Agatha.
Trunchbull.
Ms. Honey's childhood had resulted in her understanding the world in a certain way. She categorized people into four different groups: the controllers, the blind followers, those who rebel against the controllers, and the people broken by the controllers. The controllers are born the way they are, and will always act and respond to situations in the way that comes natural to them; to control any situation and oppress others. Some people cannot reason, or think for themselves, so they depend on others to dominate them. Those who resist and eventually rebel against influences do so because they have a natural aversion to being controlled or manipulated. Others have been broken down by these influencers, and there is something that has gone deeply wrong in their minds. These broken ones are controllers that have themselves been oppressed.
Humming
softly to herself she prepared two glasses of lemonade. The
refreshing liquid glugged three times as she poured it into a glass.
Agatha took another glass out of the cupboard, again pouring the
lemonade, but this time taking another ingredient out of the bottom
cupboard, and adding it. She put the carton back in the fridge and
the other ingredient in the cupboard below the sink.
Agatha had a
blank and unreadable expression on her face as she walked up the
stairs with the tray of lemonade. She stopped in the doorframe and
peered into Magnus' office; the large wooden desk faced the bay
window, so he didn't see her approach.
"Boo"
she said as she walked up behind him. Startled, Magnus practically
jumped out of his seat, and knocked over a picture of his wife,
Susan, who had recently passed away. Good gracious! You startled me,
Agatha!" he said. "I thought you might be thirsty, so I brought
you some lemonade," Agatha replied warmly. He gratefully accepted
the beverage and took a large gulp. "Thank you very much. You have
been such a help around the house ever since you moved in. Jen really
appreciates having you around. I
couldn't thank you enough,"
enthused Magnus, speaking his last words kindly.
"It's no trouble at all," Agatha said, leaving the room with a smile on her face.
Agatha swaggered across the room to face Magnus. He no longer had
the ability to move, but most unfortunately for him, he was still
awake and conscious. The worst part was not the immobility or the
pain. It was not being able to look away from the sick and twisted
expression on her face. It was the worst kind of torture for him.
"You've
always sickened me. You were always so polite, always mother and
father's favourite. Wonderful, special Magnus. You went off to
university,
and became a doctor, marrying that little piss worm,
Miss Susan. When mother
died, you went straight back to your
perfect little life after the funeral. When father died you couldn't
even be bothered to come home from school." He could not speak, but
his eyes said everything to her. "Oh, do you think I'm crazy? You
think I'm a lunatic? You knew what Orla did to me! I asked for your
help, I confided in you when I needed help the most, but you
completely fucking ignored me! You left. I couldn't leave! I had to
stay here. In this hellhole. Could you not see how miserable my life
was? And still is! I will no longer be made to feel like I am
powerless. Not by you. Not by anyone." She studied his eyes, and
she decided that they were questioning her rationale "Am I wrong?
I'm never wrong! Now I have the power. In this household, in this
town, I am god! Remember your precious 'Cookie'? She will pay.
Orla will no longer control me either. I will put her in a place
where not even the crows can land their droppings on her!"
Her
expression morphing from enraged, to spiteful "Well you're sorry
now aren't you? You should feel lucky, now that Jennifer can be
raised in reality. I won't be blinded by adoration, telling her
lies like what an intelligent girl she is, or how pretty she is.
She'll have me to tell her what a festering bowl of pus she really
is." Agatha picked up his limp body and threw him over her
shoulder. As she walked out of the room Magnus was in the direct view
of a photo of Jen, his daughter. He imagined his eyes clinging onto
the photo as long as he could. Agatha walked down the staircase,
careful not to bash the freshly painted walls.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ten years ago today, a missing persons report was filed for one Corinne "Cookie" Thripp. She has yet to be found. Ten months later, another report was filed, this time for Orla Trunchbull, aunt of the town's late doctor, Magnus, who had been found dead on his living room floor, by his sister, Agatha. The police decided that Magnus had had killed himself. There was a police investigation for all of these cases, and Agatha was interviewed as a possible suspect, but the accusations were later dismissed, and she was declared innocent. Agatha was a trusted figure in her community, and principal of the local school, Crunchem Hall. The cases of Cookie, and Orla were classified as unsolved they were stamped, then filed away, along with the hundreds of unsolved missing persons cases in the county, to collect dust.
