Alice - G

Jun. 25th, 2009 02:51 am
babyjosephine: (Default)
[personal profile] babyjosephine
Sunday, 21st August, 1983. Andy had died on the 19th.

Grief, it turned out, provided options, though all tended to provide what felt like a bat to the face. In some cases, the pain was angry. In some, the pain was crippling. In others, the pain created hallucinations that turned the world into a dream.

Alice wasn’t sure how it was attacking her, as three days earlier she had never been happier in all of her life. It was far to fall, and she was still falling. Maybe it would hit her soon, and maybe then everything would make sense. Why her father had to die the day she discovered she was pregnant. Why her mother wouldn’t wake up. Why Charlie had to split his time between watching his mother commit a slow suicide and visiting his youngest child in a hospital three hours away.

She was in her room, now, though there were no answers to be found in the dusty toys and clothes that were organized as though Alice had only just moved out. )
randolf: (Default)
[personal profile] randolf
19 August, 1983

The manor had never been so silent. Not since the family left for South Africa some two-hundred years earlier. It stood empty, then, collecting dust and mildew for eighty years. A stone castle, a sign of wealth instead of family. Then the oldest boy came back and knocked the whole thing over, built it back up again. Then some hundred more years passed, full of noise.

And now even the birds seemed to be hiding. On a hot August day, there were once children running through the fountain and charging wildly through the gardens and pastures and forests. But on this hot August day, the manor was cold and austere and empty. The help had been dismissed but they didn’t go home. They were waiting quietly in the lower levels, leaning on the tables, hutches, counters. Every so often, someone would shift and let out a breath of stale air in the stifling kitchen. Someone would cross their chest and someone would quietly pray.

Sam, Margaret’s son—and poor Margaret, who had passed just years earlier—shook his head. He was getting on in years, too, and his white hair was tangled with sweat, but he wouldn’t go home today. He’d been with this family for his entire life. And now, he knew, the end was coming, creeping silently in through the front doors, between cracked windowpanes and under the wainscoting, slowly choking the life out of the house. Its time had come again. It would collect dust and mildew once more.

'You phoned Charlie...' )
yourclaire: (updo)
[personal profile] yourclaire
14 February, 1983

The worse part, for Jack, had been asking for help. He'd planned ahead on what to say to Ruth and Charlie, but he approached Charlie first with it, as Charlie intimidated him less. Charlie had agreed, and Jack found himself sneaking around late on a weeknight with a couple that had no intention of selling him drugs, for once in his life.

It succeeded.

Jack didn't know what was really appropriate for a Valentine's Day with a girl like Claire, and he'd certainly never celebrated one before, with anyone else. So he hoped he'd done enough. There was a card he'd made in his car and hidden there for a week, enough flowers to (hopefully) make her happy, and if he'd fucked up somehow, there was always dinner.

Anyway, Claire wasn’t exactly in the best mood. )

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