The most that could be said for the child was that she had a 'nice' face, an honest face.
Now it is said to be natural for a mother to feel pride for her daughter, but Lenore saw nothing to be proud of in poor Nalira. There was nothing of course to be ashamed of either -- but with Lenore's aristocratic and wealthy background, she sought more. She'd have found herself most pleased in thinking of her daughter as distinguished and intelligent, pretty and above all else, graceful. Instead she felt moments of irritation at having produced such a commonplace child -- such an undistinguished, plain, normal child -- but would quickly remind herself that it was a book and not her that had in fact produced Nalira.
Lenore was a charming woman in her day, accustomed to having many suitors flock her on the streets and even occasionally in her own home. When she looked into her daughters eyes she saw nothing that reflected any form of common ground -- in fact, she saw a lack of eloquence and equally distributed intelligence, a feature that caused a crease to appear above her nose. Still, there were ways to make Nalira unique, ways in which she could build and mold her daughter into something much greater than the mediocre child curled against the couch. Lifting the young girl into her arms and sweeping a loose strand of hair from her face, Lenore smiled a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and started up the stairs.
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 3:09 pm
Brenner Brenner staggered into the shop, wiping snow out of her eyes. Ezra was held close to her chest, securely wrapped in a heavy blanket. "It's unbelievable out there!" she wailed. She clumped across the floor to a handy table and collapsed onto a chair. She sighed with relief, stripping off her heavy cloak and scarf and unwound Ezra from his woolen prison. He sneezed gratefully, rubbing a chubby fist across his snout.
Lemonlime Lenore lived deep in the heart of town -- a region where dandelines grew beside the pavement and mingled their shade with the steep and sloping roofs of wayward houses. Shrugging a leaf from her shoulder, Lenore made her way through the HQ door, accompanied by a small Tale at her heel. She found a good place; a little sofa that seemed meant only for two persons, and sat. "Good morning," she began curtly, "Shocking weather, isn't it?" This observation, in itself of no great profundity, Lenore offered for what it was worth before shifting into a comfortable position and crossing her leg over the other. She looked straight at Nalira, who said nothing, only listened and looked back; and Lenore, as if she expected no reply, adjusted herself stiffly and glanced around the room.
Brenner Brenner waved and yawned. "Hey Lenore, Nalira. Hope you didn't get too frozen on the way here." Ezra looked interestedly at the new arrivals. He remembered the funny-ears Tale from last night. He reached his arms for the ground and curled his tail around Brenner's wrist. "Wa!" he said, pointing down. "Oh, so you want to do some exploring? Alright then," Brenner said, gently setting Ezra on the floor.
Lemonlime Nalira, though she felt tongue-tied under her mother's gaze, was conscious of no discomfort or embarrassment. It seemed improper that she should talk, at least, that's what Lenore had taught her -- so she simply looked at Ezra with a faint smile. She remembered him vaguely from the night before, his bright, patterned body etched in her memory. "No, we're fine," said Lenore. "Nalira, why don't you go and play?" Lenore's tone was sickeningly sweet and patronizing. Nalira, however, remained silent -- it was long and hard, almost as if the Tale was giving her own unique form of non-verbal protest, and after a while she felt herself going red from the stale quiet. It wasn't until Lenore clicked her tongue that Nalira finally spoke. "Nalira," she offered quietly.
Brenner Brenner yawned again, laying her head on the arms. "Well, I'm glad you came. I hope Ezzy and Nala get along." Ezra sat cheerfully on the floor. He waved and pointed to his chest, concentrating hard. "Ezzzz-y!" he said proudly. "Nalll-uh."
Lemonlime Nalira continued to gaze pleasantly at Ezra as if she knew no other expression in the world. After a moment, she wrinkled her nose, almost in a way that could be construed as rude if misinterpreted before leaning forward and placing her arms around his waist. Lenore smiled and leant back against the sofa, her nails tapping obnoxiously against the armrest. "There you go, that was not at all difficult," Lenore murmured.
