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Nov. 8th, 2008 12:28 am
witticaster: (dressed for a funeral)
[personal profile] witticaster
I have come to a conclusion, I think. I am going to keep writing things this month, as I can, but I am not going to even think about revising them. I simply don't have mental power to waste, sigh. XD;;; When I've turned in all my applications, then I'll worry about it.

Another Poe Family Adventure story, from...two weeks ago now? Yeah. I've been trying to figure out who Mamie is exactly, since I think I have a dece handle on Sukey. Little Ed is next, and I have an idea for looking at him, so. >>

This is dedicated to [livejournal.com profile] pitseleh_smith, who is the only reason these stories even exist, and whose birthday it is right now, in both our time zones. Insert ooh-ing here. :O I would posit this as some kind of in-honour-of-the-day business, but the writing quality is too low to be put forth as a "gift" of any kind. XD So let's just call it coincidence and remind me that my notes are ALWAYS TOO FUCKING LONG WTF.


There had been other houses--houses Maria remember and houses she did not--perhaps three others in total in her lifetime. Papa's work and the family funds kept them on the move, ever in the same city so far. Here, for the first time, they would be traveling far, like gypsies in fairy stories: far from Grandmother, far from everything that struck chords of familiarity within a child's heart.

Little Ed, blissfully unaware of what sort of momentous occasion he was witnessing, smiled cheerfully from their mother's arms. Susan was clearly ready to leave and see where it was they were off to live next. Mama had her by the hand, patiently informing her that they would be beginning to walk to the railway station in just a few minutes, and that good girls waited without fidgeting.

Maria balled her hands in the pockets of her old, stained pinafore. She usually only wore it for helping Mama with the messy chores about the house, but Mama assured her that it would be ideal for traveling. She could feel her eyes pricking hot in the corners, and she clenched her hands tighter and bit the inside of her cheeks. Despite her efforts, she felt a tear slip down her cheek.

Then, there was a weight on her shoulder; she glanced over and saw Papa's hand, inkstains marking one of his fingers. His voice was low and gruff, and he looked not at her but at their erstwhile home. "It's only a house, Maria. Don't cry."

She looked up at him, and he down at her, only for a moment, and then stalked off towards Mama and Sukey and little Ed. "Let us go."


...In my defense, you try writing anything worthwhile on a bus full of choirmates. DX
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