Victoria King
Cadet
~Non-Fiction Challenge Entry~
Title: Ruins by the Roadside
Author: Vicki :blondewig:
Rating: PG-13(for the subject plot line, nothing terrible! I think it's suitable for all ages! Just to be safe though, I put the thirteen stamp on it............)
Summary: The past haunts us all. A single decision can alter the path your life takes, a life full of regret or a life of happiness and love. People come into your life unexpectedly filling you with new dreams, passions, and questions. What would you do for a love like no other? What if you took that chance at freedom, discarding all your responsiblities for a moment of pleasure? Can you be envious of something you abandoned?
~This is Original Work~
It was an accident, as most tragedies are. And like most tragedies, this one has no beginning and, unfortunately, for me, no end. I’m still living in it, swimming in the deep end, treading water for the rest of my life, barely staying afloat, trying to figure out where a safe spot is to plant my feet and walk to shore.
I would say this all began before I could even remember but that would not be true at all. I remember everything. I remember the first time he kissed me, the church where we got married, the tiny almost deserted town where we spent the first eight months of our life together living in a one room apartment with a hole in the roof, the exact scent of the three bouquets of roses he bought me for our third anniversary, the five separate times I gave birth to his children, the first time I lied to him, and the first time my heart pounded in bliss as I slept with another man. I have no right to remember any of the good. No right at all, this I realize and regret whole heartedly.
To be honest, I have to tell you this: It was all good, everything , even the times when he stormed out at one in the morning to walk off the grief of an argument or when the tears finally broke through for the last time and were streaming down my face as I packed a suitcase to leave him forever. There was no reason behind what I had done. Maybe you could find the one flaw I made in my life that sent me spiraling down the rabbit’s hole. I loved him with my entire heart and still do; perhaps that was my catastrophic mistake, my one single defect that shattered our stained glass marriage.
When I try to pin point the exact place in time when I was lead astray, I become dizzy and trapped with no doors. I think too long and too hard and every memory blurs together into a long strand of disoriented figures, fragments of conversations, sentences missing and snapshots withering away with age and mishandling.
I feel as if my entire life was lived inside a mirror. Always looking out at something but never seeing it for what it truly was until it was too late and the image had changed to something else, something completely different. I want to reach out to it, stop it for just a second and help fix the out of place hair but I was never allowed. I was bound in the past. I wish for just once I could catch it at the right moment and stop myself from doing something I know I will regret.
Chapter 1~ An Unexpected Love
Twenty-Five Years Earlier
Rosling Manner~English Countryside~Turn of the Century
The door slammed unexpectedly behind me as I hurried into the small foyer leaving a short blast of cold air lingering. Mother, as she always did, had decided to decorate for the Christmas holidays too exuberantly and as I began to peel my wool coat from my layers upon layers of sweaters and skirts, a wreath of holly and extremely large poinsettias tangled itself around my head right before I tripped over the make shift manger mother just had to have at the street market last week. The manger, which happened to be decked out in lights and hay, sent me flying across the foyer into a shrouded mound covered lightly with snowflakes.
“Oh Laura dear is that you?” My mother’s soothing yet loud voice carried through the house as I heard the sound of her boots scuffing across the wood floors. Even though my mother was strict on taking off your shoes at the front door and putting on our house slippers, she was allowed to wear her boots. ‘I have brittle bones and they get chilled easily. Plus, you are a child and I am not’ was what she recited to my younger sisters and me as we were forced to bear the cold in our thin as paper slippers. Evelyn, the youngest and most admired by my parents and everyone in the village, has even begun reciting it with her which to no surprise she hasn’t been scolded yet.
“Laura, now what are you doing sitting there on the floor! We have company coming. Mr. Corrington is bringing his nephew, whom I hear is some heir to a small fortune and just your luck, single. I want you getting ready upstairs immediately with no complaints, you hear?!” As she had begun to do for the past two years, since I turned sixteen, to try and push me into a “respectable” marriage or in other terms, a wealthy marriage, tonight is not a friendly visit with an old friend but more of a match making session for the destitute daughter of hers.