Brenner Brenner smiled, watching the two. "I'm glad they're getting along." Ezra was momentarily startled by Nala's hug, but then hugged her back. "Nala!" he said happily, patting her cheek. He sat up on his coiled tail, letting out a cheerful giggle.
To be continued.
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 10:57 pm
✘ morning lullabies
Lenore, who was seated on a small sofa by the fireplace entertaining herself with a glass of red wine and a magazine, tapped her fingers impatiently. She glanced at the phone and briefly wondered whether it was prudent to dial and demand that this so-called doctor arrive this very minute. She had rearranged her schedule for his proposal after all and each minute that ticked by unnecessarily increased her already unbearable irritation; there was a very fine line between fashionably late and just plain inconsiderate. Lenore started when she heard a sudden rapping, startled from her thoughts before raising an eyebrow and moving to answer the door. An aging man presented himself; he was dressed completely in black with tawny-grey hair and black-rimmed glasses. He had an air of composure, of a man all but stripped of his integrity, and Lenore lost no time in letting him know that he was incredibly late (blatantly ignoring his baffled cry of but it's only eight o' nine), but nonetheless moved aside to let him through.
Nalira, who had been standing by the hallway door now for several moments, listened to her mother and the unknown doctor with a mixture of interest and apprehension. Her trunks had been brought down from her bedroom, displaying her bedlinen, toiletries and some odd spoils from her Mother's travels; the spoils were rich and abundant, a present from every country spanning from Bali to Berlin, and while some of them were unfamiliar to the girl her attention remained fixed on the conversation. She grasped the door frame tightly, embarrassed that she hadn't a clue what they were taking about -- risks? experiments? the greater good? scientific advancement? -- it didn't make sense. Still, whatever they were talking about, while she didn't quite understand it, she knew it wasn't good.
After what felt to her like hours the man tipped his hat and, for a moment, hesitated; there had been a tiny creak at the dining room door. People who expressed themselves roughly would have said the unoffensive child was not entirely there, that her blank expression was due to a lack of intelligence -- but Nalira was simply unresponsive because she was shy, uncomfortably, painfully shy. This truth was not always understood and sometimes put down to stupidity -- even her own mother seemed blind-sighted into this belief. In reality however she was the softest creature in the world, and this was what made the man, who prided himself on his ability to see people clearly, regret his proposal more than anything.
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 11:00 pm
✘ what she didn't know
Nalira sat alone by the fire -- sat there for what felt like hours, her thoughts chasing themselves around in circles. Lenore had been angry and tense this evening, and while it wasn't unusual for her mother not to look at her, tonight it had felt painfully deliberate. Nalira curled her legs to meet beneath her thighs and brought her hands together, the fire illuminating her hunched figure and bowed head in a brilliant red; it concerned her that Lenore was on edge. She had an intense love for her mother and the thought of displeasing or disappointing her would be nothing short of reprehensible. As Nalira lost herself in her thoughts, the evening advanced and the lamp burned dim without her noticing.
If Nalira were more aware of her surroundings perhaps she would have heard the gentle creak of the door opening. Or perhaps she simply chose to ignore the sound, she was admittedly not a courageous person and even the small act of turning around frightened her. As the clock struck twelve the house seemed to be wrapped in silence, an eerie, uncomfortable silence. Nalira stood, her eyelids heavy and her body nagging for rest, turned and just as quickly stopped; a figure, robed and shadowed, stood quietly by the door. Although his back was turned to her she could still hear his shallow breathing and while he remained completely motionless at the door, Nalira could feel her heart thumping beneath her chest. She was suddenly very glad that his back was turned, for she felt that she could more easily address this portion of him.
"Who are you?" She asked quietly.
"I'm sorry, my dear," said the man as he turned, an action Nalira had feared. He went to her, his approaching steps faster than her retreating ones and put his arm around her tenderly; it was then that he placed a cloth gently to her nose.