"I'm right and you're wrong, and there's nothing you can do about it." Matilda squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears in an attempt to block out the memory. The familiar words echoed in her mind. Somehow her powers stopped working when she needed them the most. She smelled disgusting. She felt the grease in her hair and the streaks of dirt on her face even without looking at herself in the mirror.
There was a hole for human waste. The hole was almost the same size as the water pouch she had found, but thankfully the pouch was bigger, otherwise it would have fallen through and she would be without water. At first she was not sure what the pouch was, but after shaking the pouch and hearing a slosh, all she could think of was water. Her thirst took control, and she pushed her instincts aside. Thankfully, the substance had turned out to be just water, and not something toxic or poisonous. The pouch was made of leather. It was quite old and had become smooth over time. One section, however had a few scratches on it's surface. She had initially thought them to be letters or symbols, but she wasn't certain. For the first two weeks, she was only given the disgusting chocolate cake that Cookie baked, but a few days ago she woke up to find a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple beside her. Her stomach heaved at the thought of eating any cake. Her bowels did not respond well to constantly digesting cake, making the smell in the Chokey even more horrendous. "Her sweat and blood went into this cake, now eat it!" her mind recalled Trunchbull's words without her permission. She wished that she could just get out of this prison.
Recalling from a book she had read about "Special Housing Units" which was just an official term for "the hole", she remembered that she should take deep breaths in order to stay calm whenever she was angry or frustrated. It was extremely difficult not to be frustrated, or even to hyperventilate, but the shallow air and horrible stench reminded her that she would most likely pass out and no one would be able to help her then. I am alone. That thought echoed in her mind over and over. Where am I? She asked herself, trying to distract her thoughts. She was in the Chokey, but not the Chokey. She had been in the Chokey many times before, but she had not heard any of the familiar outside noises, the buzz of voices as her school mates skipped to lunch, or the Trunchbull throwing darts at pictures of Crunchem Hall students. This was somewhere different. She gasped as she remembered something the Trunchbull said to her "You will be put into a place where not even the crows can land their droppings on you!" She guessed that she might be in a basement, because she recognized a damp, dingy smell underneath her own stench. Frustrated, she kicked at the door. Not even a wood chip. She kicked again, hoping for the smallest particle to fall off. "You cut that out this instant or I'll come down there and pound your miserable hide."' Matilda froze. It was the first time the Trunchbull had acknowledged her presence.
"You're
too small. Grow up! Quicker!" Orla yelled at Agatha. Orla piled
another pan full of eggs onto her plate. "I cooked these eggs just
for you Aggie!" Orla snickered. Agatha didn't say a word. She was
always silent while she was in Orla's presence. There was no use in
talking. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Orla said
mockingly. "N.. n.. no" Agatha replied meekly as she slowly rose
from her seat. "Thud" Orla struck her with the searing hot pan.
"You will not leave this table until you have consumed the entire
helping!" Agatha sat back down, her head exploding with the pain.
Even thinking about trying to speak, posed a challenge. She fell to
the floor. "Get up! You miserable piece of slime!" Orla yelled.
Orla's voice slowly started to fade, until she heard nothing, and
was no longer conscious.
Ms. Honey had had similar experiences, but none as terrible as the Trunchbull's. The Trunchbull mostly left her alone; she still had to deal with Orla and Cookie. There were a few times when the Trunchbull was dangerously angry, and inflicted her rage on her young niece, sometimes going so far as to breaking her arm. Twice.