“Yes Mother.” I get up off the floor, trying to disentangle myself from the suffocating wreath that has permanently begun to attach itself to my head and shaking off tiny flakes of snow and hay.
“And Laura dear, be ever so kind as to try and be a lady tonight. You can start by picking off all that hay you have scattered about your dress. What were you doing anyway, rolling about in the countryside?”
With that, Mother left me standing still, my mouth hanging open in disbelief and bits of holly and hay intertwined within my curly brown locks, with a disapproving smirk and a swish of her dress. Thinking she couldn’t possibly see me or hear the sound of my boots against the rose rug, I bypass my slippers and ascend the main staircase which just like the foyer is decked out in holly and all things green.
“Laura! Do I always have to remind you to take off your shoes before you come into the house? You’ll track mud and who knows what else in!”
I guess I thought wrong. Who cares what I track into the house, it is not like Brian Corrington will bring anyone worth looking at. For one, Brian is not handsome at all. His teeth are all incongruous and his large nose occupies his entire face covering his eyes and even his unruly mustache. I think he resembles a rather large walrus, but if I were to speak my opinions, I would be locked away for life in the attic.
Brian, a man whom my mother just adores because he has his own mansion-like house complete with a full staff of maids and butlers and teaches English Literature in London, has the arrogance to fill his mansion and then some. I am almost positive whomever he brings will be just like him, unfortunate for me because I will most likely have to endure an evening of snide remarks and highly forged infectious laughter, which of course I will have to partake in. I wonder if Mother actually thinks that this little soiree will have any lasting effect on my personal affairs. I highly doubt it.
Sadly, I can still remember when she introduced me to her last attempt at marital bliss. He was the cousin of Mrs. Cummings, one of my mother’s close friends who sits all day long drinking tea and petting her rodent of a dog. Mr. Michael Billings at first seemed like a wonderful man. Handsome and charming, dark brown eyes, so it was too bad he never stopped stuttering and trembling.
When he offered to help me in my chair, his hands were shaking so badly that the whole chair shook and I went tumbling to the ground, skirts all over my head and lying in a heap. Our only maid Jesebelle did not see me there and tripped over me and I got a lovely little shower of chocolate pudding. I found it all rather humorous and would have laughed to my heart’s content if it wasn’t for my mother’s disapproving looks at me. Needless to say, that was the end of Mr. Billings and my forays into finding out what it is like being dessert.
Since then, Mother has held back for three months without bringing around any guests to the house, which for her is something to celebrate! All that came to an abrupt halt when Brian, a friend of my father’s, sent a telegram saying that he was going to be in town and wanted to visit with the family. All of a sudden my mother was writing back to him if he could bring any company suitable for her daughters to get acquainted with, her daughters mainly meaning me.
Walking up the stairs, for the second time but now in my dark burgundy slippers, there is a knock at the door. Oh, it better not be them. Again, a gentle knock at the door.
“Father, Mother, Jesebelle, I think they are here right now and well, I’m not in the most attractive state one can be in when meeting someone!” I yell out hoping that she will hear me. Why can’t she? She heard the inaudible sound of my boots slightly skimming over the steps. There it is again, that gentle yet forceful knock telling me it is about time for my death. “Mother?! We can not just leave company out on the front door in this cold!” Still no sign of anyone coming to my rescue. “Father?! Anyone who cares about company?!”
I guess no one does, so no one should be too upset if I decide not to let them in? I can just hear it now ‘Laura, now why did you do such a preposterous thing like that! You knew they were our guests for the evening and leaving them out in the cold?!’ I’m almost positive it is not them but I would rather face their accusing stares than my mother and father’s. Again, the persistent knock echoes out through the hall.
“Just one moment!” I call out aiming for a sophisticated demeanor but coming out more like a strangled bird gasping for breath. Quickly dusting off various pieces of hay, which seem to have multiplied in those few seconds, I reach for the brass handle of the oak door and open it.
