'Hallowed Ground – Creative Writing\r'

'One damp first light in the spring of 1951, an elderly cleaning gentlewoman sit in her brief room, and st bed step to the fore of the Edwardian wrap upow, r distri only ifively from the floor to the ceiling. The smooth green curtains fluttered slightly against a draft. This is her guide of rest, were she chose to lead the rest of her life peacefully. She gazed into her tend. Her picture room was vacant when compared with the beauty of nature. The walls were lie with great masterpieces, her tables decorated with bonnie and idealistic Ming vases. She sat upright against the silk tapestry cushions of the chair. She love the push throughdoors, and always matt-up uncomfortable with the quaternion walls enclosing her, no matter how beautifully they were decorated. She always adore her garden, the white and bug roses in her numerous and perfectly arranged, interchangeable beds.\r\nThe garden had limest wholeness stairs, and she peered out of the window, down the grey-white steps, to a garden that stretched to the horizon. The grass was a clarified deep green. And in the centre, a pond, stretching horizontally from one end of the garden to the other, the only means of crossing was an anile bridge of pale wood with little engravings of dragons lining its railings. She watched the g oerageden red object glitter in the soft break of day sun under the waters sur verbalism. Her garden shone with rap and white blossoms. The flowers, at this time of yr were mainly spring pansies, daffodils and spiritedbells, dripping with dayspring dew.\r\nThe rose bushes stretched all the way across the left side of the brick wall, ruining its foundations. She remembered old age, spreading through her form manage the flower, ruining her specialization. Her once able body was frail. Time was running out: the hourglass had tipped.\r\nShe leant prior to the man across the table, sipping his tea and waiting patiently for a reply. She felt his vinegarish gaze in h er eyeball.\r\nâ€Å"So, Miss Amanda Daley”, he began, â€Å"are you considering invariably using our serve again, perhaps writing another take bring or novel? I fancy you kat once, and of course you do, being a lady of worth, that our services are at the exceed of prices and of the highest quality.” His talking to remained unanswered, and she carried on staring out of the window. His pinstripe suit and unmarked suede navalt were intimidating, and clearly he was a ladened man, ignorant to suffering.\r\nShe was uncomfortable in his comp any, and bid a small child, assureed at the floor. And yet, she scorned silence, the social void, representing her lack of communal knowledge, and inflict could spread almost her past. She sat with her second erect, causing her pain. And yet, she felt that etiquette overcame physical pain, as her beginner had always taught her. Her oceant throbbed. She was achromatic to her publication anyhow, since she grew increasin gly ill, relief succumbed to etiquette. Her back relaxed. And, as she suspected, she felt a winning of paternal betrayal. Finally, she brought herself to mutter a few words, â€Å"Yes, thank you, I know. I shall rouse a telegram when necessary. My book leave be finished in about three weeks. Come to collect the text file when I call.”\r\nShe led him to the front door, where he stepped into his automobile. ‘Being a lady of worth- these words irritated her, span around in her head, besides she kept calm and showed no discontent. His car vanished through the drive, and she saw no point in waving him off. She had buy the farm to do.\r\nShe was to begin her story. She sat in the drawing room, asked the maid to fetch her a ma scrambleg and hot tea, and sat at the oak table near another window. She stared at her aged hands and wrinkled face in the reflection of her silver teapot, each line representing a time in her life, and she also noticed her hollow eyeball. The b lue veins emerged on her fingers, as if her condition had effective appeared over shadow. but alas, this was not so. They did not sightly emerge, but the veins remained; no medicine could by chance cure it. She had simply not cared before. in that respect were more important things to handle antecedently; age was a meagre aspect amongst her losses. She sat back, and allowed the painful memories to enter her mind.\r\n(2)\r\nHer incur, whom she adored with all her heart, would tell her stories when she sat up in bed, and listened with the like intent, even though the stories were often alike. Once her mother had left, and she had tell her prayer, she impressioned out of her window to the star-dot sky, against the black tag end of infinity, and rested against it, was the chalky moon. She shut her eyes. At sunrise, she saw her father leaving the erect, as usual. He shut the door with the same pessimism. His job was tedious, though he was excessively arrogant with false masc ulinity to invariably admit it. He was good educated, well dressed, well paid and an owner of a leading company. He paid for servants to look after her family, even though her mother saw it as an intrusion of privacy.\r\nThe house was situated on the edge of the sea cliffs, and the path following down to the ocean was lined with jagged rocks, sharp decent to cut. An hour later she tore her slip on the steep path when walkway down to the bay. As she stared deep into the horizon, she wondered what was beyond it. The sea lapped at her bare feet and she felt a slight spiritual familiarity with her surroundings, an permanent bonding of the vast and treacherous sea with her small, trusting heart. The sea sang into her ears, the wind caressed her skin and the sea appeared to be studded with thousands of diamonds against a turquoise backdrop. The sun blazed and her skin shone pink.\r\nShe returned to a tongueless house.\r\nâ€Å"Mother”, she called, spirit uncertain, bracing herself. A splutter came from upstairs, and the servants were nowhere to be seen. She saw her mother coming down the stairs.\r\nThe reply was not as dire as she had expected or it was and she simply did not understand.\r\nâ€Å"Annabella”, her mother said. She talk in a quiet tone, one that would have been soothing if it were not for the sweep over fear that she could sense in her mothers eyes and expression. â€Å"Your father has been injured at his factory. Now, I dont expect you to understand this but we are treading on thin ice. We may be in slight pecuniary trouble, but there is no reason to worry.” But there was. Annabella could sense it.\r\nWhat was a middling Victorian house was now wrought with depression. Annabella stopped walking down the beach, and savage asleep in tears. The month later, she was roused by Victoria, her maid, and was told to dress. She met her mother at the breakfast table. Her beautiful green eyes were now hide with tears, her curl ed blonde hair was now matted and greasy. She managed to force out the words, but Annabella knew exactly what she was about to hear. The house was silent again, no coughing, no cries and no shouts. She whimpered and tighten herself. All she heard was, â€Å"Hes gone.” No sounds from her father, no reminders of the septic wound. She did not cry. She was grieving eer since he was hurt, and she knew it.\r\nHer father had died after a wild fever and her family suffered in despicable grief, his demolition believed to have been caused by the infected wound. Once she understood the cruel consequences of her fathers death; a growing anger came over her, like a flame on oil. â€Å"Why has he left us?” she asked herself. â€Å"He had not taken any care; no money was ever left except for the pittance that remained after debts and taxes. on that point was no longer any financial help. He left my mother in hysterical tears, a sorry and flurry spectacle to their children.â⠂¬Â\r\n(3)\r\nEven though it was many days since her fathers funeral, she remembered the light oak coffin in which her fathers body rested comfortably against a white silk tapestry. She remembered the echoing aisle sounds of office against the limestone floor, her silent mother and wailing brother, save young and too small to understand.\r\nDuring the last(a) stages of his life, he had grown incredibly infirm and thin. Two dark pits surrounded his eyes and the red and brown liquid run from his mouth. Her mother was always kneeling at his bedside with a damp cloth in order to calm the fever. The injury in his titty had become infected, and his whole chest was swollen, and his temperature soared. He often vomited. He cried during the night and woke up the house. Her mother never allowed servants to look after him, and she stayed by him, feeling that it was her responsibility. The memories of her father stayed with Annabella for the rest of her life, traumatising her, and yet p rovided her with an inner strength and understanding of the temporality of life.\r\nUnable to hold her pen any longer Annabella sat back, shut her eyes and waited till she had the ecstasy to start the next chapter. The book, rather than being a release of the emotional torments, became a burden of pain.\r\n'