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 11:01 pm
✘ the dark I know well
Nalira found herself, once again, sitting alone. However on this particular occasion there was no lamp or fire present. There were no aristocratic streets where dandelions grew beside the pavement, mingling their shade with the steep and sloping roofs of wayward houses. This place was ill chosen -- a hard, melancholy enclosure, abandoned by the summer light, and as Nalira looked around her heart grew cold; it terrified her.
With a deep, shaking breath Nalira made her way forward. She placed her hands against the cold stone, the dark so pressing she had lost sight of them. She'd been left alone for what felt like days -- days during which she existed without a word. Her stomach made an angry sound, reminding her that she hadn't eaten today and then, with a sound much like a gun-shot, sunlight poured into the musty, dank room. A man presented himself gruffly, looking the girl up and down and swinging his stick without heed; then he said, in an oddly low tone:
"Get up, your treatment is about to begin."
She wondered what he meant -- whether he simply wished to frighten her. Treatment? This certainly wasn't a hospital and she certainly wasn't ill. The man grabbed her roughly by the wrist and in a moment of time that would later be nothing more than a blur against her memory he had her seated and restrained. Nalira was overcome with fear; she had never before felt such intense, overwhelming terror. She bit back against the will to cry, her heart jumping at each dulcet hum of his voice. She realized very quickly that she had no idea what was happening; ostensibly she could hear the distant croon of an electric razor and feel the callouses on each of the man's fingers and suddenly her mouth began to shake; her eyes fell shut as her hair brushed past her cheeks and fell gracefully to the floor.
Nalira wanted nothing more than to get away from there; this man was hard and rough and cruel, and as her restraints slackened so too did her body, her knees struggling to hold her weight. Pulling herself upright and deceptively poised, Nalira remained motionless as she was stripped of her clothes and re-dressed in dehumanizing grey overalls. She was then lead through a shadowed hall lined with numbered rooms, her eyes unfocused, the dull thud of each footstep echoing through her mind like a lost, echoing cry. The sound of metal against metal shook her from her reverie as she was shoved violently back into her familiarly dark enclosure. She flung herself to the ground and buried her head to the cold cement, giving into her fear and sobbing dreadfully into her hands.
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 11:02 pm
✘ parallel lines
It was on a whim that Lenore decided to purchase a journal. It, that is to say the diary, was on sale for half price in a store that charged twice than was necessary, marked down as a manufacturing defect.
The cover was simple, fashioned by various scraps of cloth and polyester that created a clashing quilt, each colour and pattern different and none satisfactorily matched. The seams were clearly visible and a piece of blue material was peeling off in the left hand corner to reveal the plain cardboard base underneath. Inside were a hundred and fifty pages, all neatly lined in green, and although the journal itself was a mess, Lenore still felt a certain sentimental value towards it. Her initial thought was to write down everything she couldn't say out loud, for she was a thoroughly honest woman and often found it hard to hold her tongue. Conversely, perhaps if she organized her thoughts she'd be better organized herself. She lost the diary only three weeks after purchasing it.
Three and a quarter years later Lenore placed an old, battered journal on the kitchen table. Lenore was an observer, even a philosopher, so it didn't go unnoticed that the fabric was peeling off and that the pages smelt of dust and mould, but that was neither here nor there. Opening to a blank page, Lenore began to write.
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 11:07 pm
✘ this empty room
If it were true that she was afraid, Nalira was certainly very quiet about it. Occasionally she would be caught sobbing and talking to herself, but most nights she simply lay still, her eyes tightly closed shut.
Sometimes Nalira would go to the window so dark with dirt and grime that it kept light out rather than letting it in and look out; she'd stand there for hours on the mere chance that someone would save her -- someone with a strong countenance, lordly composure and judicial air. Sometimes she would find herself lost in these thoughts. The chance of someone finding her were slim, however -- the barren land stretched for miles, who in their right mind would travel this far off-beat? Nalira had shifted from her usual position, having heard a gentle scratching at the wall, and bent down to investigate. She was crouched in the corner, her hand against the wall when the door opened suddenly, revealing a heavily cloaked man with wire-rimmed glasses. The man watched her, the shadows gathering at his feet, and Nalira found herself ridiculously aware of the pace of her heart; gravely, and with an air of exaggerated hesitance, he said:
"Your treatment is about to begin."