“Hello, Laura. It is always pleasant to see you. My how you have blossomed in the time I have last seen you. Certainly you have heard about my new book being published about human nature and influence of the mind.” Brain Corrington’s loud gruff voice bellowed through out the hall.
Oh joy, not even three seconds into the evening and he is into himself already. This shall be an exhilarating evening, I can not wait for more.
“Why yes I have, Mr. Corrington. It does seem like an excellent read. You must send me a copy as soon as it is published, you will won’t you?” I reply with an exhausting fake smile while trying to discreetly pick off pieces of hay still lingering on my skirt.
“Of course I will! I would be delighted to send you a copy immediately! And if I do say so myself, it is an exceptional read, one well worth your while!” All of a sudden, I hear a slight cough coming from behind the enormous figure of Brian whom is blocking the entranceway into the house, yet to my comfort blocking the wind and keeping me quite warm. “Oh forgive me, will you Laura? I completely forgot to introduce you to my nephew, Christopher Whittler. Christopher, don’t be shy now?” Mr. Corrington said as he moved aside shuffling around the snow by his charcoal colored boots revealing a tall man who certainly did not look anything like his uncle, thankfully.
“Miss Laura Rosling, it is a pleasure to meet you. As my uncle as already pronounced me, I am Christopher Whittler.” He pulled his right hand from his jacket pocket and withdrew a single crimson red rose that shone against the sparkling sea of white flittering across the grey sky. “For you, Miss. My uncle has told me a great deal about you and he underestimated your beauty I am afraid.” Handing me the rose, he leaned down to kiss my hand like a true gentleman and when he arose, his startling blue eyes locked onto my own.
I tried to think of the polite thing to do but my mind had frozen. Here on my front door was a handsome charming man who just by a single glance brought my whole world spiraling down.
He was at least five or six inches taller than me and had the sweetest smile I had ever seen. I couldn’t turn my gaze from him, because at that moment, the very faint voice of my nagging mother disappeared and the very persistent coughs from the giant walrus to his right were far from my mind. Finally, my brief moment of ecstasy was interrupted by being shoved into the oak doorframe and a slight cut to my forehead and more holly deeming it necessary to choke me once again.
“LAURA! Do you have any manners? It is freezing outside and you are having our company to stand there in the cold?” Raising her eyebrows, my mother glared at me, paying no attention to the wound starting to break open with blood as fresh as the springtime. “Oh I’m dreadfully sorry. It is my fault Laura’s manners are terrible,” once again another glare at my direction. Christopher noticed and smiled over at me, convincing me that my manners were just fine. “Would you please come in? Laura, move out of the way; give them plenty of room. You two must be exhausted from such a long drive?”
“Oh not at all, Mrs. Rosling, your daughter’s manners were just fine. She was being a very kind host and was motioning us to come in and make ourselves at home. But thank you, I would be delighted to come in.” Christopher winked over in my direction and kicked the snow off the bottom of his boots before stepping inside heading in my direction. My head began to whirl around in circles due either to the large cut on my forehead or to the way my knees buckled when he smiled at me.
“Elizabeth you look more gorgeous than ever! How are you?” The walrus, attempting to charm my mother, tried to step inside before Mr. Whittler, and slipped on a blind spot of ice failing his arms and screaming like a two year old child as he jumbled down the steps.
Muffling a slight giggle I clasp my hand over my mouth and quickly turn my head to the wall, but late enough to see Christopher stifle his laughter as well, all the while staring at me.
“Brian! Are you alright?! Laura, go and fetch Jesebelle. Laura, are you listening to me at all?! LAURA!” My mother’s insistent hollers chase us down the hallway as Christopher and I race upstairs to the dining hall out of sight from the pair trying to gain balance out on the landing.
All I could hear at the moment was Christopher’s laughter as we wove in and out of cooks and decorators getting ready for this evening’s dinner scurrying out of our way. At that moment, sorrow was far out of my mind as my eyes sparkled with life and love reflected on his face.
