Marie Bailey had been sleeping for a few hours, since she reached home - threw open the door - let it slam - trudged up the stairs. Her Father called after to query about her day - which she retorted - 'I hate school, I hate this town, I hate America, and I hate you, Da.' He merely shook her head and recalled how he was when he was teenager - loud, crude, bad habits that never quite died, and of course depressed.
She awoke with a start - trembling and cold with frigidness. She instantly knew that she had been dreaming, but of what, she knew not of. Vaguely she recalled what had woken her up - her Father had yelled twice that he was going out. Marie snorted - he did not even come up and check in on her. In a matter of seconds she could slit her wrists of translucence - or a murder could creep in and chop off her head - or Charles Manson could escape from prison and decide that a small Irish girl that had just moved to Everwood, Colorado needed to die to make the world a better place. Obviously, she giggled to herself, her imagination was on overdrive.
Distinctly, she heard voices, quite a few in fact. They were muffled and all ran together - Marie forced herself up from her bed and stepped to the window. She lamented that only her bed was in her room - a few books on the floor, but the rest of her possessions would not be there until tomorrow. It peeved her greatly that her three bookcases, which were over flowing with books - from vampire novel paperbacks - great works of literature - young adult novels - they were absent and it made her cold inside. Everything else, Marie believed, could be torn asundre, but if her pages with ebony ink were destroyed, then so her soul would cease to exist.
The fact that two truck loads of teenagers driving near recklessly down her street did not registre - instead when she caught her figure in the reflection of the window - she stopped - dead. Marie did not loathe her complexion, in fact her face was deathly pale - fair, with no blemishes, but she hated how wide her hips were and how she never could quite loose the twenty or so pounds that refused to drop.
Finally, she pulled her attention off of her own suffering, not just of her own faults, but also of missing her homeland. The vehicles were moving tediously slow now; apparently the wailing down asphalt did not amuse them anymore. From what she could tell, they were going to a party - and then surprising her, they stopped. Marie could not quite recall who lived across the street - some family with a last name that started with an A - she barely recalled this. Then, it rushed upon her - Abbot - a doctor, his wife and two kids - her Father had wanted her to go visit and invite them for dinner - it did not happen.
The street was silent as night fell around the heads of Everwood. Marie Bailey could have sworn that pins were being dropped from the sky that very moment. It broke through the blanket - the sound of music - not music to her liking, but of many youths of this era. She groaned and was about to leave to go seek out cotton balls for her ears - he was walking up the street - calm - collected - he owned everything, and could take any thing he saw fit to. She gasped audibly - a feeling of fluttering in her throat, as well as her heart soaring valiantly.
Marie watched him closely - his posture was good, she surmised - his eyes dark, yet caring - and a face that could make marble frown. He had a veil drawn upon his entire being - mind - body - soul - heart - it would take a gentle hand, truthful in words and actions - a heart that knew only timidness, but could slay dragons - to lift the cloud that hid the meaning of Ephram Brown.
Then, subsequently he turned his head and glanced at her house. She could see his gaze linger on the door, and then slowly - wearisomely cast his eyes left to right. Ephram attempted to memorize every inch - sharp corner - of the quarters - the actual structure struck him as exceptionally odd. An off-white colour became the boards, heavenly white around the windows - simple - pure - dreadfully enchanting.
But, it was when he saw a figure in a window, he became mystified - his over-active imagination became filled with delusional thoughts of ghosts, and decapitated witches. Alas - he saw it was only she - looking surprisingly solemn. Suddenly, an advocate of a fourth century knighted gentlemen came to him. Ephram mused about how the romantic knights would gladly climb mountains - the house was no feat in his mind - to ensure that the ladylove was safe and happy.
Finally realizing that she was in nothing but a flimsy gown-like garment, Marie pulled away from the window, clutching her chest. A breath flew past her pale-pink lips; she never knew she had been holding it. Minutes swam by at an alarming unhurried rate; it ceased to exist. Cautiously, she turned her, stomach touching the wall and peaked out the window. He was gone - panic - undeniable panic that seized her entire heart - and a skeletal hand clutching her velvet blood pot.
Marie caught movement - slow - unbridled - and then the doorbell. Oh, torrid sound of hatred, she thought quite seriously - one thing she loathed was the sounding of bells. Once again it splattered itself deeply within the hollows of the walls and hallways. She inhaled deeply and then flung herself out the door, and down the stairs.
