Yeah, so this time Misty was the only one to review, it was very sad. So Misty gets my undying love and the rest of you can go jump in a swamp. Hee.
Anywho, I finally got something written in college, aren't you proud?
Happy birthday Vee (a little late), I'll get to your gift...eventually.
Niamh
Misery
Misery
Misery
We shall meet again.
Misery
The woman near Mesiree was screaming. Her child was dead.
Misery
Soon doctors and collectors arrived. They bustled about, fluttering from one victim to another. Treating them and stripping them, sometimes by turns. Buildings stood in ruins; bodies lay strewn out before her.
Misery
The woman was still screaming.
The sun began to set and the collectors started to disappear, started to head back to the washrooms. Soon others would come to collect the bodies.
Misery
Suddenly there was a man crouching in front of her, looking directly into her eyes. Mesiree sat frozen for a moment. He saw her. She was accustomed to being looked over, stepped over and ordered around, but not to being seen. No one ever saw her.
She cocked her head to one side and studied him for a moment. He was familiar somehow, as if she'd seen him before, but he obviously didn't work in the washrooms. She reached out a hand to study a piece of his hair. Mesiree was certain that his hair would be the trigger in her memory, it was an odd enough color, but the memory refused to come and she quit trying.
The man asked her a question and she answered with a quick shake of her head. Mesiree wasn't sure why she would be afraid of him.
He wanted to know if she'd seen anything. Mesiree shuddered and nodded.
Misery
He didn't seem to know that she couldn't speak. He wanted her to tell him things she couldn't say. Things she wouldn't have been able to voice even if she'd had the option. He seemed disappointed, even sad.
"You should head home, your family will be worried."
The words seemed to settle somewhere in her throat.
Your family will be worried.
She shook her head sadly.
No, they won't.
The woman was still screaming. Her daughter was still dead. She was still screaming.
He was going to go with her to the washrooms Mesiree wondered, as he walked silently at her side what the washrooms would think when she appeared, after being gone for half a day, with a strange man.
If being seen by one man had disconcerted her what she met when she opened the washroom door terrified Mesiree.
Every eye turned toward her. Everyone saw her. She fidgeted and tried to hide behind the strange man, but he offered very little protection. The wash mistress was barreling toward them and Mesiree wondered what punishment awaited her. But, to her surprise and utter consternation, instead of scolding her the wash mistress pulled Mesiree into her arms.
Mesiree's whole body tensed. This wasn't right, this did not fit any of the patterns she had observed in the washrooms. The wash mistress didn't touch anybody, unless it was to punish them. After a moment the wash mistress let her go and turned to the man.
"Your highness," She said with a slight dip.
She saw him grimace slightly and for a moment Mesiree's world stood still.
Your highness?
Any hope she'd held of regaining her invisibility fled with those two words. She shuddered and shifted, this time trying to duck behind the wash mistress.
He was angry, that was obvious enough, but somehow she felt relieved. He would leave now, she couldn't tell him what he wanted to know and he would leave. Perhaps then, after a few weeks, everyone would look over her again.
When the prince had left, turning on his heel and nearly storming out of the washrooms, the entire building awoke with whispers. Mesiree shifted again, drawing herself further behind the wash mistress. The wash mistress, after silencing the room with a single glance, turned to Mesiree and guided her to a chair. With only a few words the wash mistress had summoned food from the kitchens and pushed it into Mesiree's shaking hands.
"Sector four," she muttered shaking her head.
Misery
They had moved her closer to the fire, hoping to still her shaking. Mesiree sat, staring blankly into the flames. She had eaten the food they had brought her and someone had already come to take the plate away. There was a pot of tea warming in the fire for her, but Mesiree's stomach was knotted and frozen.
Misery
Your highness
We shall meet again
Your family will be worried
Misery
Slowly the smoke began to thicken. Around her the washroom was silent, night had come without notice and only a few people remained, curled in the corners. The ironer that the wash mistress had charged with watching over Mesiree for the night snored somewhere off behind Mesiree's chair. Dreams formed unbidden in the smoke and Mesiree watched with wary eyes.
First there was the woman who had always inhabited Mesiree's dreams, but this time she was not smiling kindly. She stood on a blood soaked hill with a staff in her hands. Her face wore a hard mask, barely covering the anger and hatred and sorrow churning beneath the surface.
The mist shifted and the woman seemed frightened. No longer did she stand on the hill, she stood now surrounded only by mist. She seemed to be screaming but no sound came from her throat.
Suddenly the woman's screaming face shifted and churned into the face of the mother, holding her dead child and crying out. Even as she clung more tightly, the little girl's body crumbled and blew away.
The prince's face loomed large in the smoke, first hopeful, then disappointed and finally collapsing in defeat.
The dream ended in the way it had every night since Mesiree could remember, with a man, standing near a ridge. He seemed to be shouting and suddenly the wind flung him into the air and over the edge.
Mesiree jerked and tumbled backwards in her chair. This was the same vision that had haunted every dream. It was the same man, the same ridge and the same wind, only now the man that fell was not anonymous. The face that twisted in rage, confusion and fear was no longer unexceptional.
She pulled away from the fire and tucked herself into a corner, facing away from the smoke and the mist. The prince's face haunting her sleep.
Yeah, I know it was weird...I decided it was supposed to be random and disjointed like that (of course even though it was meant to be that way doesn't mean you can't complain about it).
So who knows when the next chapter will come out, my inspiration has been a little sporadic lately, I've started about eight things, none of them really postable yet. You can probably thank Alma for this update though; her challenge was the only reason it got started, even though I didn't finish it in time.
Niamh