Hey people! This story is from Gudule's point of view. It might not be up to your set standard and hence you are free to use constructive criticism. But, please be kind because this is my first attempt at writing a story about 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'.
"Some say Motherhood is bound by love, I say it is bound by endless love."
Disclaimer: I do not own the fabulous book mentioned above.
God is kind.
'Faith. That hast remain when all be heart ope in faith to God, thou God be kind to thee.' It, I believe. An aged body, wiry hair, cracked heart and wrinkled soul. That is what I am. I had a name;once. I was called- Gudule. My last name, I lost with my lord. My identity, with my daughter.
I kiss her shoe. A beautiful green, with engraved flowers, as had been her. My dear Agnes. I shed not tears from mine eyes but blood from my heart for her return. I pray not for the wretched gypsy's death, but, for her return. My clasped hands and quivering lips call for her touch to feel, her mere sight. Unhearing ears mine, long for her tinkling laugh to listen.
Through the tiny, barred window that helps me breathe my body dead come soaring the sounds of celebration. It is agony to hear, agony to see. Agony beyond the pain of burning flesh. "Have you no honour, but for pelf?! No respect, but for thine own self?! Curses of the Almighty shall befall on you, for so unholy you are, that you know not even pity!" I scream and throw myself upon the walls for an escape from those devils; to find none. I go back to the window. I clutch Agnes's shoe to my bosom within which she lays. Stones hit me seldom, yet what do, I do not feel. I do not fear pain caused by physical injury any more.
A gypsy, no, the gypsy girl dances in the yonder square. Her voice is clear and loud but very sweet. Hate her, I do. I open my mouth to curse her in the God's name, but speech deceives me. She dances, and people pay attention to her. No attention to me or the anger that I spout out at them out of pain. Then, prayers can be done, lullabies be sung. The priceless shoe can be worshipped and bathed and kissed and cuddled. Memories be redrawn, dreams be painted.
God does what he does for a reason. He shall return my dear girl to me one day. It will not be that He shall not listen. He always listens. Always is listening. It, I believe.
A/N: Well, that was it. A one-shot. Please review. Tell me if I'm going wrong, any suggestions...and if you like it, you can again, review, or favourite or follow.
With all my love,
Phoenix :)