DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own Labyrinth.
Isn't it a tragedy?
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Flight
Voices penetrated the floor of Sarah's room, dragging her out of her dream. She could pick out two distinctive speakers, one was female, the other was male; they traded words in harsh, urgent whispers. Curious, Sarah manoeuvred herself out of her bed, wandering out into the hall. She didn't have the courage to investigate alone, so took her scruffy toy bear with her, pressing it against her chest in an effort to comfort her rapidly beating heart.
She identified one of the voices instantly upon leaving her room: her mommy was speaking. Encouraged by this, she approached the stairs. She stopped just before going down them when she saw her mother's companion. She was with a man Sarah had never seen before. He spoke in a soft, mysterious voice which left her hopelessly confused. He sounded strange, and Sarah would have been convinced he was speaking in a foreign language if she hadn't heard recognizable words emerge from his mouth. Sarah couldn't see him clearly despite creeping down onto the top stair to get a better look; she could only make out his long, dark coat and pale, blond hair. His face was completely indiscernible.
"Have you got everything?" He asked.
"Yes. Let's go."
The man took her mother's arm, leading her towards the door. He stopped just before turning the handle.
"What is it?"
"What about your kid? You have a little girl, don't you? What about her?"
Linda paused, crinkling her brow. "I'll write to her. Don't worry, she'll understand. She's a brave girl, besides; she can always come and stay with us. It's not like we'll be in Europe forever!" She giggled, only to force the laugh down her throat and clap a silk wrapped hand over her mouth after a few moments of loose, impulsive laughter. She glanced at her partner, smirking at him and suppressing a snigger when he smiled back. Linda had come very close to forgetting she was supposed to be leaving in silence.
They left without speaking again, and closed the door behind them quietly.
Sarah climbed down the stairs as quickly as her short legs allowed, running to the door only to cry in despair when she attempted to open it. The handle was rigid and stiff, and no amount of effort made it move. Outside, a car engine started up. Sarah released the handle and darted to the window, forcing the curtains aside in order to make an opening for her head.
She only saw them leave thanks to the lamppost outside the house. It was drizzling outside, and the light radiated by the post was flecked with iridescent darts of rain.
Sarah crushed her nose against the bitterly cold glass in an effort to get close to them, but she only glimpsed the dark outline of their car and failed to hear the sound it made as it glided through the puddle that had formed in the road.
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Sarah received a postcard from her mother a few months later, weeks after Nana Williams had purged the house of Linda's image. The card featured a glossy, dramatically lit photo of Big Ben, and Linda had drawn a thick cluster of messy kisses underneath her message. Sarah stored it underneath her pillow, and drew it out every night so she could kiss the ink of her mother's pen.
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A/N: This is part of a series of short pieces (there will probably be six overall) I'm writing about a pre-Labyrinth Sarah. I'm mainly writing them as character building exercises for my big story, Thursday's Child, but thought I would put them up here in case anyone is interested in reading them.
For any people interested in Thursday's Child, I am still writing it very actively. Check out my profile for more information, and thank-you for your patience. Something will be happening soon.
I'm not sure whether Americans use the words 'scruffy' and 'drizzling' – I'd be interested in finding out though.
Oh yes, I'm sorry if there are any errors in this. I didn't get it betaed as I wanted to post something completely off my own back.
I hope it made an enjoyable read, and apologize for being bleak.
Oh yes, one more thing:
REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW
Please!