(no subject)
Jan. 21st, 2010 10:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hug_machineWhen Angelique was born, she was no different than any of her mother's other children.
Lips like the early-showing prune blossoms, eyes bright and dark like polished walnut pews, legs long and chubby. She had her father's nose, her mother's chin, her great-aunt's ears. Her grandmother's middle name. She was the everything that had come before, and she had it in her to bring all the hopes and good things forward and further.
No different than all the children that had ever been born before her.
~~~
A year and a half later, Angelique's mother tries not to twitch in the pediatrician's office chair.
"Mrs. Davis, Angelique is a healthy child--"
"My other babies were talking and walking by the time they were fourteen months old."
"She's different. She's well within the normal window of milestones."
Angelique's mother curses under her breath. Every mother knows different meant bad. Different was what they called the slow ones, the odd ones, the ones who fail. She wants out of this office, with its ugly forest mural that reminds her of funeral homes --the scary, forever side of fate.
She reaches for Angelique, and misses. A note of despair passes from her throat as she snatches her purse and takes off after her daughter. The child never once walked across the living room floor, taking wobbly too-high steps while clutching her mother's hand. Angelique never walked; she ran.
Darting down the hall way like a grinning, mute beast, it was all Mrs. Davis could do to just follow after.
~~~
Another year later and Mrs. Davis awakes in middle of the night, heart hammering. Above her husband's snoring, she hears it. A new voice, familiar yet not. It sings. Like a chorus of ghosts. It chills her to bone.
She follows it until she realizes it's coming from Angelique's bedroom. A ribbon of light glows beneath the door. There is a night light in there, but this is too bright.
She clutches the wall as she returns to her own room, where her husband still sleeps undisturbed.
~~~
"Mama, I don't want her with," Angelique's brother, older by two years, whines. Angelique is eight now, humming to herself and weaving off and on the path like an overexcited house cat.
"She's your sister, Bill," Mrs. Davis answers flatly, wearily.
And so Bill and his friends pretend to surf on a boogie board while Angelique gallops up and down the shoreline, singing her lungs ragged just to hear herself against the wind and surf.
It is dusk and time to go when they realize Angelique is missing.
The six of them --Mrs. and Mr. Davis, Bill and his three friends-- split up and stroll down the beach, calling her name.
It is her mother that finds her. Angelique has stopped running at the edge of a sea cliff. She smiles as she stares at nothing in particular. She has always stared at nothing in particular. She is a pretty girl, her mother thinks, dimly registering that she should feel panic to see her youngest on the edge of a cliff. Yet she doesn't.
"Angelique?"
The child turns towards her mother's voice, pigtails twisting around the contour of her face She spreads her fingers out at the end of her open arms, like wings. Angelique locks eyes with her mother, her smile becoming present for an instant. Those stained walnut eyes look bright again. Her humming ceases.
Her mother shrieks, a noise of pure instinct.
Angelique is falling. She plummets like a stone towards the ocean, a black form against the pink sky.
This was the child that was the best of them, the daughter meant to bring heart and muscle to their dreams, to carry hope and good things.
And then--
Angelique is drifting upwards weightlessly, like seed on the wind. Her song is that of the wind now, tune without melody. The sky is as pink as her swaddling blanket, as warm as her father's hands, as sweet as her great-aunt's voice and as beautiful as her grandmother's name.
When Angelique is barely a speck against the sunset, Mrs. Davis can see that her daughter is happy, and for that she is grateful.
Lips like the early-showing prune blossoms, eyes bright and dark like polished walnut pews, legs long and chubby. She had her father's nose, her mother's chin, her great-aunt's ears. Her grandmother's middle name. She was the everything that had come before, and she had it in her to bring all the hopes and good things forward and further.
No different than all the children that had ever been born before her.
~~~
A year and a half later, Angelique's mother tries not to twitch in the pediatrician's office chair.
"Mrs. Davis, Angelique is a healthy child--"
"My other babies were talking and walking by the time they were fourteen months old."
"She's different. She's well within the normal window of milestones."