She found herself hesitating as she reached for the doorknob; Marie had completely forgotten that she was wearing more or less no clothing. As she opened the door, bitter air rushed her, making her grab at her frock to close it. Green, timorous eyes met swallowing blue ones - she forced herself to look away. She forced her entire being to turn frigid to him, fearing that if she did not forget his existence, his severe presence would turn her to marble.
"I didn't know you moved in next to Amy," Ephram said, almost astounded.
Marie searched, she had no clue as to what he was talking about. All she could think of, is that if he did part soon, her thoughts - sane thoughts would fly away. From first glance, she portrayed him as another drone. When he had ran after her, just to say thank you, that is when she knew that he had not followed the drum of everyone else in the tiny town.
Ephram could see that she would be the type that would not even venture forth into the light of day - only if necessary - let alone pop over to introduce herself. The vision of Marie toddling across the street as a bubbly cheerleader allowed a most needed smile full of laughter.
"What's so bloody funny?"
"I think it's kind of satirical that someone like you, could live directly across from. . ."
"Someone like her," she interrupted.
"You've met, Amy?"
"No. But, I used to know girls like her - everyone knows girls like her. From the expression on your face, I'm guessing she - broke your heart invariantly - perpetuating your lack of interest in the general population,"
"I'm glad you've worked this out with yourself - analyzing me,"
"Well, I am bit psychic,"
"Smashing,"
Marie formed the words in her head, but they did not come out. So, instead of the sound of offense, her mouth was formed into an offended movement of openness. Ephram grinned, which made her shake her head - content. Then, she saw his eyes wander furiously over her frock. Oh, dear sweet embarrassment, she prayed, let him not see the crimson upon my cheeks. It was too late, though - too late for him not see her skin possessed of pallour - and of the rose splashed as paint would be on a pallet. He turned his back on her - a knight, she willed her heart not to flutter, a knight who possesses more gallantry than that of Launcelot.
"Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things,"
Ephram was tempted to turn and gawk with a perplexed expression. He took his being into recollection, keeping his orbs on the light that lit the Abbot house across the street. Suddenly, he realized that his skin had goose flesh rippling every which way - he was burning cold with the wind. Ephram felt the urge to offer her his flannel-like shirt that he wore over a plain t-shirt. She thought of something first. . .
"Robert Browning. Do you want to come in - I think I need to change,"
Marie left the door open, as if the only correct choice for Ephram to make was to choose her. Luckily, Ephram like that she expected much out of a person. But, then he lamented that he had not known who, or what she was quoting - he took upon himself to read up on this Robert Browning.
She awoke with a start - trembling and cold with frigidness. She instantly knew that she had been dreaming, but of what, she knew not of. Vaguely she recalled what had woken her up - her Father had yelled twice that he was going out. Marie snorted - he did not even come up and check in on her. In a matter of seconds she could slit her wrists of translucence - or a murder could creep in and chop off her head - or Charles Manson could escape from prison and decide that a small Irish girl that had just moved to Everwood, Colorado needed to die to make the world a better place. Obviously, she giggled to herself, her imagination was on overdrive.
Distinctly, she heard voices, quite a few in fact. They were muffled and all ran together - Marie forced herself up from her bed and stepped to the window. She lamented that only her bed was in her room - a few books on the floor, but the rest of her possessions would not be there until tomorrow. It peeved her greatly that her three bookcases, which were over flowing with books - from vampire novel paperbacks - great works of literature - young adult novels - they were absent and it made her cold inside. Everything else, Marie believed, could be torn asundre, but if her pages with ebony ink were destroyed, then so her soul would cease to exist.
The fact that two truck loads of teenagers driving near recklessly down her street did not registre - instead when she caught her figure in the reflection of the window - she stopped - dead. Marie did not loathe her complexion, in fact her face was deathly pale - fair, with no blemishes, but she hated how wide her hips were and how she never could quite loose the twenty or so pounds that refused to drop.
Finally, she pulled her attention off of her own suffering, not just of her own faults, but also of missing her homeland. The vehicles were moving tediously slow now; apparently the wailing down asphalt did not amuse them anymore. From what she could tell, they were going to a party - and then surprising her, they stopped. Marie could not quite recall who lived across the street - some family with a last name that started with an A - she barely recalled this. Then, it rushed upon her - Abbot - a doctor, his wife and two kids - her Father had wanted her to go visit and invite them for dinner - it did not happen.
The street was silent as night fell around the heads of Everwood. Marie Bailey could have sworn that pins were being dropped from the sky that very moment. It broke through the blanket - the sound of music - not music to her liking, but of many youths of this era. She groaned and was about to leave to go seek out cotton balls for her ears - he was walking up the street - calm - collected - he owned everything, and could take any thing he saw fit to. She gasped audibly - a feeling of fluttering in her throat, as well as her heart soaring valiantly.
