Hello again! To all my wonderful reviewers, thank you so much! It's SO rewarding after a hard day of school. Again, thanks so much!
Spyzeh: Yeah, that just came to me, and I had to write it. And it is good to know that there are others out there with my strange sense of humor! But I'm even weirder, I laugh at stuff I write myself…
Zavi: Once again, you make me proud of my work! Thank you, and PLEASE keep reviewing! You're more help than you think!
Proud shipper: Thanks! I hope you aren't disappointed with Sunny's POV.
Klaus-Izzy Girl: Thank you! And you don't have to wait long, I'll do Isadora next! Cool penname, too!
(Note: Around the time Sunny writes this, she's about seven. Therefore, she gives a simpler, more innocent approach.)
Chapter 3: S u n n y B a u d e l a i r e
I don't remember much of my life before the fire. It's all in fragments, really, like a beautiful, stained glass window that has been smashed to pieces, hopelessly beyond repair. I vaguely remember Klaus and Violet standing over my crib, my mother making a fruit salad, and sitting on the living room floor by the crackling fire while my father read the paper, gnawing on a chunk of wood.
My family has always been concerned about my biting habit. Klaus told me that he read about something called TMJ syndrome, and that I might have it. (A/N: That's when you bite and grind your teeth out of stress.) But I didn't have any syndrome or other. I just liked to bite. At that young age, I felt that I could solve anything by biting.
But you can't stop your parents' deaths by biting, can you?
At that age, you would think that I was too young to understand what was happening. I didn't know what exactly was happening, that was true. But there is a difference between knowing and understanding. Babies are sponges of feeling, and I could certainly feel what Violet and Klaus were feeling. They were unhappy. And I was unhappy, though I wasn't quite sure why.
During this unpleasant chapter of my life, I always judged a house by what you could bite there. My parents' house, for example, had everything I could possibly want to satisfy my gnawing needs. In the case of Count Olaf's house, however, there were only rocks. Hard, cold rocks that threatened to crack your teeth if you so much as nibbled them. And it always smelled rotten there. Whether it was rotten fish, rotten cigars or just Olaf's rotten personality, it was always rotten in one way or another.
But nothing compared to the cage. I spent the loneliest moments of my short life in that cage. I had never experienced horror like that, swaying uncontrollably in that small iron compartment, icy raindrops slapping you constantly, taunting you…
Violet, Klaus and I all grew up that night. We knew then, perhaps more than ever, that we could only survive if we looked out for each other.
One thing I do remember was Uncle Monty's Incredibly Deadly Viper. I know it sounds very strange, but I felt as if we understood each other, both having misnomers. He was not deadly in the least, and I could hardly call my life very sunny. We had a bond. An odd one, perhaps, but a bond nonetheless.
And so, we went from guardian to guardian, each one meeting a steadily more gruesome fate at the hands of Count Olaf. I, thankfully, don't remember much of it. Violet told me I was very brave, but I still don't remember fencing an orthodontist with my teeth like she tells me I did. Must've been pretty cool, though…
And I'm sorry to say that my memory fails me for all these unfortunate events. But I start to recall everything from a certain moment in the Mortmain Mountains. I so clearly remember now, standing on the edge of that icy waterfall, dropping to what seemed the depths of infinity, literally having nothing but the thin, torn nightgown that my mother had bought me on my freezing back. I was so sure I would die. I just knew. Violet and Klaus were my lifeline, my only connection, my only hope. But, in my naivete, I was sure they couldn't find me.
But my siblings had more faith than that. If they didn't, they themselves could have died. But I've definitely learned that you never underestimate Violet and Klaus Baudelaires' minds.
But I don't think even Violet and Klaus could imagine, could fathom what it's like to be at the hands of the Medusoid Mycelium. It felt like a thousand needles, hairs and pins were spreading throughout my throat and lungs. (A/N: I myself am not sure how it would feel, but I think it might be like that.) I'm sure she didn't mean to, but Fiona made me feel inhuman, quarantining me in yet another cage. At least I could breathe in that cage Olaf put me in. But I don't know what's much worse than not being able to breathe while you have fungus breeding in your throat. What you need most is air. Fiona seemed even fascinated by what was happening to me.
I know I shouldn't, but I've always wondered why Fiona never read the second half of that poem about the Mycelium. The remedy that would save my life was, after all, right there…
Violet has told me not to write any further. If I do, she says, the media will be on a "wild goose chase" to find me. I assume that means they'll follow me.
What I can write, however, is an afterthought, a word which here means "an explanation that occurs to one after an event." My afterthought is that what happened to my siblings and I was like a twisted game of hide and seek. We were always hiding, Olaf, the detectives, and now the paparazzi were always seeking. Funny, isn't it? How a simple concept of a childhood game could adapt to our series of unfortunate events. I guess that's how it always is, though. It always comes back to the basics.
It was short, I know, but I had a bit of writer's block in Sunny's case. Besides, I wanted to start writing Isadora's POV! (Ahem, convince Isadora to write her POV herself. cough cough) Anyway, Isadora Quagmire's next!