Apples (SarahMuse006 x Damien Nyr)

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by SarahMuse006, Dec 26, 2014.

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  1. I could feel the flames flickering on my face from the fireplace. The raging warmth of it was enough to force me to slide back along the woolen rug, grab my mug of lip-burning hot chocolate and take a deep breath. It was a relaxing sensation. With my fingers wrapped around the mug, and my palm heated by the radiating drink, I slowly lifted my arms to my mouth and sipped. Without any warning, besides perhaps the scolding hotness of it on my hands as it approached, the liquid scorched my tongue and caused me to bolt my head backwards. Some of the drink spilled over as my arms shook, but it managed to miss my legs. Placing the mug down on the carpet beside me, I used my hands to flatten the small patch of hot chocolate and smoothen it out, in order to spread it and hide it a little. It worked. Then, as I went back for my hot chocolate, I heard small footsteps heading towards me, before a small hand grabbed one of my two braids and the other cupped my round shoulders.

    "It's okay," she tells me, as tears begin to roll down my cheek. I can feel my skin becoming moist as I smudge the tears with my sleeves, and I turn my head to face my eight year old stepsister, Beatrix, who looks at me longingly, armed with a cheery grin.

    I don't know what to say. But I let her hold one of my hands in hers. And she moves closer to me and cuddles me as I sob.
    #1 SarahMuse006, Dec 26, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 26, 2014
  2. I smiled.

    My reflection, as expected, smiled back at me, mirroring my every action to great detail. It took me five minutes of staring at myself and pulling strange faces before I decided to head downstairs and towards the front door.

    Hurrying down the hallway, I saw the living room's door swing open and my older brother nod at me as he burst through the door and towards the kitchen.

    "Where are you going, Roger?" Mum shouted from the front gate as she peered back into the house through the wide open front door to see my brother Roger opening the fridge. Without a reply, she gave up eventually and wandered towards a black vehicle just twenty seconds up the street.

    By the time I had reached the front gate, my younger brother Nathan was playing with his hair, which was wavy and medium length similarly to mine, except he had blonde highlights whereas I didn't. He looked smart in all black, admittedly. He smiled at me and narrowed his eyes as a greeting, as neither of us had any words, and I placed in my headphones as a sign that no one should speak to me.

    "Where's Dad?" Roger shouted as he hurried to the front door.

    I ignored him. Sally, his slightly overweight girlfriend, shrugged her shoulders and told him that Dad was probably in the car already, before adjusting her veil and then heading off.
  3. Greens and greys and blues and whites sped through my vision as the jeep jumped and jolted along the windy roads. I couldn't quite make out any shapes or objects. Everything came at me all at once, a large signpost reading "Kilburn" hurried into sight as we zoomed towards it and slowly bled out into the horizon behind us. The funeral was supposed to be small, just close family, but it turned out that my papa had a lot of friends in Belfast when he was younger, and it seemed that they respected him enough to demand to turn up. I told Jessie it was fine, I wouldn't mind and I'm sure Papa would have loved to have seen them once more while he had still been here, but as she powdered her face in the front seat of the vehicle, even her foundation couldn't hide her miserableness.

    "Put your seat belt on," Jessie barked when she noticed that Bea had taken it out at some point since the last time she had told her daughter to do so.

    I didn't look at Bea, I couldn't. I turned instead to gaze out the window, and decided to count all of the cattle I caught sight of. That would take my mind off it.
  4. I could see everyone assembled in ghastly black rows of death. I adjusted my tie so that it would appear straight, and I flicked away some specks of grey spots which had accumulated on my shoulder over the hour long journey here. I could see Mum straightening up Nathan's suit and I smiled at him as he shot me a quick glance - more of a silent cry for help. We approached the heavy metal doors of the church, and entered, one after another, with our heads held low and our hands fidgeting with our pockets or our suits. Mum's veil covered most of her face, but even still from the corner of my eyes I could see a tear roll down her cheek. Of course, she wiped it away immediately in case Dad had seen. Shuffling down the aisle, we soon reached our row, which was empty at first, until first Roger, then Sally, Nathan, myself, Dad and finally Mum filled it. Dad didn't care to comfort Mum, and instead he perched his large frame at the edge of his seat and brought his feet to rest on the kneeling stool, poking a single finger at the sheet of paper which detailed the service of the memorial.

    "Budge up," said Dad, forcefully barging me towards Nathan in order to make more space for himself and for Mum.

    "Be quiet," Mum had whispered, loudly enough so that even Roger at the far end could hear her. "Show some respect, George."

    "We didn't know the geezer," Roger snapped in Dad's defense.

    "He had it coming anyway," Dad snarled, almost matter-of-factly.

    Mum sniffled and turned away, ignoring the comment. Sure, Dad had been rather rude, but could Mum blame him? Mum had embarked on an affair when I was just a baby with the man. Dad had been his best mate, at least since college, but possibly even earlier. They had both got jobs in an office in Glasgow, some twenty years ago. Little did Dad know, Mum had been having it off with him behind Dad's backs for months. Dad was overjoyed when he found out Mum was pregnant for the third time, but was livid when he found out the kid wasn't his. Dad had raised a child as his own for six months oblivious to the truth. So, fifteen years later, I think it was understandable that Dad was a little bit resentful, even if the man had died in a shocking car crash. Any death was justice enough, he reckons. Dad looked at me, and was able to tell that I was deep in thought, lost in my mind. The vicar began to say something, so I lifted my head up in order to feign paying attention.
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