Title: Ruins by the Roadside
Author: Vicki :blondewig:
Rating: PG-13(for the subject plot line, nothing terrible! I think it's suitable for all ages! Just to be safe though, I put the thirteen stamp on it............)
Summary: The past haunts us all. A single decision can alter the path your life takes, a life full of regret or a life of happiness and love. People come into your life unexpectedly filling you with new dreams, passions, and questions. What would you do for a love like no other? What if you took that chance at freedom, discarding all your responsiblities for a moment of pleasure? Can you be envious of something you abandoned?
~This is Original Work~
It was an accident, as most tragedies are. And like most tragedies, this one has no beginning and, unfortunately, for me, no end. I’m still living in it, swimming in the deep end, treading water for the rest of my life, barely staying afloat, trying to figure out where a safe spot is to plant my feet and walk to shore.
I would say this all began before I could even remember but that would not be true at all. I remember everything. I remember the first time he kissed me, the church where we got married, the tiny almost deserted town where we spent the first eight months of our life together living in a one room apartment with a hole in the roof, the exact scent of the three bouquets of roses he bought me for our third anniversary, the five separate times I gave birth to his children, the first time I lied to him, and the first time my heart pounded in bliss as I slept with another man. I have no right to remember any of the good. No right at all, this I realize and regret whole heartedly.
To be honest, I have to tell you this: It was all good, everything , even the times when he stormed out at one in the morning to walk off the grief of an argument or when the tears finally broke through for the last time and were streaming down my face as I packed a suitcase to leave him forever. There was no reason behind what I had done. Maybe you could find the one flaw I made in my life that sent me spiraling down the rabbit’s hole. I loved him with my entire heart and still do; perhaps that was my catastrophic mistake, my one single defect that shattered our stained glass marriage.
When I try to pin point the exact place in time when I was lead astray, I become dizzy and trapped with no doors. I think too long and too hard and every memory blurs together into a long strand of disoriented figures, fragments of conversations, sentences missing and snapshots withering away with age and mishandling.
I feel as if my entire life was lived inside a mirror. Always looking out at something but never seeing it for what it truly was until it was too late and the image had changed to something else, something completely different. I want to reach out to it, stop it for just a second and help fix the out of place hair but I was never allowed. I was bound in the past. I wish for just once I could catch it at the right moment and stop myself from doing something I know I will regret.
Chapter 1~ An Unexpected Love
Twenty-Five Years Earlier
Rosling Manner~English Countryside~Turn of the Century
The door slammed unexpectedly behind me as I hurried into the small foyer leaving a short blast of cold air lingering. Mother, as she always did, had decided to decorate for the Christmas holidays too exuberantly and as I began to peel my wool coat from my layers upon layers of sweaters and skirts, a wreath of holly and extremely large poinsettias tangled itself around my head right before I tripped over the make shift manger mother just had to have at the street market last week. The manger, which happened to be decked out in lights and hay, sent me flying across the foyer into a shrouded mound covered lightly with snowflakes.
“Oh Laura dear is that you?” My mother’s soothing yet loud voice carried through the house as I heard the sound of her boots scuffing across the wood floors. Even though my mother was strict on taking off your shoes at the front door and putting on our house slippers, she was allowed to wear her boots. ‘I have brittle bones and they get chilled easily. Plus, you are a child and I am not’ was what she recited to my younger sisters and me as we were forced to bear the cold in our thin as paper slippers. Evelyn, the youngest and most admired by my parents and everyone in the village, has even begun reciting it with her which to no surprise she hasn’t been scolded yet.
“Laura, now what are you doing sitting there on the floor! We have company coming. Mr. Corrington is bringing his nephew, whom I hear is some heir to a small fortune and just your luck, single. I want you getting ready upstairs immediately with no complaints, you hear?!” As she had begun to do for the past two years, since I turned sixteen, to try and push me into a “respectable” marriage or in other terms, a wealthy marriage, tonight is not a friendly visit with an old friend but more of a match making session for the destitute daughter of hers.
