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rainbowfic2012-04-17 12:33 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2012-04-17 12:33 pm
Brown #8, Burnt Umber #3, Daffodil #12
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Brown #8 (brown bottling), Burnt Umber #3 (Arctic Cordillera), Daffodil #12 (build a fort)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 1,105
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Amy doesn't adjust to moving.
Note: First in a series of three, each focusing on one Breaker kid. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Amy shuffled down the hall, the thick quilt from her bed still wrapped around her shoulders. The floor was freezing even though two layers of socks. She should have put on another pair before she left her carpeted bedroom for the bare wooden floors of the rest of the house.
She was halfway to the kitchen before she heard it: her aunt and uncle, talking in low, serious voices. They only sounded like that when they were discussing Amy's father, and they always stopped if one of the kids came into the room. Amy stopped right outside the door into the kitchen, listening hard. Ever since the fire, no one had told her anything, and she was tired of being treated like a baby. Her father had been questioned by the police because apparently someone had set the fire on purpose. What they questioned and what became of the investigation Amy had no idea. Had they caught whoever set fire to the house? Did they suspect her father? Did they still? Amy had been ready to vouch for him, because she knew he had been with her at the carnival when the fire was set. But no one had asked her anything.
She didn't know what had happened to their land. The house was gone, of course, but what about the hill? She didn't know if any of their belongings had been salvaged from the house, nor where they might be if they were. She hadn't even been aware that her father was moving them all up to Maine until the day he came into the hotel room they'd been staying in and announced they were leaving. And even then he'd put it in terms of a road trip to see Amy's aunt and uncle, and it wasn't until her aunt had registered her for school there that she'd even realized Millinocket, Maine was now her permanent residence.
She was sick of being kept in the dark, of adults making decisions and not even telling her about them, much less giving her a say. So she kept as quiet as she could, and strained her ears to hear what her aunt and uncle were talking about.
"I'm worried about her," her aunt was saying. "All she does is stay in bed, except when she's at school."
"Give her time," her uncle said. "Her mother just died."
Amy felt her cheeks grow hot. They were talking about her.
"You think I don't know that?" said her aunt. "I miss my sister more than anything, but it was nearly six months ago. She should be making friends, playing outside. Children her age aren't supposed to hole themselves up in their bedrooms, doing nothing."
Amy gritted her teeth. She didn't do nothing. She read. Wasn't reading supposed to be a good thing? And the only reason she wasn't outside playing was because it was so damn cold. The snow had come in October and it hadn't budged since then. Winter seeped in through every corner of the house, making it unbearable to even be inside unless she was wearing at least three layers. Her room, with the space heater turned on full blast and the multiple blankets on her bed, was the only place she had felt even a little bit warm for a month. How was she supposed to do anything when she was almost too cold to move?
Her uncle must have understood, because next he said, "I think winter's just been a shock. She hadn't even seen snow before, had she?"
"It's only November," her aunt argued. "It's not even that cold. It's ridiculous how hot her room is. I can barely go in there without suffocating. It can't be healthy. I think she's depressed. Maybe we should make her speak to someone."
Amy wasn't quite twelve, but she knew what that meant. Angry, she burst into the kitchen. "I'm not depressed! I don't need to speak to anyone!" Her dad was depressed. He had spoken to someone, and after that they had all moved to this horrible, freezing place where she had to share a room with her baby sister and trek to school in the snow and there wasn't even an ocean nearby.
"Amy--" said her uncle, but her aunt interrupted him.
"Were you eavesdropping? That's very rude."
"I don't need to speak to anyone! You can't make me!" She wasn't her dad. She was sad her mother was dead, and Jacob. But she wasn't insane with grief like him. She'd already been punished because her dad was crazy; why did her aunt want to paint her with the same brush?
Her aunt's face softened. "We're just worried about you, sweetheart. Why don't you ever want to do anything?"
"Because," Amy said, her eyes brimming with tears, "I hate the cold. I hate it. I'd rather die than spend another winter here!"
Her aunt looked shocked. " You don't mean that."
"I do!" The quilt had slipped from her shoulders, and even in her hot anger she was already starting to shiver. She fled back to the safety of her room, slamming the door for good measure. Cassie, down for her afternoon nap in the bed along the opposite wall, didn't even stir.
Amy flung herself on her bed, shaking in cold and rage. She wanted her dad. She wanted her mom, but she knew that was impossible. So she wanted her dad, and not the strange, silent shell he had become in the last few months. She wanted her dad as he was before the fire. She never asked that her aunt and uncle become her parents in his stead. She didn't want it.
But there was nothing she could do. She could run away, but where would she go? The only living relatives that she even knew were her aunt and uncle. She had no one to stay with back in Florida, because probably none of her old friends' parents would let her live with them. She was stuck here, until she was old enough to live on her own, and that was a long time away. She'd had to get through so many more winters before she could leave.
The thought of that overwhelmed her until she felt like she would never stop crying. Wiping away her tears, Amy grabbed the book she had been reading and burrowed under her blankets. She opened the book and tried to lose herself in the story, to imagine that she was really inside the book, and that Millinocket was nothing but a bad dream.
kay_brookeStory: Unusual Florida
Colors: Brown #8 (brown bottling), Burnt Umber #3 (Arctic Cordillera), Daffodil #12 (build a fort)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 1,105
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Amy doesn't adjust to moving.
