Disclaimer: Ah, how I wish I did own Holly! But no I don't, but I do get a small consolation prize, her mother, Camellia. But that's not much, you'll see.

Update: Okay, I fixed a few errors in here, so it should be a bit better now.

Words Unspoken

The paper shook in her hands, in those slim tapered fingers that had always been so firm. The acceptance letter to the Academy.

Holly stalked the streets of Haven, clad in baggy boys' jeans, clothes that her mother would have been shocked to see. She could almost see the corners of Camellia Short's mouth fold down, those mascara lined eyes reeking of disappointment, her soft voice like tinkling bells saying, Good, dutiful daughters don't dress like that.

For the first time in months, years even, Holly wanted to cry. What was she supposed to say? Hey Mom, guess what? I'm going to the Academy next term. Yes, the LEP Academy. Why? Because I want to! Even in her mind, the words sounded stupid and hollow.

Holly gritted her teeth, bracing herself as she turned the corner, silently practicing her words. Her mother's voice still rang in her ears like that buzzing sound when things are too quiet. Much too quiet, like things had been ever since Dad died. Amazing how you can live in downtown Haven and still, it can be piercingly quiet, the only noise being the glares that shot across the rooms like deadly arrows.

Mom, she mouthed the word that still sounded unfamiliar though she had used it all her life, Mom, I'm not like you. And I don't want to be. I need you to understand that. No, I'm not doing this to you, I'm doing this for me.

But she would never understand, Camellia, because for her mother, the world changed too fast. But Holly ate it up, all the change she savored, in a society so full of ancient notions of respectability while corruption ran rampant. She watched the news every day, read the papers, as Camellia turned up her nose at those she called "those sordid affairs". It wasn't exactly her fault, Holly knew, people grow up a certain way and they stay that way. Maybe she would have been more like her mother, if it were not for the influences of her father.

She could see her mother saying, "Why?" and that simple word spoke volumes. Why are you so much like your father? He died for a reason, you know! Why can't you just be a nice, pleasant girl? Why can't things just stay the same?

Because, she steeled herself to say, Because, I want more than that. Do know what it feels like to have a little taste of what life could be like, if only you could be brave enough to reach out and take it? How sad and dangerous, yet so beautiful. Dad showed me that and I love him for it. I think you did too. Isn't that why you married him? Because you hoped that a little of that wild, reckless joy would rub off on you, too?

Whether you like it or not, Mom, things change. Girls aren't how they are when you grew up. There's so much more that I could be than just a dutiful daughter, a good wife. And I want it, so I'm going to chase it, even if I haven't a chance of getting into Recon.

Mom, sometimes I think you weren't always like this. Sometimes, I remember a young, beautiful mother who told fanciful stories of the future. Who had that look in her eyes that I can't quite explain but it was so wonderful. That mother I loved and admired. I don't know if they're just imaginations or actual memories but sometimes I dream of it and they seem so real.

I'm doing this for me. I think Dad would be happy for me, knowing that I'm happy. Mom, I hope, one day, maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but someday, you can understand. You don't even have to like it and you even have to agree with what I believe, but maybe, you can just understand. Just maybe, you can understand that I'm different from you and I like it that way. I don't want to marry a suitable young lawyer, Mom. I want to fly and feel the wind against my face and feel free. I want to see the ocean and the forests and the meadows. I want to feel the danger right at my toes and know that I can match up to anything that comes my way. But most of all, Mom, I don't want to die, piece by piece, like you did, and still be left, living an empty shell of a life.

She was at the door. Holly took a deep breath and reached forward to touch the keypad and unlock the door to the home she'd always known. But she held back. No, she thought, not today. I'm not ready. She turned and ran back through the streets, her legs carrying her easily, gracefully, to her college dorm. Tomorrow, she promised herself, tomorrow, I will tell her. And those thoughts carried her into sleep.

But she never got a chance to. Camellia Short died the next day.

What do you think? This just came to me, at like 10:00 PM, when I was supposed to be doing homework. Just thought I'd post it, anyways, even though it probably is pretty crappy. Sorry about any spelling or grammar errors, probably the result of getting up at six this morning for swim practice. But please review! Pretty please?

Lily