Angelique's mother curses under her breath. Every mother knows different meant bad. Different was what they called the slow ones, the odd ones, the ones who fail. She wants out of this office, with its ugly forest mural that reminds her of funeral homes --the scary, forever side of fate.
She reaches for Angelique, and misses. A note of despair passes from her throat as she snatches her purse and takes off after her daughter. The child never once walked across the living room floor, taking wobbly too-high steps while clutching her mother's hand. Angelique never walked; she ran.
Darting down the hall way like a grinning, mute beast, it was all Mrs. Davis could do to just follow after.
~~~
Another year later and Mrs. Davis awakes in middle of the night, heart hammering. Above her husband's snoring, she hears it. A new voice, familiar yet not. It sings. Like a chorus of ghosts. It chills her to bone.
She follows it until she realizes it's coming from Angelique's bedroom. A ribbon of light glows beneath the door. There is a night light in there, but this is too bright.
She clutches the wall as she returns to her own room, where her husband still sleeps undisturbed.
~~~
"Mama, I don't want her with," Angelique's brother, older by two years, whines. Angelique is eight now, humming to herself and weaving off and on the path like an overexcited house cat.
"She's your sister, Bill," Mrs. Davis answers flatly, wearily.
And so Bill and his friends pretend to surf on a boogie board while Angelique gallops up and down the shoreline, singing her lungs ragged just to hear herself against the wind and surf.
It is dusk and time to go when they realize Angelique is missing.
The six of them --Mrs. and Mr. Davis, Bill and his three friends-- split up and stroll down the beach, calling her name.
It is her mother that finds her. Angelique has stopped running at the edge of a sea cliff. She smiles as she stares at nothing in particular. She has always stared at nothing in particular. She is a pretty girl, her mother thinks, dimly registering that she should feel panic to see her youngest on the edge of a cliff. Yet she doesn't.
"Angelique?"
The child turns towards her mother's voice, pigtails twisting around the contour of her face She spreads her fingers out at the end of her open arms, like wings. Angelique locks eyes with her mother, her smile becoming present for an instant. Those stained walnut eyes look bright again. Her humming ceases.
Her mother shrieks, a noise of pure instinct.
Angelique is falling. She plummets like a stone towards the ocean, a black form against the pink sky.
This was the child that was the best of them, the daughter meant to bring heart and muscle to their dreams, to carry hope and good things.
And then--
Angelique is drifting upwards weightlessly, like seed on the wind. Her song is that of the wind now, tune without melody. The sky is as pink as her swaddling blanket, as warm as her father's hands, as sweet as her great-aunt's voice and as beautiful as her grandmother's name.
When Angelique is barely a speck against the sunset, Mrs. Davis can see that her daughter is happy, and for that she is grateful.
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 09:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 10:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 12:13 pm (UTC)WOW.
That was such a pretty story! And so well-told! Simple and sweet and a little stirring. Great job!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 01:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 01:28 pm (UTC)This is such a lovely story. So poetic and graceful and tender and moving. ♥
no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 04:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 04:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 04:21 pm (UTC)P.S. You know...after you mentioned that you'd made a birthday post in my last LJ Idol post, I realized I can't see anything you've posted since almost a year ago! 0_0
I'm not sure why that is, I just don't see anything after January in 2009. I know something like that happened to another lj friend of mine, when she had date-out-of-order on? None of her friends could see any of her new posts!
Or mebbe I'm just crazy. ><;
...I just thought I would let you know, though!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-22 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-23 01:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-23 11:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-23 06:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-23 11:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-24 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-24 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 06:27 am (UTC)Also, in my first draft of my piece this week, Langoustine's name was Angelique and she had wings and not lobster claws! So! I just wanted to tell you that.
no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 09:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 09:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 09:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 09:17 pm (UTC)Yeah, I sometimes write like this, but it takes me SO LONG and I usually get distracted by doing something multimedia part way through! X)
This time, though, I was determined!
no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 09:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 09:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 09:19 pm (UTC)And TY! I'm glad I tried it out! And didn't get distracted by flickering shinies half way through. which is what usually happens... >>;
no subject
Date: 2010-01-25 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-26 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-28 04:19 am (UTC)