Note: First in a series of three, each focusing on one Breaker kid. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Amy shuffled down the hall, the thick quilt from her bed still wrapped around her shoulders. The floor was freezing even though two layers of socks. She should have put on another pair before she left her carpeted bedroom for the bare wooden floors of the rest of the house.
She was halfway to the kitchen before she heard it: her aunt and uncle, talking in low, serious voices. They only sounded like that when they were discussing Amy's father, and they always stopped if one of the kids came into the room. Amy stopped right outside the door into the kitchen, listening hard. Ever since the fire, no one had told her anything, and she was tired of being treated like a baby. Her father had been questioned by the police because apparently someone had set the fire on purpose. What they questioned and what became of the investigation Amy had no idea. Had they caught whoever set fire to the house? Did they suspect her father? Did they still? Amy had been ready to vouch for him, because she knew he had been with her at the carnival when the fire was set. But no one had asked her anything.
She didn't know what had happened to their land. The house was gone, of course, but what about the hill? She didn't know if any of their belongings had been salvaged from the house, nor where they might be if they were. She hadn't even been aware that her father was moving them all up to Maine until the day he came into the hotel room they'd been staying in and announced they were leaving. And even then he'd put it in terms of a road trip to see Amy's aunt and uncle, and it wasn't until her aunt had registered her for school there that she'd even realized Millinocket, Maine was now her permanent residence.
She was sick of being kept in the dark, of adults making decisions and not even telling her about them, much less giving her a say. So she kept as quiet as she could, and strained her ears to hear what her aunt and uncle were talking about.
"I'm worried about her," her aunt was saying. "All she does is stay in bed, except when she's at school."
"Give her time," her uncle said. "Her mother just died."
Amy felt her cheeks grow hot. They were talking about her.
"You think I don't know that?" said her aunt. "I miss my sister more than anything, but it was nearly six months ago. She should be making friends, playing outside. Children her age aren't supposed to hole themselves up in their bedrooms, doing nothing."
Amy gritted her teeth. She didn't do nothing. She read. Wasn't reading supposed to be a good thing? And the only reason she wasn't outside playing was because it was so damn cold. The snow had come in October and it hadn't budged since then. Winter seeped in through every corner of the house, making it unbearable to even be inside unless she was wearing at least three layers. Her room, with the space heater turned on full blast and the multiple blankets on her bed, was the only place she had felt even a little bit warm for a month. How was she supposed to do anything when she was almost too cold to move?
Her uncle must have understood, because next he said, "I think winter's just been a shock. She hadn't even seen snow before, had she?"
"It's only November," her aunt argued. "It's not even that cold. It's ridiculous how hot her room is. I can barely go in there without suffocating. It can't be healthy. I think she's depressed. Maybe we should make her speak to someone."
Amy wasn't quite twelve, but she knew what that meant. Angry, she burst into the kitchen. "I'm not depressed! I don't need to speak to anyone!" Her dad was depressed. He had spoken to someone, and after that they had all moved to this horrible, freezing place where she had to share a room with her baby sister and trek to school in the snow and there wasn't even an ocean nearby.
"Amy--" said her uncle, but her aunt interrupted him.
"Were you eavesdropping? That's very rude."
"I don't need to speak to anyone! You can't make me!" She wasn't her dad. She was sad her mother was dead, and Jacob. But she wasn't insane with grief like him. She'd already been punished because her dad was crazy; why did her aunt want to paint her with the same brush?
Her aunt's face softened. "We're just worried about you, sweetheart. Why don't you ever want to do anything?"
"Because," Amy said, her eyes brimming with tears, "I hate the cold. I hate it. I'd rather die than spend another winter here!"
Her aunt looked shocked. " You don't mean that."
"I do!" The quilt had slipped from her shoulders, and even in her hot anger she was already starting to shiver. She fled back to the safety of her room, slamming the door for good measure. Cassie, down for her afternoon nap in the bed along the opposite wall, didn't even stir.
Amy flung herself on her bed, shaking in cold and rage. She wanted her dad. She wanted her mom, but she knew that was impossible. So she wanted her dad, and not the strange, silent shell he had become in the last few months. She wanted her dad as he was before the fire. She never asked that her aunt and uncle become her parents in his stead. She didn't want it.
But there was nothing she could do. She could run away, but where would she go? The only living relatives that she even knew were her aunt and uncle. She had no one to stay with back in Florida, because probably none of her old friends' parents would let her live with them. She was stuck here, until she was old enough to live on her own, and that was a long time away. She'd had to get through so many more winters before she could leave.
The thought of that overwhelmed her until she felt like she would never stop crying. Wiping away her tears, Amy grabbed the book she had been reading and burrowed under her blankets. She opened the book and tried to lose herself in the story, to imagine that she was really inside the book, and that Millinocket was nothing but a bad dream.
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Great job.
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Thank you for reading.
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Thank you for reading!
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Thanks for reading!