Matilda did not remember being put in the Chokey, or even seeing Ms. Trunchbull, so she must have been unconscious when she was put in here. She remembered waking up in the dark Chokey. The creaking, rusty pipes, and jagged edges of the glass meant she couldn't move very much unless she was extremely cautious. She still had some cuts and bruises from when she first awoke in the Chokey. But, that was roughly two weeks ago. Now she knew where every nail, sharp piece of glass and pipe was in her small prison. She made a tally on the wall with a piece of broken glass, calculating how many sunsets there were. Suddenly determined to try for the hundredth time she hoped that she might get her powers back. She needed to focus on the Trunchbull, her parents' abuse and neglect, for her powers to work. She willed the door to open with all of her might. Her body shook with the effort. Silence. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, and once again recalled all of the bad memories in hopes of opening the door. She waited for the creak of the door that was all too familiar from her days at Crunchem Hall, but there was still silence. She had vowed to herself that she would not let her emotions get to her, but tonight she succumbed to the frustrations of her situation. She fell asleep, exhausted.
"Aunt Orla! P.. ple.. please, no!" Agatha sobbed aloud, waking herself from her nightmare. Only this was not a nightmare. This was very real. It was her life. Her father was dead now. So was her mother. They would never have allowed anything like this to happen to her. She looked towards the end of the room, it was dark and damp. The shadow of the bush outside the window loomed over the room at night, seeming to possess it. She sometimes wished that the shadow would just swallow her whole.
She wasn't allowed to keep any possessions, and Orla made sure that she didn't think that she had the privilege of having her own room. She layed in her bed of raggedy linens for a short while. Her vision was cloudy and her head was pounding. The pan Orla hit her with had left a giant lump on her head, and it was still bruised after two months. She squeezed Lissy doll for reassurance. Lissy was always there for her. She had stolen a needle and thread from Aunt Orla to make Lissy out of the scraps of material she called her bed. She got a lashing for that. She slowly crawled out from her makeshift bed. She walked towards the far end of the room. The only thing on the filthy walls was a painting of her father.
Orla thought this would make her miserable, but it comforted her greatly. It was also quite convenient for Orla, because she had always hated Agatha's father. Orla couldn't stand to have a painting of him grace the walls of "her" upper floors. Agatha fingered the edge of the painting's frame. She lifted it off the wall and laid it on the floor. She took her stolen needle out from it's hiding spot in the painting's frame, and began to carve her name into the wall. There. This was her room now. She walked over to her leather water pouch, took out her stolen thread and began to stitch her name into the pouch. Next she sewed her name into Lissy doll. Orla could not take her water pouch from her, she did not know Lissy existed, and there was nowhere else for her to sleep that was convenient for Orla. She could not take these things from her. And besides, Orla needed her to alive in order to torture her.
"Ms.
Honey, please report to the principal's office, immediately!" The
Trunchbull's acidic voice rang over the P.A system. The classroom
turned silent; the children knew what going to the Trunchbull's
office meant. For them, it meant the Chokey, but what did it mean for
Ms. Honey?
Were
teachers ever put into the Chokey? They all wondered, but did not
ask.
Ms. Honey rose from her seat, saying, "I'll be back in a moment children." She walked out of the sunny classroom, and into the dark and decrepit hallway. The hallways in Crunchem Hall always cast intimidating shadows. The Trunchbull liked things that way. Dark.
Ms. Honey had always guessed that the Trunchbull liked the dark because people could never see her clearly that way. When they recalled memories of the Trunchbull, they could never really remember what she looked like. There is no clarity in the dark. Things are blurred and fuzzy. But that was how the Trunchbull lived her life.
Ms. Honey
was terrified of the Trunchbull, but not of Agatha. Agatha hid behind
her infamous reputation as "the Trunchbull", where she had no
feelings, and no conscience.
To parents
of the town, the Trunchbull was strict and stern, but rightly so, as
she was the principal of the school their children attended. To the
students, the Trunchbull was dangerous and abusive.
Because of
her childhood, Ms. Honey understood that the Trunchbull was to be
feared, and there was no question as to how dangerous she was. Ms.
Honey suspected that her parents were killed by the hands of the
Trunchbull. She believed Cookie may have had the same fate. Ms. Honey
doubted that the Trunchbull would ever have the courage to kill Orla.
