Little miss dandelion
Chapter one: Little White Letter | Word Count: 1,972
She stifles a yawn behind a gloved hand as she pulls her faded oversized bomber jacket more firmly around herself, while another strong gust of wind threatens to knock her off her feet. She sighs, bitter cold water flooding into her mouth as the rain continues to pound her shivering form. She huffs, spitting out the water that invades her mouth as she regrets not wearing a better jack work this morning, one which would preferably be hooded or at the very least be better waterproofed that a wet paper towel.
But, she'd been in a rush this morning and had regrettably lacked the time or sense to check the weather forecast for today, if she had she would have taken her umbrella with her this morning at the very least.
Big fat raindrops continue to fall from the sky around her, mercilessly hammering her in the face and obscuring her vision as she walks up the waterlogged city street. A taxi or some other kind of vehicle making its way past her every so often, spewing fumes and clanking over the many deep potholes that litter the road.
Every so often, one of the passing drivers to her disdain will purposely drive through one of the larger puddles pooled at the side of the road, spraying a torrent of freezing cold oily water at her, soaking her from head to toe. She mostly stopped caring after about the third or so time it happened, since she was already well-passed soaked by that point already.
Luckily for her, it's not long before she finds herself standing outside a seedy little bar, a flickering, damaged neon sign in the doorway serving as the only indicator that it's still open and not closed down and left abandoned, like most of the other buildings and warehouses located in this neighborhood. She ducks inside the small doorway, heading out of the rain and wiping her feet on an old tattered mat as she does so.
She walks past the few patrons inhabiting the bar, nursing their beers as a few of the other more sober patrons shoot her odd looks as they take in her sodden appearance and her relative colorfulness compared to the other people inhabiting the bar, what with her wearing her faded light red bomber jacket, rumpled yellow shirt, and her frayed bright blue jeans. She sticks out worse than a parrot in a hen house, her clothes a stark contrast to the dark blues, blacks, and browns that inhabit the room around her.
Sly eyes follow her and the trail of muddy water she leaves behind herself, as she spots and makes her way towards the one other figure in the room who's wearing brightly colored clothes and sits tucked away in a far corner of the room, reading through an old battered textbook as their own bottle of booze sits forgotten on the table.
"It raining outside?" Asks the mop of curly dark hair, turning the page of her book as she sits down across from her.
"Nah." She says, wiping a hand across her face in a vain attempt to dry it. "I thought I'd take a short trip through a car wash on my way here."
Her sister smiles, looking up from her book to face her. "You're going to make yourself ill again, Claire. If you're not careful."
"Yeah, yeah." Replies Claire, putting her hands up in mock surrender. "I was in a rush this morning and forgot my umbrella is all." She removes her sodden jacket, placing it on the back of her chair as she makes to sit down. "Contrary to popular belief even I'm not crazy enough to consider walking around in a rainstorm a good idea."
"There's a first time for everything then." Said Olivia, removing her bleach-stained hoodie and handing it to the shivering idiot in front of her. "Here put this on before you freeze to death."
Claire takes it from her, shrugging the pullover over herself and removing her clammy blue chequered shirt from under it, discarding the shirt onto the chair beside her.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it." She takes a sip of her beer as she closes her book. "So, what's this I hear about a farm."
Claire groans, signaling for Mack, the barman to fetch her over a beer as she pulls a damp, crumpled white letter from the pocket of her jeans, placing it on the table in front of her.
"The rundown is that Mr. Wilson has passed and has apparently left me some of his assets or something in his will. Mainly, some land and the house that sits on said land." She explains as Olivia picks up and attempts to read the letter.
The duo sits in silence while Olivia reads and rereads through the aforementioned document, the sounds of the other patrons coughing and mumbling to themselves as the wind and rain hammers against the roof above them, serving as white noise that helps drowned out her thoughts as her sister studies the letter.
Olivia only looks from the document when Mack wordlessly places a beer on the table in front of them, before disappearing back behind the bar to serve another sodden customer.
"It seems legit." She tosses the piece of paper back onto the table as Claire takes a sip of her newly acquired beer.
Her sister chuckles at her as she rubs the neck of the bottle in her hand. "That all?" She asks.
"I don't know what else to say," She replies, shrugging her shoulders as she leans back in her chair. "Apart from the fact that I think you should go for it."
Claire huff, taking a swig of her beer. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I mean, doesn't it seem just a little bit odd that the old man's left me, an unrelated stranger a house, and his farm. Rather than, you know, his own flesh and blood son."
