Marianna

She sat next to him without saying anything, tapping her fingers on the table. Miss Benson came over and said in a low voice, ‘James, this is Marianna. It’s her first day, could you make sure she knows where she’s going for each class? Thank you.’

    Marianna looked at him through the corner of her eye. She had huge eyes, a tiny chin and was very pale. It was creepy the way she could look at him without moving her head. Just a shift of the eyeballs. ‘Hello James,’ she said in an Eastern European accent.
    ‘Hi,’ James said. ‘Where are you from?’ He could hear Miss Benson’s voice from the front of the class. ‘Act 1, Scene 1, line 98. Who’s going to read Montague?’
    ‘Prague,’ Marianna said after a while. James had almost forgotten his question. Again, she didn’t turn her head.
    ‘I’ve been there!’ he shouted out. His teacher looked over. ‘I really liked the place,’ James added. Marianna flicked through her copy of Romeo and Juliet.
    At break time, she disappeared. James was worried she’d got lost. He didn’t see her go. She simply vanished. She came back later, her face like polished wood. ‘Where have you been? Everyone’s been looking for you.’
    ‘Just out.’ Her skinny arms dangled by her side.
    James laughed. ‘You can’t just go out during school.’
    Marianna ignored him. But he wasn’t put off by her frostiness and followed after her. ‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’
    ‘I have a sister and a brother. Both are older than me. They look after me now that our parents are dead.’ Then she was gone again.
    James could think of little else except how she must have felt losing her parents at such a young age; then coming to a strange country. She was only twelve, the same age as him. He couldn’t imagine going through all that.
    Marianna arrived at the afternoon with dark circles under her eyes and looked even paler. ‘What happened to you?’ Her skin resembled painted ivory.
    ‘What happened to your parents?’ James found the words falling from his mouth.
  Silence.
    He was beginning to give up waiting for an answer, when she spoke. ‘They were burned alive,’ she said, walking away.
    She had a strange walk; like she was being dragged. Her limbs were limp. He hadn’t noticed that about her before.
    Marianna became more expressionless, if it were even possible. Her eyes were fixed. Big and bulbous, as if painted by a young child. She didn’t speak to anyone unless they talked to her. She replied with one word answers. She kept her head down and lugged her limbs around school. He swore he saw bits of string draped around her shoulders, but couldn’t be sure.
    That was it. He was going to follow her home. She intrigued him so much, he couldn’t concentrate. He had to find out more about this strange girl.
    Most of the other kids noticed how weird she was and they laughed at the way she dressed. Her uniform was the school colours, but looked like something from the Victorian age. Older girls were impressed. ‘Wow you’re so Steampunk. Where do you get your clothes?’
    She shrugged and dangled her way through the corridors to her next lesson.
    As soon as the bell chimed at the end of school, James got up and pushed his way through to the door. Marianna had already gone.
    His heart galloped along with his feet to keep her in his sights. She walked for miles, with James darting from tree to bush behind her. It was getting harder to be discreet as she led him down country lanes. Thank God, it was already getting dark.
    She finally stopped at a little stonewalled cottage and knocked on the door. Didn’t she have a key to her own house? Or perhaps she hadn’t gone home. The door opened and an older boy stood aside to let her in. There was no mistaking the family resemblance. He was a caricature of her. The door closed and James was left in the dark.
    He crept up to a bush in the front garden and peered through the window. Another girl was in there, sitting stiffly with string hanging around her shoulders. She had the same complexion as Marianna and the boy.
    James breathed in as long as he could and tried to steady his hands. He realised he’d never felt real fear before. He thought it was strange how he’d got through his first twelve years without ever being truly scared. Until now.
    He knocked at the brass lion face. Marianna opened the door. She spoke without moving her lips. ‘What are you doing here? Please go away.’ She pushed him away. Her hands and arms were wooden. He looked into her eyes. Her pupils were huge. Her eyebrows were painted lines. Her hair was like wire wool. Her brother and sister had equally exaggerated features. Her brother’s nose stuck out in a sneer. Her sister had rosy cheeks in perfect circles. He could smell fresh paint. They had turned into the Marionette puppets he’d seen all over Prague.
    The only word he could find to say was ‘how?’
    A voice came from the brother, whose pursed lips remained still. ‘It’s a curse on our family,’ it said in a Czech accent. ‘Our papa was a puppet maker who worked for Čeněk Procházka, the most famous marionette maker in Eastern Europe. He was very poorly paid despite all the hours he worked on the dolls. So he decided to sell his own puppets on the internet. Why work for a pittance when he could start his own business?’
    James stood as still as their faces. The voice continued, ‘Procházka found out, sacked Papa and put a curse on our family. Mama and Papa knew what was happening as soon as their flesh began to harden and limbs became loose. He told us to get as far away as possible, then he set fire to the house with him and Mama inside.’
    Petrol fumes filled the air as the brother doused himself and his sisters with the clear liquid.
    Marianna picked up a lighter. ‘You must go now. Please don’t see this. Goodbye, James.’

Flash Fiction: Life of a Mother

This is a piece of Flash Fiction, inspired by the short story  'Beginning, End' by Jessica Soffer. I intend to develop it further, but it wondered what people thought of it as it is.

Life of a Mother.

You were born during the Second World War. You avoided the bombs and waited for news. Your father returned from the war. You wondered who he was. You went to school and left at fourteen. You were your sister's bridesmaid. You trained to be a secretary. You answered calls at the telephone exchange. You listened to people's conversations.

You met my dad at a dance. He tried to touch you. You slapped his face and went home. You forgave him. You got married. Dad wanted to be an accountant. You told him he'd be the best. When he failed an exam, you said he'd pass it the next time.

Then you wanted a family. You lost a baby. You had my sister. You lost another baby. And another. You cried. You moved to a new town. The doctors were helpful. You gave birth to me. You lost another baby. The doctors said it was for the best.

Your fingers started to stiffen and they wouldn't relax. You fell down. A lot. You went to the doctor. You were sent for tests. They said your muscles were slowly wasting away. Your brother said you'd end up in a wheelchair. You said you would not.

Dad drank too much and was out all the time. You told us things would be okay. The doctor said dad should stop drinking. You diluted his wine and told him he could do it. He hasn't had a drink in nearly forty years.

My sister went to college and started a new life. She told you she was moving to London. You wanted her to stay at home. I went to college and started a new life.

Your walk became a slow shuffle. You fell down more. You were scared to go out. You stayed at home. You watched the trees and the birds through the window. You watched children walk by on their way to school. You told us about what the neighbours were doing. You never complained.

We talked on the phone. It was your lifeline to the outside world. Dad woke you up to announce you were going to be a grandmother. You told everyone.

You met your first grandchild. But you could barely see her. You met your second granddaughter and sang nursery rhymes. You watched them learn to walk.

You developed a cough that went to your chest. The doctor came in. You took the medicine. It didn't help. You told dad you loved him. The whole family came around at Easter. You watched your grandchildren play.

The next morning you watched the Easter service on TV and mouthed to the hymns. You talked to my sister and reminisced about my childhood.

You fell asleep. You didn't wake up.

© 2010 Melissa Crow. All rights reserved.