"Gregory is indeed a talented artist, but…."
"I am aware. He is a bit of an oddball."
"Oddball indeed! The child is flat out strange!"
"The boy's like a ghost, for God sake. He's always there, but he always just silently watches, never speaking or anything. And he's just a nuisance to have around."
"He just needs a little time to come out of his shell…"
"I think he's had enough time to manage that much."
It was a quiet, peaceful day at the Violet Estate. Gregory Violet liked the quiet days best, when there were no parties or visitors or important people which required making a good impression on. He enjoyed sitting in the corner of his father's study and doodling on his notepad with a piece of charcoal from the kitchen. When his Father asked him to draw someplace else, he went to his room to play with his toys. Gregory was only six years old, born a second son. His older brother was 16 years, and was often away at school. There were no other children in the house to play with, not that he minded. He didn't really care for other children all that much.
It was an hour past noon. The sky was an overcast gray, so Father wouldn't try to make him go and play outside. Gregory decided to explore the mansion a bit. It was a big house, ideal for perusing in search of new things. He began with the guest bedrooms on the second floor. Each one was different. He was always fascinated by the flourishes on the mantlepieces and the patterns in the carpets. Some rooms had big mirrors with silver linings. Gregory would often sit in front of the mirrors and draw himself as he saw. He decided to do just that.
After several attempts at reworking an indistinguishably wretched drawing of a face with a piece of bread (which he used as an eraser), he finally got something he was happy with. It was difficult drawing his hair, which was short and colored dark ebony, and always fell over his face. Gregory was easily frustrated, but he didn't give up. Though his childish little scribblings didn't even have room to compare with one of Mother's paintings. He looked at his hand. He saw it was coated with a thin layer of black charcoal. He pressed his hand onto the page of his notebook, making a print. Next to it, he signed the initials GV. Mother always signed her drawings. Maybe if he signed his drawings like she did, he could be as good as Mother. Gregory decided to return to the kitchen and return the bread and charcoal.
He knew he would be scolded if he was caught in the kitchen. All the more reason not to get caught. He didn't see any servants in the kitchen. This was a golden opportunity. He had done this many times before. He slid in through the doorway and stuck close to the brick walls as he tiptoed across the cold cement paved floors. Quiet, quiet…so as not to be heard...he set the charcoal on the counter near the stove and slid the small piece of bread into the corner of the china cabinet, so no one would find it. Except maybe a mouse. As he turned to leave, his foot caught on the leg of the cabinet. Gregory tripped, but he wasn't the only thing that fell. The china cabinet wobbled, then came crashing to the floor in an earsplitting shatter, the glass doors on the case breaking as it hit the concrete floor. Gregory hit the ground hard knee-first, pain shooting through his leg. He wailed in pain. He curled up on the floor clutching his right knee in his his hands, crying in anguish. He saw that the skin on his kneecap was bleeding, which only made him cry more.
"What was that?"
He heard voices in the hallway.
"I haven't the foggiest idea."
"It sounded like something breaking!"
"Dear Lord, what on earth happened?"
Three servants entered the kitchen, two maids and the butler. One of them gasped upon entering. "Oh….my god."
One of the maids, whose name was Maggie (she was about 19 years old at the time), immediately rushed over to Gregory's side, who was still crying. "Gregory, are you alright?" He shook his head and let go of his bleeding knee. "Here, let me see your knee-"
"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?"
Everyone in the room looked toward the entrance to see who had entered. It was none other than Master Liam Violet, and behind him his wife Cynthia. Gregory's father and mother. And at the moment, they both were flabbergasted by sight of this disaster zone.
Mother put her hand over her mouth. "What on earth…."
Father's dark eyes wandered the room until his eyes rested on little Gregory, still lying on the floor sniffling next to the ruined china case. He began walking towards him, a look of mild wrath in his eyes. When he was towering directly over Maggie and Gregory, he stopped.
"Gregory. Did you do this?"
He nodded weakly, tears still streaming down his face.
"You know full well," he said, coldly, "that you are not allowed in the kitchen."
Gregory dared not look his father in the eyes.
"Unless you would like to clean all of this up yourself, you are to go to your room, and you are NOT TO COME OUT UNTIL DINNER!" He paused. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!"
Gregory cringed at the sudden raise in his father's voice. "Yes Father," he blubbered.
"Sir, you mustn't be too hard on him! It was only an accident!" Maggie piped up.
"YOU will be silent! You have no right to order your Master around!" Father turned away towards the butler and the other maid who had come in with Maggie. "Isabelle, Felix, see to this mess at once." He turned back to Maggie. "Margaret, take Gregory to his room and tend to the scrape on his knee."
"Yes sir."
Gregory sat on his bed with his right leg extended while Maggie dabbed his scrape with a cotton ball coated in rubbing alcohol. Gregory winced in discomfort as the alcohol worked its way into the wound.
"Well, miracle of all miracles you only managed to break five dishes save the cabinet," Isabelle said. "I'm just relieved that thing didn't fall on you."
Gregory remained silent. He stared at the floor blankly.
"Now you mustn't blame your father for this. He's been quite stressed with his work and whatnot."
"That's what you always say when he yells at me."
Maggie gently fastened a bandage to his knee. "He's only worried about you. It's so hard to tell how a person will turn out to be at your age. He wants you to grow up to be a fine young man who doesn't snoop around in places he isn't supposed to be and break china cabinets."
"He was worried about the cabinet, not me."
Maggie sighed. She looked Gregory in the eyes. "You could have just asked me for the bread and the charcoal, you know."
Gregory looked away again. He didn't like looking people in the eye. "I know."
"Right then. Your leg is all patched up. Feeling any better?"
"Yeahr."
"That's good." Maggie smiled and brushed the hair out of Gregory's face. "You're a smart boy, Gregory. You're going to grow up to be a fine man one day. Can you stay in here and be good until dinner?"
"Okay."
"Alright. Call if you need anything. I'll be nearby." Maggie picked up the medicine kit and left the room, closing the door behind her. Gregory lay on the bed and buried his face in the covers. He wished big brother would come back home. But Mother said he wouldn't be back until Christmas break. That stupid china cabinet. He hated it. And he hated Father for yelling at him over something so he thought so trivial. After several minutes of hating the world and all that inhabited it, Gregory quietly drifted off to sleep.