She did know one thing. The Trunchbull had a conscience, however
small it may be. Agatha was the scared and lonely person beneath the
Trunchbull's surface. Whenever Ms. Honey was seeing the Trunchbull,
she told herself that she was going to see Agatha, and not the
Trunchbull.
She arrived
at the door of Agatha's office, and rapped at the door. "Come in,
come in, whoever you are!" the Trunchbull called out.
"Ahhh,
hello Jen. I just need to talk to you about this Matilda problem."
she said.
"Whatever
do you mean?" Ms. Honey asked.
"She's a
disgusting example of humanity. Just like her father. The apple never
rots far from the tree! She needs to be dealt with, to be taught a
lesson. She's a smart alec. I do not want smart alecs in my
school!" she spat. "One day, Jen you'll see that everything I
do is for your own good, and for the good of those putrescent little
children." The Trunchbull picked up one of her darts and aimed it
at the door.
"Aunt
Agatha," Ms. Honey started out slowly, "Please, don't harm her.
She is just an innocent little girl." Ms. Honey pleaded.
"What
did you call me?!" the
Trunchbull was enraged. She grabbed Ms. Honey's arm. "I've
broken your arm before Jen, I can do it again!"
Ms.
Honey tried to pull her arm from the Trunchbull's grip. "I'm
not a little girl anymore Aunt Agatha." Ms. Honey said in reply,
hoping to shock the Trunchbull into releasing her arm. She was, in
fact shocked. Agatha released her arm, and Ms. Honey ran back to her
classroom, scared for her life.
Matilda was awoken by someone's mumbling. She didn't recognize the voice, so she sat silently for a moment and listened. "You don't own me. Oh no, you don't. You don't control me anymore. I would just like to see you try." It was the Trunchbull speaking. Someone replied in a weak and scratchy voice "Please, Agatha all I want is a sip" An object crashed to the ground. "Oh ho. After all these years you finally learn how to speak to a person properly! I can't say the same thing of myself, thanks to you. It's too bad that the cup broke, I guess you will just have to go thirsty" Agatha yelled.
The Trunchbull's footsteps got closer, and Matilda guessed that she had left the room. Matilda carefully rose, ducking her head to avoid hitting the rebar sticking out of the wall. The first night, she had slept upright with her legs tucked into her stomach, but she later discovered, with the help of the metal flap opening that if she ducked below one large nail she could curl up and sleep comfortably. If she pushed the metal flap on the bottom of the doorplate open when the sun was setting, enough light shone through so that she could see everything in the Chokey. Her legs were extremely stiff and she felt unsteady on her feet because she had been stuck in a sitting position for so long. She peered through the keyhole to see what time of day it was.
The sun was rising. She could tell because it got brighter and brighter in the Chokey, until she could see the outline of the nails, and the cold metallic glint they let off. Her eyes immediately shot to her water pouch. Now was her chance to see what the letters spelled. The letters carved into it spelled "Agatha". She wondered who Agatha was, and kept herself busy by making up stories about this Agatha. Matilda reached to push the metal flap open to see if the Trunchbull was in the room. She could not see the room clearly because of how small the flap on the doorplate was. But all of a sudden the door creaked open. There was one long low creak before the door became still, and then sagged on it's hinges. She stumbled out and was dizzied by the movement. She thought she saw a flurry of black feathers. What on earth was that? She wondered. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light. She was in a small empty room. The windows that faced the east were dusty; preventing her from seeing outside clearly. She walked towards the last window on the left. Her size and stature was more often than not an advantage, because she could slip through tight spaces and hide herself easily, but in this case it posed a problem to her. After being inactive for so long, jumping to reach the window would be a strenuous activity. She practiced first to see how far she could push herself without creating too much noise, and letting the Trunchbull know that she had gotten out. She jumped up and wiped some of the dust off of one of the windows, but she couldn't see anything because of an overgrown bush. She moved to walk over to the next window, but something caught her eye. Other than the dusty windows, the room was almost immaculately clean. What Matilda had noticed was a small imperfection in the plaster. As she got closer to it, she realized that it was not a dent, but some letters carved into the wall. They spelled out "Agatha". Now she was really curious about this Agatha. A frantic tapping on the windowpane of one of the other windows disrupted her from her thoughts. She hurried over towards it, and again jumped up to wipe the dust off. She saw the outline of a familiar figure. She stepped back from the window. Her heart was racing.
