Violet sat on the
uncomfortable mattress that was carelessly tossed onto the metal bed
frame in the small, cold room in Count Olaf's house. She sighed as
she noticed her younger siblings in the corner. Klaus was trying to
entertain Sunny with the head of a doll that their new guardian had
so generously allowed the children to play with. She thought back to
when the Baudelaire's parents were still alive. Everyday during
this time of year, the Baudelaires had spent in relaxation. They
enjoyed gathering around their father as he serenaded them to sleep
with his piano playing skills. Or falling asleep in the library as
their mother read aloud to them from one of her fascinating novels.
Life was perfect until… the fire.
Klaus had retreated to the window. Violet was asleep in the bed and Sunny in her arms. He had volunteered to sleep on the floor for tonight. Unable to sleep, he had wrapped himself in a curtain and huddled at the window. He peered out the tiny crack between boards and stared at blackness. He sighed as he remembered falling asleep in this very position with a good book in his lap, glasses askew countless times. But that was in the Baudelaire mansion… not Count Olaf's house. His mind drifted to about two weeks before the mansion had caught fire. He found his father's old guitar in the attic and had begun teaching himself to play. An audience of little kids had gathered on his porch to listen as he strummed tunes and Violet sang along. He smiled at the memory. And that was all it was, a memory.
Sunny
sat in a bright yellow stroller. She was so young. She looked up
and saw her mother pushing her with Violet and Klaus on either side
of her. Her father was ahead, carrying a fishing pole. Klaus ran to
catch up to him. Mrs. Baudelaire had packed a picnic and set it up
as Violet carried Sunny with her to feed pigeons. Klaus and Mr.
Baudelaire unsuccessfully tried to catch dinner in the Leopard's
Lake.
"Lunch is ready," called Mrs. Baudelaire and everyone came running.
Sunny smiled. She could almost taste the carrot that Mrs. Baudelaire had packed especially for her. As she reached out and grabbed the carrot, she opened her eyes and saw herself gripping Violet's finger. Her sister stirred gently and Sunny closed her eyes.
All three Baudelaires remembered the wonderful lives they lived while residing in the Baudelaire mansion. They longed to return to the mansion and live with their parents. But this was impossible. The Baudelaire parents perished in a horrible fire that also destroyed their home. Remembering the memories gave the Baudelaires a sense of hope that things would improve, if only they stayed together.