“Yes Mother.” I get up off the floor, trying to disentangle myself from the suffocating wreath that has permanently begun to attach itself to my head and shaking off tiny flakes of snow and hay.
“And Laura dear, be ever so kind as to try and be a lady tonight. You can start by picking off all that hay you have scattered about your dress. What were you doing anyway, rolling about in the countryside?”
With that, Mother left me standing still, my mouth hanging open in disbelief and bits of holly and hay intertwined within my curly brown locks, with a disapproving smirk and a swish of her dress. Thinking she couldn’t possibly see me or hear the sound of my boots against the rose rug, I bypass my slippers and ascend the main staircase which just like the foyer is decked out in holly and all things green.
“Laura! Do I always have to remind you to take off your shoes before you come into the house? You’ll track mud and who knows what else in!”
I guess I thought wrong. Who cares what I track into the house, it is not like Brian Corrington will bring anyone worth looking at. For one, Brian is not handsome at all. His teeth are all incongruous and his large nose occupies his entire face covering his eyes and even his unruly mustache. I think he resembles a rather large walrus, but if I were to speak my opinions, I would be locked away for life in the attic.
Brian, a man whom my mother just adores because he has his own mansion-like house complete with a full staff of maids and butlers and teaches English Literature in London, has the arrogance to fill his mansion and then some. I am almost positive whomever he brings will be just like him, unfortunate for me because I will most likely have to endure an evening of snide remarks and highly forged infectious laughter, which of course I will have to partake in. I wonder if Mother actually thinks that this little soiree will have any lasting effect on my personal affairs. I highly doubt it.
Sadly, I can still remember when she introduced me to her last attempt at marital bliss. He was the cousin of Mrs. Cummings, one of my mother’s close friends who sits all day long drinking tea and petting her rodent of a dog. Mr. Michael Billings at first seemed like a wonderful man. Handsome and charming, dark brown eyes, so it was too bad he never stopped stuttering and trembling.
When he offered to help me in my chair, his hands were shaking so badly that the whole chair shook and I went tumbling to the ground, skirts all over my head and lying in a heap. Our only maid Jesebelle did not see me there and tripped over me and I got a lovely little shower of chocolate pudding. I found it all rather humorous and would have laughed to my heart’s content if it wasn’t for my mother’s disapproving looks at me. Needless to say, that was the end of Mr. Billings and my forays into finding out what it is like being dessert.
Since then, Mother has held back for three months without bringing around any guests to the house, which for her is something to celebrate! All that came to an abrupt halt when Brian, a friend of my father’s, sent a telegram saying that he was going to be in town and wanted to visit with the family. All of a sudden my mother was writing back to him if he could bring any company suitable for her daughters to get acquainted with, her daughters mainly meaning me.
Walking up the stairs, for the second time but now in my dark burgundy slippers, there is a knock at the door. Oh, it better not be them. Again, a gentle knock at the door.
“Father, Mother, Jesebelle, I think they are here right now and well, I’m not in the most attractive state one can be in when meeting someone!” I yell out hoping that she will hear me. Why can’t she? She heard the inaudible sound of my boots slightly skimming over the steps. There it is again, that gentle yet forceful knock telling me it is about time for my death. “Mother?! We can not just leave company out on the front door in this cold!” Still no sign of anyone coming to my rescue. “Father?! Anyone who cares about company?!”
I guess no one does, so no one should be too upset if I decide not to let them in? I can just hear it now ‘Laura, now why did you do such a preposterous thing like that! You knew they were our guests for the evening and leaving them out in the cold?!’ I’m almost positive it is not them but I would rather face their accusing stares than my mother and father’s. Again, the persistent knock echoes out through the hall.
“Just one moment!” I call out aiming for a sophisticated demeanor but coming out more like a strangled bird gasping for breath. Quickly dusting off various pieces of hay, which seem to have multiplied in those few seconds, I reach for the brass handle of the oak door and open it.
“Hello, Laura. It is always pleasant to see you. My how you have blossomed in the time I have last seen you. Certainly you have heard about my new book being published about human nature and influence of the mind.” Brain Corrington’s loud gruff voice bellowed through out the hall.
