. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Wednesday, 29 February 2012


She was a quiet girl. After a time, people had stopped noticing her. On visiting days, the ladies seemed to look right through her at the hideous curlicue patterns of her mother's new dining-room  wallpaper. Oh, how she hated that  mustard velvet wallpaper her mother seemed so proud of!

When the ladies came for tea, she could stay or she could go. It didn't matter. No one took note of her, asked after her, her life. Maybe they thought she didn't have one. And what if they were right.

She was the good daughter, helped her mother with the cooking and the wash, put the little ones to bed at night. So, she went about thinking it was good, her life. But since she'd turned twelve last month, she'd allowed herself to wonder if life hadn't maybe just hung her out to dry, much like her father did the deer in the Fall.


Christy Reserva said...

It's no surprise that this Post would certainly catch my attention. Your opening lines are so impressive that's why. hehe When I read "She was a quiet girl", I immediately thought it was describing me, ignoring the past tense 'was' in that sentence. I can understand the plight of the character and how painful it is to realise the fact that people can overlook individuals due to their ordinary appearance. Or even having such a "good" disposition sometimes. It seems to really hit reality for me esp. when I was just at her age, when I wondered if I even had a life. It's a shame to think that someone so special, at least for me, could be taken for granted. And this saddens me to think that we are all capable of doing this without even realising it even to those we're acquainted with. How often do we notice and how often do we miss. Anyway, thanks for posting this! I love the words you choose.

Marjolaine Hébert said...

Thank you so much for sharing this, Christy. They mean a great deal, and they make a great deal of sense.