"I'm right and you're wrong, and there's nothing you can do about it." The words echoed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut to block out the memory. "Are you nice and comfortable down there, Agatha?" Orla sneered, and Cookie laughed along with her. "Use the rod; beat the child, that's my motto. They're all mistakes, children. Dirty, filthy things. Glad I never was one." Orla said to Cookie. Agatha pulled her knees up to her chest and cried softly into her knees so that she wouldn't be heard.
"Matilda!"
"Matilda!" the search party called out repeatedly. Ms. Honey was
leading the search party since Mr. And Mrs. Wormwood had seemed
relatively unconcerned about their daughter's disappearance. The
search party was searching the woodlands behind the Trunchbull's
house. The woodlands eventually lead into a cornfield, so it was
almost impossible to see beyond it. The forest path ended and the
search party stepped into the cornfield, and they split into three
groups. The farmer had given them permission to search his cornfield
for Matilda. After about three quarters of an hour, they met up again
without any luck. They ended the search for the day, discouraged, but
with hopes for the next day. Ms. Honey took a side path home towards
her small cottage. She always dreaded this path because it passed the
Trunchbull's house, which was also her childhood home. She knew
every detail of the house and admired the small part of it that had
remained virtually un-touched while the Trunchbull was living there.
The old brick had darkened with age, and there were three wooden
windows that had once been cream, but now were dirty and cracked.
This path was always eerily quiet. Things seemed to happen more
slowly here. Even the wind seemed to blow past slowly. Suddenly,
there was a loud creak. Ms. Honey was startled and turned to look at
the basement windows. She wanted to walk towards the easterly most
window. Afraid of being caught by the Trunchbull, she looked around
before she approached, cautiously couched down and peered into the
window. Looking into the window she saw a room she had never seen
before, or at least she didn't recognize it. Out of nowhere came a
flurry of black feathers. The creature blew the window to her left
open, and flew out. Then something thumped against the window to her
left. She couldn't see very far left, so she stood and moved to the
next window. She looked into the window, and there
was Matilda
standing below her in the Trunchbull's basement. Ms. Honey knocked
on the window frantically, certain that the Trunchbull would hear the
commotion and would come down at any moment. Matilda motioned for her
to come in, but Ms. Honey shook her head violently and pulled the
window open. "Matilda!
Oh thank goodness! We thought that you might be... Are you alright!?
What is that smell?"
Ms. Honey whispered loudly.
"Shhh. She'll hear us!" was
all Matilda said. Ms. Honey hoisted Matilda out from the basement,
and said "We
have to leave. Now. The Trunchbull is dangerous. More dangerous than
you could imagine. You are mature enough to hear what I am about to
tell you... but first we must go somewhere safe."
"I've
never been able to understand why small children are so disgusting.
They're the bane of my life. They're like insects, they should be
got rid as early as possible. My idea of a perfect world is one in
which where there are no children at all. Don't you agree, Cookie?"
Orla said to Cookie. "Why you insist on keeping this thing around
is beyond me." Orla reproved to Agatha. She then turned to Jen. "At
least be useful, you
pestilence. Scrub the floor!" Jen pulled a
dishcloth off of a kitchen chair and started scrubbing. "Not near
me! In the other room! Get up! Quicker!" Jen jumped up and took a
step backwards, stumbling. "She can't even walk properly! Orla
shouted.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ms. Honey had known Cookie all her life. Cookie had not once shown even a fraction of compassion towards her. Ms. Honey never looked into Orla's eyes while she was being screamed at or criticized. She found interesting spots on the wall or floor to look at. One thing she did, was she always snuck a peek at Cookie's expression. It was always smug and full of contempt. When Cookie went missing, she noticed a change in both her Aunt Agatha, and Orla. Orla had lost some part of the stronghold that she had over her aunt. Agatha was more compassionate, and the punishments were less extreme. When Orla disappeared, Agatha almost left her entirely alone, except for the odd strike or harsh words here and there.
