Status: Slow going...May be continued..
Cinders
2
Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days. Life picked up its course as it would’ve when my sister was here. We tried to block out the longing to hear her laughter, to see that smile of hers when she was home visiting. She had married the man, James, two years ago under an arranged marriage my father had agreed to before his death.
My mother was slowly getting back on her feet but she refused to leave the house. It was like she feared the sunlight would burn her if she stepped into it. She left the house only at night, staying within the boundaries of the yard. She only left to bring in dry clothing from the makeshift line Emily had put together when I was only ten.
That had been seven years ago. My sister had been several years older than me. She was at least seven years my senior. I always loved her, though. She was always there to teach me what my mother wouldn’t...or couldn’t. She had helped me wash clothing, showed me how to sew, and how to cook meals worthy of a king.
“Simone?” my mother’s soft voice called, pulling me from my reverie.
“Yes?” I asked, looking back at her.
“Can you go buy food at the market, love?” she asked, handing me some coins. I nodded.
“Of course,” I agreed.
“Beware of the merchants, darling. I can’t handle another-” she broke off, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. I got up, kissing her forehead.
“I’ll be careful, Mama,” I promised.
I hugged her, pulling her tiny body into mine. She was a mere 5’0 to my 5’5. She accepted the gesture, resting a hand on my cheek as she pulled away with a weak smile.
“I love you, Simone,” she murmured.
“I love you too, Mother, I love you too,” I smiled back lightly kissing her cheek.
“Be back soon,” she called as I slipped on a cloak and headed out the front door.
“I will,” I replied.
I made my way to the town square. I stopped at the baker’s to buy some bread. He smiled at me, giving me what I needed before murmuring his condolences. I gave him a slight nod before continuing to the meat shop. The man gave me a few slabs of meat wrapped in some type of material which I rested in my basket under the bread. I paid him before leaving. I had to get dairy products and fruits, then I’d be done.
I entered the store, walking to the counter. I asked for my orders and the woman went to gather the fruits and vegetables while the man handled the cheese. I placed my basket on the counter for easy access when they were done and waited patiently. I paid the man after getting my wares and left the store, walking down the street in silence.
My gaze swept my surroundings and I paused, spotting the bookstore. I remembered the man at my sister’s execution. I remembered his words. He had left me wondering how well I had really known my sister. It was bothering me. I kept trying to understand what he meant but came up blank. I had the chance to ask him. Why not take it?
I walked to the bookstore and pulled the door open. Stepping in, I heard the squawk of a bird as it spotted me. I jumped, gasping as he ruffled his feathers and stared at me. He squawked again, his owner coming out to silence him. The man seemed annoyed as he turned on me saying the store was closed. It was the man from the execution. He paused, recognition clicking.
“You came quickly,” he murmured, smiling. I frowned at him, “but not for the reasons I had hoped. Correct?
“Right, I just have something to ask you,” I replied, glancing around the dimly lit room.
It looked like any other bookstore. There were thousands of books stacked onto shelves that ran along the walls and across the floor. There was a small area off to the right where the visitors could sit down with a book and read. The second floor looked pretty much the same as the first floor.
“Come with me,” the man said, turning back to the doorway he’d come from. I glanced at my purchases. “Bring that with you.”
I followed him to the room and stood in the doorway. The room was lit by a single candle that shone from a table in the center of the room. He motioned me forward, telling me to sit before going back out to the front of the store. I did as told, leaning over to see him in the doorway. He checked outside before locking the door and extinguishing the candles.
He returned and smiled at me grimly before sitting across the table from me. The bird flew in through the open door and sat on a perch to our left. I glanced at it once, noticing it eyeing me curiously. I turned back to the man. He was now leaning forward on the table, the candlelight casting a light over his features.
“I am Mark Jansen,” he greeted.
“Simone Simons,” I replied calmly.
“What is your question?” he asked. I cleared my throat, trying to find the words.
“What did you mean follow in her footsteps?” I asked. “What was all that talk about taking a stand?”
“Ah,” he smiled approvingly, “I see she kept her word and kept her mouth sealed.”
“What are you saying?” I frowned at him.
“In her old room, you will find a journal,” he answered. “Bring it to me in three days at this time and I will answer your questions.”
I stared at him. “Can’t you just explain it now?”
“No,” he replied. “Whether I swear to be honest or not, you will not believe a word that will leave my lips. Bring the journal to me in three days and you will understand.”
“How could my sister keep a journal? She could not write,” I denied.
“I will explain,” he answered, “in time. Now, though, your mother is waiting for you. Take care and stay strong.”
He rose and walked out of the room again. I sat still a few minutes, my nose scrunched up in confusion. The bird tilted its head as it watched me intently, squawking to get my attention. When I didn’t react it flew off the back of its master’s chair and landed before me, nipping gently at my finger making me squeak in shock.