"I'd hardly call us strangers." Said Olivia, taking a drink of her own beer. "I mean, come on Claire. The old geezer took us in way back when and we both know his son's a complete and utter grease ball. Plus, the two of you had been pen pals for years until the letters stopped coming in."
She sighs, resting her head on a gloved hand as she casts her eyes around the room, maybe speaking about this in public wasn't the best of ideas after all.
"I'm not going to say I haven't considered." Admits Claire. "I'm just saying I need some time to think things through a little bit. I don't want to rush into something like this unprepared."
"He always did say you would make a brilliant farmer when you got older." Olivia smiles at her softly, fiddling with her beer bottle in her hand. "If actually lived long enough to make it to adulthood that was."
"Hey, that's not fair. I've made it to twenty-six haven't I." She chuckles returning her sister's grin with her own, remembering all the times the old man had chewed the reckless mess of a girl with no sense of self-preservation she once was. Before, seeing to her cuts, bruises, and any other injuries she might have sustained from her antics.
Only to reassuringly pat her on her shoulder or ruffle her hair, much to her teenaged annoyance. Before, giving her the worst of the worst chores to do as punishment for nearly succeeding in getting herself killed. She's sad to admit that she'd hated him in those moments, hated how kind he had been and how patient he was really, hated everything at the time really. Teenaged emotions getting the better of her she supposes, twisting internal self-doubt into an external display of anger and poorly concealed distrust.
"Pfft," Is her sister's only reply as she laughs, covering her face with her hands. "Barely, remember that one time those kids dared you to play chicken with Mr. Wilson's prized stud."
She grimaces at that particular memory, she still has the scar from the fall she took jumping over a wall to get away from the very aggressive, pissed-off stud bull that didn't take too kindly to her intruding in his field.
"In my defense, I did earn myself twenty bucks."
"And a night's stay in the hospital." Adds Olivia.
Claire shrugs, taking a long sip of her drink. "Tomato, tomahto." She says, remembering some of the injuries she'd received that day, as well as, the scolding she'd received the day after when she more lucid and still painfully sore all over, up to that point she'd never seen the old man so angry, and she's glad she'd at least had the foresight to apologize to the man. "At least I wasn't the one who somehow managed to become the sworn enemy of every turkey living on the farm."
Her sister huffs at that, signaling for Mack to get her another beer. "Hey, those turkeys were beings of pure evil, with their weird faces and all those strange demonic noises they make."
Claire laughs as her sister pulls a face at her, even after all these years she still remembers how her sister had at one point been too scared to leave the house. In fear of being spotted by one of the oversized pigeons and chased around the farm by them yet again, turns out turkeys can pretty fierce when faced with someone or something they don't like.
It had taken Mr. Wilson ages to convince her to leave the house, but only after he had promised her that he had secured all his turkeys in one of his larger coops on the very far end of the farm, far away from Olivia and the house. However, even all Mr. Wilson's efforts couldn't stop them from escaping from the coop and wreaking havoc every now and again.
She sits back in her chair as the duo goes over the bittersweet memories of their past, giggling together over their beers as they remember all the fun times they had had on the farm or in Claire's case all the times she got herself in trouble, and in a few cases nearly killed.
The night draws on as the sisters sharing a drink as they reminisce with one another, the night inevitably ends with the duo stumbling into Claire's apartment. Olivia throwing herself onto the couch as soon as she sets her eyes upon it, not even bothering to take off her shoes or socks as she falls headfirst into one of the old tacky throw pillows, mumbling to herself inaudibly as she sprawls herself out on the couch.
A fond smile decorates Claire's face as she stares at the now sleeping form of her sister, taking it upon herself to remove her sister's shoes and socks, which she is able to do with little resistance as her sister mumbles to herself in her sleep.
"Idiot." She mutters, throwing an old knitted Afghan blanket over her sister as she continues to snore softly, dead to the world as Claire tucks the faded green and yellow material around her.
She shakes her head at the sleeping form of her sister as she turns off the light and stumbles her way into her bedroom, flopping down onto the bed and pulling the covers over herself as she shuffles her shoes off of her feet and onto the floor below.
She pulls a pillow over her head, blocking out the soft pitter-pattering of rain as it hits her bedroom and the ever-present sounds of the city outside her window. She shifts and turns in her bed, pulling the covers more firmly over herself.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad
She stares into the darkness, memories swirling around in her mind of a time when her life became that little bit easier. She sighs, continuing to toss and turn under the covers, she'll have to have another talk with her sister tomorrow when they've both had more than enough time to properly think things over.