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Cards on the Table
dsh
Posts: 65 Member
This is a standalone spin-off of Charlotte's Children for the first monthly short story writing challenge.
Cards on the Table
'We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.' — Randy Pausch
My mother called me her blessed child. Fate taught me otherwise. My father was a saviour, an aristocratic; one of the most respected men of Willow Creek. My mother was a harlot, a home-wrecker; despised by all other women. I was their guilty pleasure, branded from birth for sins that were not my own.
My childhood was happy enough, growing up with a host of siblings and sundry 'fathers' who went in and out of our lives. In the innocence that was childhood, I was the popular kid, the athletic one: the lord of the jungle bars, the captain of the pirate ship.
The Lady with the Bouquet was the first to cast doubt on my otherwise idyllic existence. She was a weird one, the lady: she always carried a dried bouquet: it was rumoured that it was the same bouquet with which she had been left at the altar.
"Ah the first of the blessed ones." she cackled one day. "They say your mother is a goddess, but only the men agree. Their wives call her Grim's advocate"
I didn't quite get her.
"You know what your mother is, child?" She cackled. "She is an evil woman. Breaks up happy families. Now shoo. I don't want you anywhere near my fishing spot"
Terrified, I was only too pleased to oblige her and run away. But I couldn't run away from the bullies when they came for me in high school. I would sit all alone in the corner of the classroom, my head in my hands, as all the other children and teacher pointedly ignored me. The loneliness began to seep through.
I discovered solace in music. Hours upon hours, I would patiently strum (hopefully) melodious tunes, dreaming of bewitching a pretty girl who cared only for me and me alone. I only succeeded at scaring respectable ladies who ostensibly took their morning jog around our house, hoping to catch wind of Mama's latest romp.
I loved my morning walks in the park, where I was free to remember my fleetingly happy childhood. I met Liberty there quite by chance. I was drawn to this girl who was as out of place as me, in her pigtails and horrendously mismatched purple and yellow attire. I felt no qualms at talking with her, more out of curiosity than other ulterior motives. And what sparkling conversations they were! Not for her the watery flirtations I had gleaned from my sisters' novels; instead we debated on the future of interstellar flights and the naunces of C majors.
It was no surprise that the accidental meetings in the park turned out to be routine rendezvouses. Even in the midst of a houseful of siblings, I had felt isolated. Yet, with this girl with her talks of spaceships and awkward fashion sense, I felt pleasantly at home. She was my first friend, my first confidant.
I even mustered up my courage to invite her to our house, demurring over the fact that we lived in a state of leaky plumbings and poorly cooked food. She immediately put me at ease by telling that she was equally nervous of my beautiful sisters. She turned out to be a success, even going as far as tutoring my sister Marigold with her homework, in the midst of the chaos that was home.
"I remember you from school." she said suddenly, one day. "You were a freshman when I was a senior. You would come and sob in the corner when you thought nobody was there. I wanted to comfort you, but I was too scared that you'd laugh at me like the rest of them."
"I wish you had."
"I do too."
"It would have saved so many years of loneliness and sadness."
Our next few words came out simultaneously.
"Just knowing that there was someone like me..."
"Just knowing that I belonged."
The kiss was inevitable.
It was a magical moment, something that I just could not let go past. As in a daze, I dropped to my knees.
"Liberty, I love you, I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Will you be my wife?"
Isolation I could deal with, abandonment I could not.
"Why Liberty, why?"
"Someday you will leave me." she replied bitterly. "You are your mother's son after all."
The days that followed were horrendous as I grappled with heartbreak that I only thought existed in my sisters' novels. I even tried to live up to Liberty's pronouncement that I was my mother's son: going on as far to toy with a flirtation with the beautiful Bella Goth who was writhing with anger at her husband's dalliance with Mama. I simply did not have the heart to take it any further.
And then, when all hope was lost, she turned up one night: a spectre from my past.
"I saw you at the park." her voice was thin.