I got up quickly, taking my basket and heading to the front of the bookstore. Mark stood by the front door, holding it open for me. He bid me farewell with a slight nod of his head before closing the door, leaving me to walk home alone.
My mother was slowly getting back on her feet but she refused to leave the house. It was like she feared the sunlight would burn her if she stepped into it. She left the house only at night, staying within the boundaries of the yard. She only left to bring in dry clothing from the makeshift line Emily had put together when I was only ten.
That had been seven years ago. My sister had been several years older than me. She was at least seven years my senior. I always loved her, though. She was always there to teach me what my mother wouldn’t...or couldn’t. She had helped me wash clothing, showed me how to sew, and how to cook meals worthy of a king.
“Simone?” my mother’s soft voice called, pulling me from my reverie.
“Yes?” I asked, looking back at her.
“Can you go buy food at the market, love?” she asked, handing me some coins. I nodded.
“Of course,” I agreed.
“Beware of the merchants, darling. I can’t handle another-” she broke off, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. I got up, kissing her forehead.
“I’ll be careful, Mama,” I promised.
I hugged her, pulling her tiny body into mine. She was a mere 5’0 to my 5’5. She accepted the gesture, resting a hand on my cheek as she pulled away with a weak smile.
“I love you, Simone,” she murmured.
“I love you too, Mother, I love you too,” I smiled back lightly kissing her cheek.
“Be back soon,” she called as I slipped on a cloak and headed out the front door.
“I will,” I replied.
I made my way to the town square. I stopped at the baker’s to buy some bread. He smiled at me, giving me what I needed before murmuring his condolences. I gave him a slight nod before continuing to the meat shop. The man gave me a few slabs of meat wrapped in some type of material which I rested in my basket under the bread. I paid him before leaving. I had to get dairy products and fruits, then I’d be done.
I entered the store, walking to the counter. I asked for my orders and the woman went to gather the fruits and vegetables while the man handled the cheese. I placed my basket on the counter for easy access when they were done and waited patiently. I paid the man after getting my wares and left the store, walking down the street in silence.
My gaze swept my surroundings and I paused, spotting the bookstore. I remembered the man at my sister’s execution. I remembered his words. He had left me wondering how well I had really known my sister. It was bothering me. I kept trying to understand what he meant but came up blank. I had the chance to ask him. Why not take it?
I walked to the bookstore and pulled the door open. Stepping in, I heard the squawk of a bird as it spotted me. I jumped, gasping as he ruffled his feathers and stared at me. He squawked again, his owner coming out to silence him. The man seemed annoyed as he turned on me saying the store was closed. It was the man from the execution. He paused, recognition clicking.
“You came quickly,” he murmured, smiling. I frowned at him, “but not for the reasons I had hoped. Correct?
“Right, I just have something to ask you,” I replied, glancing around the dimly lit room.
It looked like any other bookstore. There were thousands of books stacked onto shelves that ran along the walls and across the floor. There was a small area off to the right where the visitors could sit down with a book and read. The second floor looked pretty much the same as the first floor.
“Come with me,” the man said, turning back to the doorway he’d come from. I glanced at my purchases. “Bring that with you.”
I followed him to the room and stood in the doorway. The room was lit by a single candle that shone from a table in the center of the room. He motioned me forward, telling me to sit before going back out to the front of the store. I did as told, leaning over to see him in the doorway. He checked outside before locking the door and extinguishing the candles.
He returned and smiled at me grimly before sitting across the table from me. The bird flew in through the open door and sat on a perch to our left. I glanced at it once, noticing it eyeing me curiously. I turned back to the man. He was now leaning forward on the table, the candlelight casting a light over his features.
“I am Mark Jansen,” he greeted.
“Simone Simons,” I replied calmly.
“What is your question?” he asked. I cleared my throat, trying to find the words.
“What did you mean follow in her footsteps?” I asked. “What was all that talk about taking a stand?”
“Ah,” he smiled approvingly, “I see she kept her word and kept her mouth sealed.”
“What are you saying?” I frowned at him.
“In her old room, you will find a journal,” he answered. “Bring it to me in three days at this time and I will answer your questions.”
I stared at him. “Can’t you just explain it now?”
“No,” he replied. “Whether I swear to be honest or not, you will not believe a word that will leave my lips. Bring the journal to me in three days and you will understand.”
“How could my sister keep a journal? She could not write,” I denied.
“I will explain,” he answered, “in time. Now, though, your mother is waiting for you. Take care and stay strong.”
He rose and walked out of the room again. I sat still a few minutes, my nose scrunched up in confusion. The bird tilted its head as it watched me intently, squawking to get my attention. When I didn’t react it flew off the back of its master’s chair and landed before me, nipping gently at my finger making me squeak in shock.
I got up quickly, taking my basket and heading to the front of the bookstore. Mark stood by the front door, holding it open for me. He bid me farewell with a slight nod of his head before closing the door, leaving me to walk home alone.