Matilda and Ms. Honey ran along the path towards Ms. Honey's house. They soon reached the border between open fields and the forest. Ms. Honey's house was nestled in between the two. The land around Ms. Honey's house was overgrown with all kinds of flora. Honeysuckle, marigold, sunflowers, raspberries, and strawberries enveloped the property, and ivy enveloped the small cottage. There was an old fence made of wooden logs surrounding the property. Ms. Honey hurriedly opened the gate, and slammed it shut once they were both inside. They walked past the cottage, "Where are we going?" Matilda asked, frowning. Ms. Honey continued walking until they reached a cellar door. She pulled it open, and motioned for Matilda to step down into the cellar. Ms. Honey came in behind Matilda. The cellar was quite big, with shelves of glass jars, and most of them were empty. Ms. Honey rented her cottage from a farmer, and he used to use the cellar to preserve fruit. "Ms. Honey, I'm very hungry, is there anything that I could eat down here? Matilda asked weakly. She was exhausted from the running. Ms. Honey walked over to one of the shelves, and pulled out a jar of preserved peaches. She opened the lid and handed it to Matilda. "Here you are darling. Are you alright?" Ms. Honey asked. "Sit here" she said, placing a crate beside Matilda. Matilda sat. "I'll be fine, I just need some time to catch my breath. My heart has never beat that hard in my entire life. I do have one question though. Who is Agatha?" she asked. "Why do you ask?" Ms. Honey said, somewhat shocked. "I was stuck inside the Chokey, and there was a water pouch inside, and I saw it written on the wall." Matilda replied. "Agatha is the Trunchbull's first name. She was imprisoned there as a child by my great aunt Orla." Ms. Honey informed her. "But then... that means... no. It can't be!" Matilda said, horrified. "Yes. Aunt Trunchbull." Ms. Honey confessed. "Why didn't you run away?" Matilda asked. "I've often thought about it, but I can't abandon my children. And if I couldn't teach, I'd have nothing at all." Ms. Honey replied. "You're very brave, Miss Honey." Matilda said. "Not as brave as. I'm very proud of you." Ms. Honey stated. "I thought grown-ups weren't afraid of anything." Matilda admitted. "Oh, that is quite the contrary. All grown-ups get scared, just like children." Ms. Honey corrected. I wonder what Miss Trunchbull is afraid of, Matilda thought.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The
Trunchbull walked down the basement stairs, and through several dark
corridors before she reached the room that she kept Matilda in. This
room was full of bad memories. It reminded her of her past, and
everything she wanted to forget. She unlocked the door, opened it,
and stepped through the doorway, and into the small, and stark room.
She squinted when she entered the room, and put her arm above her
head to block out the light. There
should not be sunlight in here. Why is it so bright?
The
door of the Chokey was open. The Trunchbull stopped dead in her
tracks.
The door of the Chokey was not only open, but the Chokey was empty. The once dusty windows had handprints on them, and one of them hung open. She yelled, seething with rage. Matilda must be at Jennifer's house. She ran through the corridors, and up the basement stairs. Arriving in the kitchen, she ripped the back door open, and tore down the path towards Ms. Honey's house. She took big strides as she ran, her powerful leg muscles shaking the ground each time she stepped. The sun was too bright for her, and so she picked up her pace. Once the gate of Ms. Honey's cottage was in sight, she slowed down a little. She pulled open the gate's door, and walked heavy-footed along the path towards the door. She entered the one room cottage. She looked around. There were no places where they could be hiding, and very little furniture. She yelled again, and stalked towards the back door. Once outside she looked around, and noticed a cellar door. She heard a shrill and fearful whisper, so she approached the cellar silently. She leaned towards the door, and tore it open. Sitting inside were Ms. Honey and Matilda. Their faces were white with fear. "Please, Agatha, don't!" Ms. Honey begged. "Be quiet, Jen, or you'll be sorry." The Trunchbull warned. "I won't let you do this!" Ms. Honey protested, her voice fearful, but firm. The Trunchbull pulled the jar of peaches out of Matilda's hands, and hit Ms. Honey over the head with it. Ms. Honey was knocked out so there was no one else to help Matilda now. The Trunchbull grabbed Matilda and dragged her out of the cellar. Matilda did not try to fight back; there was no point.
