Oh, how I do so love Gone With The Wind. It's my current passion, so I decided why not write a story for this? Well, it's my first, and I hope you like it!
Summary: Given a second chance with Rhett and making amends, thirty-two year old Scarlett O'Hara finds herself trapped in her sixteen year old body. How can she find the passion for life Rhett so adored in her to charm him again?
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It had been four years since the unspeakable incident that had occurred in the ostentatious Butler home- two years wasted for chasing after a man whose affections for her had dissipated; the other two lost in the work of managing a growing farm called Tara. At thirty-two, Scarlett O'Hara lost every notion of the sweet, sassy southern belle she used to be so long ago, and the impudent misdemeanors of the past were replaced with a agreeable disposition and occasional outburst that displayed a fine mix of the O'Hara parents.
Magnolia-white skin that, many years ago, had been prized for its whiteness, under the supervision of mittens, parasols, and bonnets, was embellished with the deep lines that came from hard labor and anxiety on a beige face; a color that showed evidence of work, but the labor and exertion of the darkies. The delicate hands that dared not even work to put one's own clothes on were chapped and raw, embellished with calluses that slowly healed over time. Oh, but the eyes! the lusty eyes that once had a "passion for living"; that gleamed and sparkled like emeralds; the lustrous shine had dulled with her temper, and it was only the vibrant color of them that reminded everyone of the once passionate Scarlett O'Hara. The catty, impudent Southern belle had shed her airs over the months, and left after the desolate reunion with her husband was demure lady that whose occasional "Fiddle-dee-dees!" were a relish to hear.
But the storm is always calm before it hits, and on quiet nights, when the moon shines brightly through the bedroom window of Scarlett, the shadow of the belle wakes up from a dream that made her toss and turn. Her viridian eyes open in a fury, looking around wildly until her eyes catch the empty space next to her on the bed. And then she sighs, her walls weakening, and jokingly thinking Ellen isn't here to reprimand her, she sobs the night away, muffling the hiccupping cries into her pillow. Such was not an uncommon sight for Scarlett O'Hara, and anyone who had the audacity to open the door could see her at her most vulnerable state.
And such a night was today, in a lazy, moon-lit night of June where cicadas hum so melodically and mosquitoes fly brazenly through open windows and bite mercilessly. Her dream had been the one she had always dreamed: Of the impossible fog that always blocked her way, the cold, chill nighttime air and unfamiliar terrain her eyes wildly darted to look at; there was never an end, and she always ran, stumbling, falling, and the pain felt so real she couldn't believe there were no cuts on her legs the following morning.
Sometimes she found the end- and she ran wildly through the mist, grabbing at it, and spoke passionately to it, voice crying out in relief and a joy she hadn't felt in so long. But it always said the same thing to her: "My dear, I don't give a damn." And she could see him leaving her, walking more and more into the mist until all she had was a faint memory. "No- no- no!" Her voice cracked as she fell to the ground, reaching for him. She was screaming in a language she did not know, with a fury she feared, and a pain in her heart that ripped her pieces.
And then she awoke; she always did- with her heart beating to a crazy rhythm that made Scarlett fear for her life. Her bosom heaved in her beige camisole, hands gripping the bed sheets tightly. Chartreuse eyes fluttered under long lashes to wake, and a low groan came from the mouth of Scarlett O'Hara. "Oh," she moaned, eyes now open wide as it stared at the darkness of her room. "Oh, why- I was such a fool!" She spat quietly, and sat up on her bed, gathering the pillow into her arms as she hugged it tightly. "I'm the cad, the scoundrel, the- the skunk! How could I be so daft to not see- oh!" She buried her head into the pillow and sighed in discontent. "Oh, Rhett, how I still love you so." The words were spoken so tenderly, each caressed to show the ardent passion she still had for her lost lover.
Pain struck her heart, and a forlorn look cast onto her face. "You once said you could rip me to shreds with your hands," Scarlett spoke dejectedly into the empty room, and gave a soft laugh. "How I wish you could do so now!" She spat vehemently. Silence strung the few minutes into hours, and Scarlett rested her head on the oak headboard of the bed. Softly, words bubbled up to her mouth, "But- oh, if only I could have a second chance with you, Rhett! If only I were sixteen again and I didn't do such brazen things. I would be so good to you, so good-!" A soft sigh escaped her mouth as the words escaped in quiet murmurs, strong in conviction. "I'd do anything."
"Do you mean that?" The voice spoken was not the deep, coarse one with the faint twinge of amusement and mockery she longed to hear. It was one that resonated through an infinite-ness of time and space, and which a single word could describe, one at the tip of her tongue, but couldn't grasp.
"Who- who are you?" Scarlett cried out, and grabbed the bed sheets around her, pulling them up high. Her eyes danced rapidly around her, trying to spot the vulgar criminal that dared enter her room. "Why are you in my room?"
The voice spoke again, "Don't ask questions, child- just answer mine." Scarlett bit her cheek, and it kept all her willpower to lash out at the voice, declaring that she most certainly was not a child- the one thing she detested herself for being the past years. "Did you mean what you said?"
Stiffly, she answered, "Yes." And softening, she added quietly, "I don't want anything else in the world but to have another chance with him."
"Then so be it." It was a declaration- official and stamped to show all its integrity and importance. Bewilderment came over Scarlett over the finality of the tone. Was she really going to go back in time to when she was an impudent wench to start over with Rhett? Or was this another one of her ridiculous dreams? Vaguely, she felt the presence of the voice disappear, and Scarlett felt the room quite empty and she very alone. Deciding to think no more of the voice, concluding it was no more than some sort of hallucination, she told herself she would "think about it tomorrow" and getting comfortably under the covers, she fell asleep. "Tomorrow, like you wished, you will be sixteen again. Use this chance wisely. She's watching you from above."
It was the last thing she heard of the voice until she woke up the next morning. And much to her surprise, she was indeed sixteen again.
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Well, that's the end of Chapter 1! And for those that need clarification:
1873-1875 (Scarlett age: 28-30): Pursues after Rhett. Sometime in 1875, she gives up and goes back to Tara.
1875-1877 (Scarlett age: 30-32): Becomes owner of Tara and such.
June 1877: Scarlett is confronted by the Voice.
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