Lines continued, By Katie
February 24, 2008 by marimba5
Okay, so I’ve been working round the clock to get this finished, but I’m not done yet. Here’s the next 4 pages or so that I’ve added plus the begining.
LINES
By Katie
August 1st, the middle of summer
There are many different kinds of lines,
Each with its own meaning
And significance.
There’s a finish line,
Which you may cross
As you finish a race.
There’s just a plain old line
Which you can see everywhere.
But perhaps the line
That means most to me,
And has effected my life
The most dramatically is
The poverty line.
My family has never
Had a lot of money,
But we’ve always just barely managed
To get by.
Not any more.
My life was turned upside down,
And inside out,
When my father came home
From his job at a drug store
Two nights ago.
My father had walked home
To our small house
In the pouring rain.
His head was bent,
His hands were in his worn pockets,
And he looked extremely dejected.
He couldn’t even manage a weak smile
When my little six-year-old sister,
Angel, swooped on him, and embraced him
In a tight hug,
Squealing all the while with childish laughter.
I hung in the background,
Sensing that something was wrong.
Dad took off his dented cowboy hat,
And gently batted Angel away.
Even though his face was smeared with rain,
And he was drenched to his skin,
I could tell he had been crying.
I took a few steps back into our drafty old hallway,
As mom stepped out of the kitchen,
Holding my baby brother, Oliver,
Who was sleeping soundly on her shoulder.
My mother had undoubtedly
been cooking dinner
Out of whatever she could find in our nearly empty
Cupboards.
She had taken one look at my dad’s face,
And her calm expression instantly melted away.
She had softly asked him what the matter was,
But my dad made a gesture signifying that this was not
For Angel, Oliver and I to hear.
My mother nodded.
She placed Oliver in my arms,
And sent us away
To our bedroom which we all shared.
Our bedroom
Reflected perfectly
What a miserable state we were in
Financial wise.
Our room composed of only two rickety beds,
And one crib,
So old and so wobbly,
They could scarcely support our weight.
A moldy old nightstand stood in a corner,
Deprived of anything
But an old lacy table cloth dotted with holes
Caused by moths, age, and whatever else bred
In our filthy house.
Angel sat down on to her bed,
Causing a small explosion of dust
To blot the air momentarily
Before settling
Once more on the bed.
Her pale blond curls caught the light
As she curled
Into a ball in her worn quilt.
She turned her pale blue eyes
Upon me, as I gently lay a sleeping Oliver
In his crib.
Once Oliver was situated, I sat down on my own bed.
“Tell me a story, Lea,”
She begged, sniffing slightly.
“Tell me a story about a princess
Or a knight or a dragon!”
Suddenly Angel’s eyes were
Alight and shining with excitement.
“Or tell me one about all three!”
I looked into Angel’s young,
Innocent eyes staring intently at me,
And knew there was
No way I could say no.
My head whirled for a few moments
With unsaid words that I wanted to
Shout at Angel.
I wanted to tell her to grow up,
To stop living in a fantasy world,
Where nothing existed but happiness,
And ponies jumping over rainbows.
But instead of these spiteful words,
All that came out of my mouth was a soft, “All right.”
Angel gave a childish squeal of laughter before saying,
“Tell me the one about the prince,
Who became a beggar because his evil stepmother
Killed his father, and threw him out of the castle!”
I sighed, shaking my head.
“You know that one
Well enough yourself.
You tell it! Besides, that one
Doesn’t have a happy ending,
And you know how much you hate that.”
Angel turned away from me,
So I found myself staring at the back
Of her blond head.
When she turned to face me once more,
She had her puppy dog, begging face on.
Her blue eyes were stretched wide,
So she looked to be on the brink of tears.
She had pulled her hair out from behind her ears,
So her blond hair framed her face.
It should have been illegal to look so cute.
Cute as she was, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
“You know I’m immune to that, Angel.
You’ve pulled your begging face on me
One too many times.”
Angel brushed her hair out of face,
Her face reddening slightly.
“Oh please Lea! Tell me the story!”
I yawned, before finally caving in.
“All right, Angel. But once I start,
I don’t want to be interrupted.”
Angel nodded, her small mouth
Smiling with pleasure, and her eyes
Glowing expectantly.
I took a deep breath, and was about to start,
When a sound of shattering glass from the kitchen
Suddenly split the air.
I distinctly heard
The thin wail
Of my mother crying.
Angel jumped into the air.
“What was that?” Angel asked.
She started to shake as another
Sound of breaking glass
Filled the air.
Oliver shifted slightly in his sleep,
But did not wake.
“I don’t know.”
I too was shaking.
Although Angel didn’t know it,
My mind was racing with terrified thoughts.
It can’t have happened again, I thought.
He’s gotten over it.
But I couldn’t be sure.
Standing up on legs that felt like jelly,
I stumbled to the door,
And clicked the rusty lock.
My mom had installed the lock
The previous summer
For our own protection.
Still shaking I slipped back towards my bed,
And collapsed on to it.
“Angel, come here,” I said gently
But firmly.
Angel got out of her bed,
And crawled under my blankets.
I felt her body against mine shaking
Uncontrollably.
She let out a small shriek and burst into sobs
As the sound of breaking glass filled the air yet again.
Still Oliver slept on,
Completely oblivious.
“Will you tell me that story now, Lea?”
Angel asked in between sniffles.
I shook my head.
“Oh Angel, not now. Just try and fall asleep like Oliver.”
Angel looked exceedingly
Disappointed, but she was too scared to argue.
“Okay , Lea,” she said in a choked whisper.
And without another word,
She buried her face into my shirt.
After about an half of an hour
Of listening to nothing but the occasional
Crash, Angel’s breathing deepened,
And she drifted off to sleep.
The moment her eyes closed,
Silence fell on the house.
I had never heard a more menacing silence.
It seemed to press on my very ears.
I just sat there, and cuddled up next to Angel.
Softly singing a lullaby in her ear
For my use more then hers.
After what seemed like hours,
I finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Four Months Later, at the Start of winter
I had never been as cold,
As the day I had stared out in dismay
At the softly falling snow flakes
In the air.
I had dreaded this moment,
But knew there would be know escaping it.
I felt like a mouse that had finally
Been cornered by the cat.
I felt like crying, but I knew I had to be strong.
I heard a soft sneeze behind me,
And turned slowly around.
I found myself looking into Angel’s sunken
And hollow eyes.
She was shivering, and let out a cough.
Angel was wrapped tightly in the only blanket we had
In this cruel, cold world.
