Ah, it's just like good old times. I'm supposed to be sewing patches onto my karate gi, but instead I am cheerily writing a weirdo story – because, simply, I haven't written in a long, long time. What to write, what to write…why, how about a parody on Jane Austen? Perhaps…
Thoughts
By Yours Truly.
Not, that is, truly yours, you see, but, well, never mind.
I'm sure you get the gist.
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It was one of those days when she wished the earth would swallow her up. It was the kind of day that made one think about leaping off cliffs, swallowing arsenic, and pitchforking someone in a very tender area.
Yes, I'm sure you understand, at least in part…it was one of those days.
The thing is, she thought he loved her. And when he had gone on blithely outlining their future together, it was all she could do to keep from asking, "Why?" Because she trusted him.
It's something you don't hear about very often. Trust. It can make the most sensible people turn into complete numbskulls.
Which is exactly what happened to her. She could have blamed him. Hated him. Gone into the whole "How dare he" thing, but she didn't.
Actually, she blamed herself.
Elizabeth would never understand. Lizzy was so…what's the word…so collected. She always seemed to know what to do, how to act – and she saw past the feeble façades people tacked up, even before they knew they were tacking anything up at all.
Lizzy would never have gotten herself into this mess. Just look at the way she handled that Mr. Darcy. He was all proud, stiff, rude…and when he actually paid attention to her, she blew him off.
If only Jane had her guts. Jane had to admit, she was the first to melt when someone said "I'm sorry," no matter how big the offense. Bingley could come back to town that very evening and, were he to call upon Jane, she would readily forgive and forget all past grievances. Pick up where they left off.
Basically throw herself into the den of wolves again.
That's how it felt, you know. Like being torn apart, bit by bit. Broken. Shattered. All calm was gone. Her hands, for instance, were trembling. They had never trembled before. And her stitching – always so prized in comparison with the other girls' – was absolutely abominable. It only took a moment of carelessness to slip into a sudden flash of memory. His hands on her waist. The clean smell of his skin. The gentle way he had drawn her close. The way his hair fell across his forehead. The lilting sound of his voice as he humorously recounted a merry evening with friends. The hopes and dreams he had shared – they had seemed so private, so exclusive, as if…
No.
She wasn't going to think about it any more.
"Jane?"
She turned, smiling brightly. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, her dark eyes speaking volumes. "Lizzy! I did not expect you back so soon! How is our aunt?"
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Fine. I didn't know you cared that much about her health, the nagging –"
"Lizzy!"
"It's true."
Jane found herself laughing. "Yes, but…she's not that bad. Really. I mean, she does care about us."
"She's a gossiping old busybody. And you, my dear sister, will promise to shoot me if I ever become anything like her."
Jane laughed again…weakly. Hadn't Bingley said something of the like? What had he said…his blue eyes had darkened with playfulness…a promise made that night…he never…
"Jane."
Jane looked up, sending her sister another glittering smile. "Yes?"
Elizabeth took a step towards her and halted abruptly. "You're…crying."
She raised a hand to her cheek…and discovered her sister was right yet again.
Utterly pointless crap, but hey, I pride myself on such things.
Until the sun turns purple with envy, I remain yours.
(Ish.)
«Senbazuru«