cecilysway

My room was large and open and perfect. One entire wall was devoted to a window overlooking the soggy grasslands and intriguing moors. I’d spend many an hour imagining up all sorts of romantic stories for myself, that being the background setting. My bed was quite big, and looked pleasantly warm and comfortable. The sheets were not satin like my Paris apartment, but made of a fine and sturdy wool that would have put even a king at ease. I had a small walk in closet, large enough to store my scant dresses and required pairs of shoes. I wasn’t very much on the fashionable end of things, even though having spent half of my life in the

That twinge of a pulled heart string had erased everything in a blink of any eye. It was back. Not the full symphony, as of yet, but enough had returned so that her hands turned clammy and her head spun. She guessed she was just a little drunk. She glanced at the half empty glass she was holding in her right hand. It was red and gorgeous and sad and lonely. It was a deep maroon in the shadows, and a violent ruby in light. It was a multifaceted beverage which relieved pain with false pretenses for a little while, and painted a dim shade on the world, so that one had the feeling of being their very own Alice in their very own Wonderland. For an

The sun peeked through the clouds so bright the grass, a virgin, no tread as of yet And our father's hearts, in their chests were tight Ah yes, remember, the Fourth of July A battle called, beckoned their ears It rang and resonated through the woods The wetness, upon their face, were tears Ah yes, remember, the Fourth of July The men launched towards, shaking their tools and our Fathers stood, patiently still Until the last moment, others thought them fools Ah yes, remember, the Fourth of July And when they fought, they did so hungrily Taking back the ill treatment, unfairness, and spite Their eyes shown everything, bottled up m

The grass sloshed as my fine, leather shoes dropped clumsily onto the ground. I slipped a little, but caught myself on the arm of my father as he hurriedly produced an umbrella, courteously extending it over myself. Gratefully I swung onto his woolen arm and walked carefully up the gravel driveway, being a short distance from the extremely imposing house we were now to occupy. I had my doubts, of course, as any well respecting impressionable girl should, for I was apt to admit to my unabashed terror of anything remotely sinister. I’d been brought up to be the perfect little woman, however, I felt that I had fallen short of perfection, be

And the castle was black and upon the rock Of a thousand and one battles To save the souls a place for rest on That fearful home, upon the hill She silently tread on the stony ground The grass long decayed From the smell of death, which ruled That fearful home, upon the hill The yellow globe that hung in the black Which echoed down onto the brown And dirt and grey of the old castle That fearful home, upon the hill The whites of her eyes shone in the dark Her yellow hair, dimmed, like all goodness That every ventured here to That fearful home, upon the hill And the ring of the laugh Made with malicious intent Sprayed throug

The rain cut smooth, clear paths in the wood, tracing the silhouettes for outlandish designs on the slippery surface of the coffin.  I could hear, vaguely, the preacher's voice enunciating his words in that somewhat lazy and fully welcoming barb of the southern man's tongue.  My heart beat in erratically pounding thumps, taking its place as the polar opposite of my calm, white face dripping with rain.  I didn't carry an umbrella because I thought it would be disrespectful to the dead: hiding from the elements like one hides from life.  The shelter of an umbrella resembles the made up notion of 'safety' that children are lead to believe that e