"Are you here to torture me again?" I cursed silently as images of a flirtatious Bella flitted across my mind.
"You were sleeping on the bench." I could not believe the sadness in her voice.
"Why Liberty, why?"
"I was afraid. You are so handsome George. You have the Landgraab blood. You will find someone better than me, someday."
"You are my first Liberty, and will always be."
No words were wasted as I twirled her across our combined parlour and kitchen, oblivious as my sisters bickered over the latest bathroom disaster.
We planned a simple wedding in the midst of an elegant rose and lilac arch of old world charm. Liberty was beautiful in her simple white dress, her hair still held up in the pigtails I had come to love.
Standing there in the midst of the fragrance and promise of happiness, I solemnly asked her to be my wife, pledging to be there for her, for better or for worse. She smiled and then hesitated. Time literally stood still as my sisters gasped in horror... I felt my heart sinking.
Oblivious to their horror, Liberty looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears.
"I never thought I'd find love." she whispered. "I thought I would die all alone. Yes George, I will be yours. Forever and for always."
I am an old man now, and I dare say, an absent-minded and cranky one. But the memories of my fairytale wedding are as fresh in my mind as it was yesterday. My wife, Liberty, my first friend and only love, has been through me for better and for worse as we both rose the ranks in our careers. Our son Isaac is my first and only child.
These days, I play concertos by the riverbank and reminiscent of bygone days with my wife and son. My father is long dead and the arcane circles murmur that my mother is a goddess after all in the truest sense of the world: a saviour of simkind in the days of barrenness.
And as I watch the river lazily dribble by, I realise the truth of my mother's words. I was her blessed child after all, not just by birth but also by the choices I made. I was dealt a bad hand of cards, but I played them well, thanks to the beautiful woman by my side.
Sometimes I think I hear faint strains of music from some distant universe.
I don't care who you are (who you are)
Where you're from (where you're from)
What you did
As long as you love me (I don't know)
Credits: As Long as you Love Me by Backstreet Boys
All constructive criticism is very much appreciated! And if you have some free time, don't forget to check out the main story for some fun
. It is much lighter.
Cards on the Table
'We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.' — Randy Pausch
My mother called me her blessed child. Fate taught me otherwise. My father was a saviour, an aristocratic; one of the most respected men of Willow Creek. My mother was a harlot, a home-wrecker; despised by all other women. I was their guilty pleasure, branded from birth for sins that were not my own.
My childhood was happy enough, growing up with a host of siblings and sundry 'fathers' who went in and out of our lives. In the innocence that was childhood, I was the popular kid, the athletic one: the lord of the jungle bars, the captain of the pirate ship.
The Lady with the Bouquet was the first to cast doubt on my otherwise idyllic existence. She was a weird one, the lady: she always carried a dried bouquet: it was rumoured that it was the same bouquet with which she had been left at the altar.
"Ah the first of the blessed ones." she cackled one day. "They say your mother is a goddess, but only the men agree. Their wives call her Grim's advocate"
I didn't quite get her.
"You know what your mother is, child?" She cackled. "She is an evil woman. Breaks up happy families. Now shoo. I don't want you anywhere near my fishing spot"
Terrified, I was only too pleased to oblige her and run away. But I couldn't run away from the bullies when they came for me in high school. I would sit all alone in the corner of the classroom, my head in my hands, as all the other children and teacher pointedly ignored me. The loneliness began to seep through.
I discovered solace in music. Hours upon hours, I would patiently strum (hopefully) melodious tunes, dreaming of bewitching a pretty girl who cared only for me and me alone. I only succeeded at scaring respectable ladies who ostensibly took their morning jog around our house, hoping to catch wind of Mama's latest romp.
I loved my morning walks in the park, where I was free to remember my fleetingly happy childhood. I met Liberty there quite by chance. I was drawn to this girl who was as out of place as me, in her pigtails and horrendously mismatched purple and yellow attire. I felt no qualms at talking with her, more out of curiosity than other ulterior motives. And what sparkling conversations they were! Not for her the watery flirtations I had gleaned from my sisters' novels; instead we debated on the future of interstellar flights and the naunces of C majors.
