I don't know why this came to me, but ... well, it did. It's something I wrote when I was ill and was able to skip classes. I'm not even going to call it a story, per se, because it's more of a feverish rambling on my part. )
If you have the time, drop a review – I always appreciate everything you guys say.
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George Knightley paced outside the thick oak door, awaiting, with bated breath, the baby soon to arrive. At sixteen, he was a stranger to the process; but quite apart from curiosity, he was a very close friend indeed to Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse, he felt that he owed it to them to witness this great day. Mr. Woodhouse had been a kind of father figure, and Mrs. Woodhouse and her first daughter, Isabella, had almost been like sisters to him, lavishing he and his brother John with attention and love.
He felt more than excited for the arrival. He had always held an incredible fondness for children, and one so promisingly well-bred and good-natured was particularly pleasing for him to think about. She (and he was so certain the baby would be a she) would be the most charming, intelligent, beautiful creature he had ever lain eyes on. She would be successful at whatever she attempted to do. She would have a carefree life, the best life - and he would be there to watch her grow. Perhaps she would consider him her dearest brother, love him, adore him, respect him. George could think of no better compliment.
As if treading through a dream, George was ushered into the room by his brother and Mr. Woodhouse. The midwife was euphoric, as was Mrs. Woodhouse, who was rocking back and forth, holding a small baby in the cradle of her breast.
'A girl,' she said weakly, 'a beautiful girl.'
George could not help but marvel at the simplicity of such a sight, the easiness in which the mother held her child, smiling and laughing joyfully as if there was nothing better in the world. He watched as Mrs. Woodhouse exchanged a loving look with her husband, her expression softening completely as it landed upon her newborn girl. George inwardly was delighted by the sight, yet stayed back a ways, as if afraid to be intruding. He was indeed surprised when he was suddenly called forth by a look from Mrs. Woodhouse, and was handed, with extreme gentleness, the little girl.
'A sister,' he heard Isabella saying with happiness to his brother, 'a sister! How I am delighted!'
George himself was much too shocked to say anything, but Mrs. Woodhouse was ready to oblige him.
'Dear George,' said she, smiling at him, 'have you not a name for my little girl? I am convinced that your silence has as equal merit as our words of joy.'
His eyes landed upon Mr. Woodhouse, who smiled his consent, and George immediately looked down at the baby in his arms. 'I confess,' he said at last, 'that I have been thinking up a few names that I myself have always liked.'
Mrs. Woodhouse looked as if nothing more could make her happier. 'I am sure your taste is praiseworthy, my dear. Do tell and keep us waiting no longer.'
He held the baby tenderly in the nook of his arms, and at long last, he finally voiced the name:
'Emma.' He touched her rosy fingertips with his own and smiled. 'Her name is Emma.'