Marie watched him closely - his posture was good, she surmised - his eyes dark, yet caring - and a face that could make marble frown. He had a veil drawn upon his entire being - mind - body - soul - heart - it would take a gentle hand, truthful in words and actions - a heart that knew only timidness, but could slay dragons - to lift the cloud that hid the meaning of Ephram Brown.
Then, subsequently he turned his head and glanced at her house. She could see his gaze linger on the door, and then slowly - wearisomely cast his eyes left to right. Ephram attempted to memorize every inch - sharp corner - of the quarters - the actual structure struck him as exceptionally odd. An off-white colour became the boards, heavenly white around the windows - simple - pure - dreadfully enchanting.
But, it was when he saw a figure in a window, he became mystified - his over-active imagination became filled with delusional thoughts of ghosts, and decapitated witches. Alas - he saw it was only she - looking surprisingly solemn. Suddenly, an advocate of a fourth century knighted gentlemen came to him. Ephram mused about how the romantic knights would gladly climb mountains - the house was no feat in his mind - to ensure that the ladylove was safe and happy.
Finally realizing that she was in nothing but a flimsy gown-like garment, Marie pulled away from the window, clutching her chest. A breath flew past her pale-pink lips; she never knew she had been holding it. Minutes swam by at an alarming unhurried rate; it ceased to exist. Cautiously, she turned her, stomach touching the wall and peaked out the window. He was gone - panic - undeniable panic that seized her entire heart - and a skeletal hand clutching her velvet blood pot.
Marie caught movement - slow - unbridled - and then the doorbell. Oh, torrid sound of hatred, she thought quite seriously - one thing she loathed was the sounding of bells. Once again it splattered itself deeply within the hollows of the walls and hallways. She inhaled deeply and then flung herself out the door, and down the stairs.
She found herself hesitating as she reached for the doorknob; Marie had completely forgotten that she was wearing more or less no clothing. As she opened the door, bitter air rushed her, making her grab at her frock to close it. Green, timorous eyes met swallowing blue ones - she forced herself to look away. She forced her entire being to turn frigid to him, fearing that if she did not forget his existence, his severe presence would turn her to marble.
"I didn't know you moved in next to Amy," Ephram said, almost astounded.
Marie searched, she had no clue as to what he was talking about. All she could think of, is that if he did part soon, her thoughts - sane thoughts would fly away. From first glance, she portrayed him as another drone. When he had ran after her, just to say thank you, that is when she knew that he had not followed the drum of everyone else in the tiny town.
Ephram could see that she would be the type that would not even venture forth into the light of day - only if necessary - let alone pop over to introduce herself. The vision of Marie toddling across the street as a bubbly cheerleader allowed a most needed smile full of laughter.
"What's so bloody funny?"
"I think it's kind of satirical that someone like you, could live directly across from. . ."
"Someone like her," she interrupted.
"You've met, Amy?"
"No. But, I used to know girls like her - everyone knows girls like her. From the expression on your face, I'm guessing she - broke your heart invariantly - perpetuating your lack of interest in the general population,"
"I'm glad you've worked this out with yourself - analyzing me,"
"Well, I am bit psychic,"
"Smashing,"
Marie formed the words in her head, but they did not come out. So, instead of the sound of offense, her mouth was formed into an offended movement of openness. Ephram grinned, which made her shake her head - content. Then, she saw his eyes wander furiously over her frock. Oh, dear sweet embarrassment, she prayed, let him not see the crimson upon my cheeks. It was too late, though - too late for him not see her skin possessed of pallour - and of the rose splashed as paint would be on a pallet. He turned his back on her - a knight, she willed her heart not to flutter, a knight who possesses more gallantry than that of Launcelot.
"Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things,"
Ephram was tempted to turn and gawk with a perplexed expression. He took his being into recollection, keeping his orbs on the light that lit the Abbot house across the street. Suddenly, he realized that his skin had goose flesh rippling every which way - he was burning cold with the wind. Ephram felt the urge to offer her his flannel-like shirt that he wore over a plain t-shirt. She thought of something first. . .
"Robert Browning. Do you want to come in - I think I need to change,"
Marie left the door open, as if the only correct choice for Ephram to make was to choose her. Luckily, Ephram like that she expected much out of a person. But, then he lamented that he had not known who, or what she was quoting - he took upon himself to read up on this Robert Browning.