Nalira screamed.
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Posted: Wed Oct 19, 2005 11:08 pm
✘ walk in silence
"Was the treatment successful?" Asked Lenore who had very slowly looked up from the evening paper. Having lost her husband and, quite recently, her mother -- with whom, on her husband's death, she had been reunited -- her daughter was now who she placed all of her strict and austere confidence in. She waited pointedly, her fingers drumming impatiently against the wooden table she was seated against, determined for the doctor to give her the full review of Nalira's journey. However, the doctor was silent, his eyes dark and his lips thin. He was silent for so long that Lenore was on the point of remarking that he was being rude, when at last he said:
"Yes," and, with a tip of his hat, he left without a word.
~
A sallow, timid young girl with an expression of grim sadness stood quietly by the door; a pale hand reached up with the intention of pulling a strand of hair behind her ear, but only hovered before returning to her side. After a moment, Nalira knocked, her hand falling against the door three times before moving through thin air as Lenore opened the door and waved a hand for her to follow. Upon entering Lenore had returned to leaning over the sink, occupying herself with her domestic duties and occasionally glancing over to the evening paper resting against the bench. She turned to look over at her daughter for a moment before returning to impetuously clean the same glass she had been cleaning before she had been interrupted. Nalira heard the scrubbing of her brush and stared at her mother's back.
"May I please go to bed?" she asked very quietly. Lenore gave a curt nod and Nalira turned and left as quietly as she had entered, her eyes already half closed as she made her way up the stairs.
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Posted: Wed Dec 07, 2005 4:35 am
✘ the problem of pain
Nalira looked to the aging photos on the walls, her eyes unfocused; there was a moment where, though her eyes were fixed, she had quite visibly lost herself in her thoughts. With a hard sigh, Nalira turned her body to look outside to which a long window gave access.
Everything was the same, and yet everything had changed. Glancing to the small table on which her mother's tea set rested, Nalira's expression fell into a frown. Only days ago had she returned home; gaunt, fragile, afraid and remembering little. It was as if at that moment she had taken her first breath of life. Moving around the table, Nalira fell against a small sofa and crossed her knees. Her hand disappeared for a moment, hidden inside her shirt, before pulling out what seemed to be a very poorly rolled poster. She unfolded the paper on her thigh, running a hand over its surface and pulling a pencil from her shirt pocket with the other. Nalira began to hum with the strangest mixture of deliberation and directness, every note that vibrated against her throat scrawled quickly to the page.
Nalira had, over the past weeks, developed a taste for music. This realization was perhaps one of the only positive things that had happened upon her return; before she had failed to understand music in all of its profundity, though she did enjoy listening to and indulging in it. Now there was a beauty in its form, a beauty that now meant that the young girl could be found constantly poured over paper, writing down her mumbled notes.
~
Nalira flung herself to the ground and placed her head against the cold cement, her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands covering her mouth to stifle her cries. An hour later they returned; she let them lead her from her room without a word, the taste of dried blood ringing against her teeth and tongue. A glaring light suddenly offended her vision as she was shoved forward blindly, two hands grasping her around the wrists to prevent her from falling to the ground. She blinked against the fluorescent light and squinted at the shadowed figures surrounding her and it was quick; one swift movement and a needle had sunk into her chest.
She screamed.
What showed was the ugliness of life; palpable, unblushing and cruel. Darkened eyes vigilantly scrutinized her silhouette, distant and cold as her body convulsed, her fingers dancing across the cement as her nails grazed its surface. After endless, agonizing moments of harrowing pain, Nalira felt her body slacken against its restraints, her body enfeebled to a twitch that drew blood from the side of her mouth.
~
Nalira's pencil snapped in retaliation to her grip, her face as colourless as the paper beneath her.
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Posted: Wed Dec 07, 2005 4:37 am
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