Oh joy, not even three seconds into the evening and he is into himself already. This shall be an exhilarating evening, I can not wait for more.
“Why yes I have, Mr. Corrington. It does seem like an excellent read. You must send me a copy as soon as it is published, you will won’t you?” I reply with an exhausting fake smile while trying to discreetly pick off pieces of hay still lingering on my skirt.
“Of course I will! I would be delighted to send you a copy immediately! And if I do say so myself, it is an exceptional read, one well worth your while!” All of a sudden, I hear a slight cough coming from behind the enormous figure of Brian whom is blocking the entranceway into the house, yet to my comfort blocking the wind and keeping me quite warm. “Oh forgive me, will you Laura? I completely forgot to introduce you to my nephew, Christopher Whittler. Christopher, don’t be shy now?” Mr. Corrington said as he moved aside shuffling around the snow by his charcoal colored boots revealing a tall man who certainly did not look anything like his uncle, thankfully.
“Miss Laura Rosling, it is a pleasure to meet you. As my uncle as already pronounced me, I am Christopher Whittler.” He pulled his right hand from his jacket pocket and withdrew a single crimson red rose that shone against the sparkling sea of white flittering across the grey sky. “For you, Miss. My uncle has told me a great deal about you and he underestimated your beauty I am afraid.” Handing me the rose, he leaned down to kiss my hand like a true gentleman and when he arose, his startling blue eyes locked onto my own.
I tried to think of the polite thing to do but my mind had frozen. Here on my front door was a handsome charming man who just by a single glance brought my whole world spiraling down.
He was at least five or six inches taller than me and had the sweetest smile I had ever seen. I couldn’t turn my gaze from him, because at that moment, the very faint voice of my nagging mother disappeared and the very persistent coughs from the giant walrus to his right were far from my mind. Finally, my brief moment of ecstasy was interrupted by being shoved into the oak doorframe and a slight cut to my forehead and more holly deeming it necessary to choke me once again.
“LAURA! Do you have any manners? It is freezing outside and you are having our company to stand there in the cold?” Raising her eyebrows, my mother glared at me, paying no attention to the wound starting to break open with blood as fresh as the springtime. “Oh I’m dreadfully sorry. It is my fault Laura’s manners are terrible,” once again another glare at my direction. Christopher noticed and smiled over at me, convincing me that my manners were just fine. “Would you please come in? Laura, move out of the way; give them plenty of room. You two must be exhausted from such a long drive?”
“Oh not at all, Mrs. Rosling, your daughter’s manners were just fine. She was being a very kind host and was motioning us to come in and make ourselves at home. But thank you, I would be delighted to come in.” Christopher winked over in my direction and kicked the snow off the bottom of his boots before stepping inside heading in my direction. My head began to whirl around in circles due either to the large cut on my forehead or to the way my knees buckled when he smiled at me.
“Elizabeth you look more gorgeous than ever! How are you?” The walrus, attempting to charm my mother, tried to step inside before Mr. Whittler, and slipped on a blind spot of ice failing his arms and screaming like a two year old child as he jumbled down the steps.
Muffling a slight giggle I clasp my hand over my mouth and quickly turn my head to the wall, but late enough to see Christopher stifle his laughter as well, all the while staring at me.
“Brian! Are you alright?! Laura, go and fetch Jesebelle. Laura, are you listening to me at all?! LAURA!” My mother’s insistent hollers chase us down the hallway as Christopher and I race upstairs to the dining hall out of sight from the pair trying to gain balance out on the landing.
All I could hear at the moment was Christopher’s laughter as we wove in and out of cooks and decorators getting ready for this evening’s dinner scurrying out of our way. At that moment, sorrow was far out of my mind as my eyes sparkled with life and love reflected on his face.
I love it, I really do. I promise I will try to read it as often as possible. Maybe if I show it to my English teacher (who adores me, by the way! 
(re-reading is fun as well...