It was no surprise that the accidental meetings in the park turned out to be routine rendezvouses. Even in the midst of a houseful of siblings, I had felt isolated. Yet, with this girl with her talks of spaceships and awkward fashion sense, I felt pleasantly at home. She was my first friend, my first confidant.
I even mustered up my courage to invite her to our house, demurring over the fact that we lived in a state of leaky plumbings and poorly cooked food. She immediately put me at ease by telling that she was equally nervous of my beautiful sisters. She turned out to be a success, even going as far as tutoring my sister Marigold with her homework, in the midst of the chaos that was home.
"I remember you from school." she said suddenly, one day. "You were a freshman when I was a senior. You would come and sob in the corner when you thought nobody was there. I wanted to comfort you, but I was too scared that you'd laugh at me like the rest of them."
"I wish you had."
"I do too."
"It would have saved so many years of loneliness and sadness."
Our next few words came out simultaneously.
"Just knowing that there was someone like me..."
"Just knowing that I belonged."
The kiss was inevitable.
It was a magical moment, something that I just could not let go past. As in a daze, I dropped to my knees.
"Liberty, I love you, I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Will you be my wife?"
Isolation I could deal with, abandonment I could not.
"Why Liberty, why?"
"Someday you will leave me." she replied bitterly. "You are your mother's son after all."
The days that followed were horrendous as I grappled with heartbreak that I only thought existed in my sisters' novels. I even tried to live up to Liberty's pronouncement that I was my mother's son: going on as far to toy with a flirtation with the beautiful Bella Goth who was writhing with anger at her husband's dalliance with Mama. I simply did not have the heart to take it any further.
And then, when all hope was lost, she turned up one night: a spectre from my past.
"I saw you at the park." her voice was thin.
"Are you here to torture me again?" I cursed silently as images of a flirtatious Bella flitted across my mind.
"You were sleeping on the bench." I could not believe the sadness in her voice.
"Why Liberty, why?"
"I was afraid. You are so handsome George. You have the Landgraab blood. You will find someone better than me, someday."
"You are my first Liberty, and will always be."
No words were wasted as I twirled her across our combined parlour and kitchen, oblivious as my sisters bickered over the latest bathroom disaster.
We planned a simple wedding in the midst of an elegant rose and lilac arch of old world charm. Liberty was beautiful in her simple white dress, her hair still held up in the pigtails I had come to love.
Standing there in the midst of the fragrance and promise of happiness, I solemnly asked her to be my wife, pledging to be there for her, for better or for worse. She smiled and then hesitated. Time literally stood still as my sisters gasped in horror... I felt my heart sinking.
Oblivious to their horror, Liberty looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears.
"I never thought I'd find love." she whispered. "I thought I would die all alone. Yes George, I will be yours. Forever and for always."
I am an old man now, and I dare say, an absent-minded and cranky one. But the memories of my fairytale wedding are as fresh in my mind as it was yesterday. My wife, Liberty, my first friend and only love, has been through me for better and for worse as we both rose the ranks in our careers. Our son Isaac is my first and only child.
These days, I play concertos by the riverbank and reminiscent of bygone days with my wife and son. My father is long dead and the arcane circles murmur that my mother is a goddess after all in the truest sense of the world: a saviour of simkind in the days of barrenness.
And as I watch the river lazily dribble by, I realise the truth of my mother's words. I was her blessed child after all, not just by birth but also by the choices I made. I was dealt a bad hand of cards, but I played them well, thanks to the beautiful woman by my side.
Sometimes I think I hear faint strains of music from some distant universe.
I don't care who you are (who you are)
Where you're from (where you're from)
What you did
As long as you love me (I don't know)
Credits: As Long as you Love Me by Backstreet Boys
All constructive criticism is very much appreciated! And if you have some free time, don't forget to check out the main story for some fun
. It is much lighter. 
9
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