When they reached the Chokey, Matilda collapsed. The Trunchbull kicked her in the stomach "Get up, you miserable piece of slime!" the Trunchbull commanded. She grabbed Matilda's arm, and pulled "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" the Trunchbull mocked. "P.. ple.. please, no!" Matilda begged. The Trunchbull paused. Her expression changed. She dropped Matilda's arm. She remembered when Orla did the same thing to her. She shook the thought out of her head. The light must be causing me to hallucinate. She looked at Matilda. The sight of Matilda's terrified expression took her back to her childhood. She couldn't be in this room anymore. She stepped away from Matilda, and slowly backed out of the room. The Trunchbull stepped through the basement doorway, and into the kitchen in a daze. Even when she was away from Matilda, and that room, she could not shake the feelings she feared.
Remorse,
regret.
I
cannot cope with this anymore.
She walked over to the cupboard and took a single glass out of the
cupboard, and an ingredient from below the sink. She filled it with
water, and added the substance to her glass. With the glass in hand,
she walked over towards the cupboard where she kept her handgun. She
took it out, and slipped it into her belt, then pulled her shirt over
the handgun to hide it. She walked through the kitchen, and into the
living room. She looked up at the painting of her father hanging over
the fireplace. She
stared longingly at it, wishing she could look
into his kind eyes once more.
She
turned away from the painting, walked through the kitchen, and
towards the basement staircase. The stairs all of sudden looked
foreboding. The dark no longer looked welcoming. She sucked in her
breath, and walked down the steps, and into an empty room. She took
her keys out from her pocket, unlocked a set of doors, and stepped
into a small closet. She felt around for the edge of the false wall.
She pried it open, and unlocked another door. The door opened into an
old, dusty room. The room looked grey, and the dust floated around
the room. Some light had managed to filter through the spaces between
the curtains that covered the windows, and illuminated the dust
particles. She walked over to one of the windows, pulled open the
tattered curtains, and wiped the dust, letting the warm afternoon sun
bask the room. Sitting in the corner on a chair was an old, frail
woman. The old woman looked up at the Trunchbull, but then reverted
her gaze back down to the floor, not even acknowledging her presence.
"I brought you some water." Agatha said. Orla grunted, and
reached out for the glass.
Agatha began to rant, "You can't
say thank you, even once?! The only person in the world I have to
talk to is you, of all people. I might as well be talking to myself.
I have taken the lives of so many. Too many. Almost everyone in our
family, except you. And why did I spare you? You killed my parents.
You tortured me. Beat me. Look what you have done to me. Look what
I've done to myself. You have made me suffer, and I have made you
suffer. No more. There will be no more." There was no response.
Agatha began to weep. She leaned her back against the wall beside
Orla, and slid down it until she was sitting. She sat, waiting. The
drugs Orla drank would kick in soon. She looked over at Orla. Her
eyes seemed to have widened, and they looked frantic. Orla could not
move. The drugs had taken effect.
Agatha stood up, and closed Orla's eyelids. She hoped that Orla would not feel any pain. She took the gun out of her belt. She held the gun up to Orla's head, and pulled the trigger. A single loud shot rang out. Agatha turned, and looked longingly towards the warm sunlight shining through the window. She would never see her father again. Nor her brother. They were in a better place. Picturing her father's kind eyes, she raised the handgun to her head, and pulled the trigger.
11