44th summer 515AV
It was the stench that hit Amelia first. The smell of bodies – or rather, [i]a[i] body, singular – having been holed up in a small space for too long, unwashed and uncared for. There was also a hint of alcohol that she noticed, which Amelia had not expected. But upon quickly surveying her parents’ bedroom, she noticed the gathering of fine glass bottles in one corner. They were the bottles her father would grandly reveal to guests after a dinner party, whilst saying things like ‘a fine vintage’ or ‘it was a very good year for grapes, if you remember.
The bottles were empty now. All six of them. They lay sad and discarded, reflecting the state of rest of the room. The wardrobes door hung open, half-filled. A single shoe – a woman’s – lay near the bedroom door, and a telltale mark on the neaby wall suggested to Amelia that the shoe had been used as a long-range weapon three days prior.
Three days ago, when her father had last attended his family home. This time it was not wine he spoke of, but his need to move away, to get away, to ‘escape’. That had been the word he used. Escape. Even thinking of that word made Amelia want to spit. What had he had to escape from? A comfortable, luxurious life with a wife and an adoring, beautiful daughter. Those were not things you escaped from.
She padded further into the bedroom, her eyes eventually adjusting to the dim light. Amelia looked to the bed; itself a scene of disorder and chaos. “Mother.” She said sternly to the lump that had hunched itself into the middle of the bed. “You need to get up now. We don’t have any food.”
No reply.
Amelia moved closer to the bed, not wanting to touch the sweaty, miserable and tear-stained mess that was her mother or the bedclothes that she had cocooned around her. Again she spoke: “Mother, you have to get up. You smell. You need to wash and get us some food.”
And again, no reply.
Brazened by her growing sense of impatience, Amelia reached out and whipped the bedcovers off her mother. Jona Trisswell flinched in response and hunkered herself down deeper into the mattress she lay on. Eyes closed but cheeks mascara stained, there was no denying that she had spent the past few days doing little but crying. And drinking.
“Mother.”
Amelia stood over the bed, hands on her hips and being in every way the unforgiving and strict enforcer of rules. “You. Have. To. Get. Up. Now!”
“He’s gone, Amelia.”
It was the first time Jona had spoken in the last three days. The last time Amelia had heard her mother’s voice, it had been screaming and wailing at her father, half of the time begging him to not leave and the other half of the time telling him to go and never return. He had opted for the latter, obviously.
“Yes, he is. He’s gone and probably won’t ever back.”
The young woman felt that stab of pain and hurt herself; sharp, it made her gasp for a tick before she pursed her lips and once again crammed down those feelings. “But life goes on, Mother. We have no choice. We have to go out and get food.”
Center the shadow on the text and you can achieve glow effects!Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.
It was the stench that hit Amelia first. The smell of bodies – or rather, [i]a[i] body, singular – having been holed up in a small space for too long, unwashed and uncared for. There was also a hint of alcohol that she noticed, which Amelia had not expected. But upon quickly surveying her parents’ bedroom, she noticed the gathering of fine glass bottles in one corner. They were the bottles her father would grandly reveal to guests after a dinner party, whilst saying things like ‘a fine vintage’ or ‘it was a very good year for grapes, if you remember.
The bottles were empty now. All six of them. They lay sad and discarded, reflecting the state of rest of the room. The wardrobes door hung open, half-filled. A single shoe – a woman’s – lay near the bedroom door, and a telltale mark on the neaby wall suggested to Amelia that the shoe had been used as a long-range weapon three days prior.
Three days ago, when her father had last attended his family home. This time it was not wine he spoke of, but his need to move away, to get away, to ‘escape’. That had been the word he used. Escape. Even thinking of that word made Amelia want to spit. What had he had to escape from? A comfortable, luxurious life with a wife and an adoring, beautiful daughter. Those were not things you escaped from.
She padded further into the bedroom, her eyes eventually adjusting to the dim light. Amelia looked to the bed; itself a scene of disorder and chaos. “Mother.” She said sternly to the lump that had hunched itself into the middle of the bed. “You need to get up now. We don’t have any food.”
No reply.
Amelia moved closer to the bed, not wanting to touch the sweaty, miserable and tear-stained mess that was her mother or the bedclothes that she had cocooned around her. Again she spoke: “Mother, you have to get up. You smell. You need to wash and get us some food.”
And again, no reply.
Brazened by her growing sense of impatience, Amelia reached out and whipped the bedcovers off her mother. Jona Trisswell flinched in response and hunkered herself down deeper into the mattress she lay on. Eyes closed but cheeks mascara stained, there was no denying that she had spent the past few days doing little but crying. And drinking.
“Mother.”
Amelia stood over the bed, hands on her hips and being in every way the unforgiving and strict enforcer of rules. “You. Have. To. Get. Up. Now!”
“He’s gone, Amelia.”
It was the first time Jona had spoken in the last three days. The last time Amelia had heard her mother’s voice, it had been screaming and wailing at her father, half of the time begging him to not leave and the other half of the time telling him to go and never return. He had opted for the latter, obviously.
“Yes, he is. He’s gone and probably won’t ever back.”
The young woman felt that stab of pain and hurt herself; sharp, it made her gasp for a tick before she pursed her lips and once again crammed down those feelings. “But life goes on, Mother. We have no choice. We have to go out and get food.”
Center the shadow on the text and you can achieve glow effects!Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident, sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit anim id est laborum.
