Read Online Elysian Fields by Anne Gabriels - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Gabriels
Ads: Link
questions about what had happened and how he’d gotten out of the hospital.
Allan felt a slight fear at sharing so much with somebody he barely met, even though the latest developments required him to make allies very quickly. “Listen Lan,” he said, “I trust you, but please keep quiet about everything I told you.” They both froze suddenly at the sound of a voice downstairs.
“Father is calling,” said Lan “We planned to go out for lunch today.”
“ Then I’d better get out of here. Look, I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for you to accept what I’m telling you. Think about all we’ve discussed. You can’t stay here for long. See if you can get a sense of anything out of father at lunch.”
Lan agreed. “How about I meet you tomorrow morning behind the Servers’ compound? I’ll see what I can find out and maybe then we can work together.”
“You sound like me,” Allan said, smiling. “ I’ll see you tomorrow.” They shook hands and Lan surprised him with a sudden brief embrace before leaving the same way he’d come in.
10
“Who wants cookies?” T om called out as he entered his Scrappie house later in the day. Jules and Mel came racing at him.
“Goodness gracious, girls, how old are you? Here, there’s enough for all.” He opened a tin can for them to take some.
“I just love the way you spoil us. Makes us feel like a real family,” Mel exclaimed with cookie crumbs flying out of her mouth, her eyes dancing. The taste of the cookies left her suddenly homesick. Seeing Jules so intent on telling Tom everything that happened during his absence, including Allan’s rescue, she went back to the kitchen to finish preparing supper and to hide from the others her unexpected distress.
Mel had left home two months before, on the eve of her seventeenth birthday, just as spring was in full swing, the promise of a new beginning giving her courage. She had met Jules while being admitted to the hospital. Jules wouldn’t let her go back to her home and old life, not after what had happened to her.
She finished preparing supper and then went outside to sit under her favorite tree and gaze at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Mom, dad, why did you do this to me? Why didn’t you love me back? Was I not good enough? Why did you have me, then? She knew her case was not that special. How many more sad sons and daughters are out there like me? She wished there was a way for her to help them.
Her story was a typical one. Her parents liked to take all of their frustrations out on her, in bursts of explosive rage. Then they hit her: the back of a hand from her mother, a foot in the stomach from her father. It never happened at the same time, just when one or the other was having a bad day and she dared to ask a question right in the middle of a most dramatic turn in the movie her mother was watching or walked in front of the Digiscreen when her father was playing with the controls.
Occasionally, they would apologize to her and yell at each other for being out of control in front of the child, but most times they just resumed their show or game or whatever else there was on, ignoring her silent, shaking sobs. She never dared to cry out loud, not after she’d been locked in a closet for a whole day.
Even though she sometimes felt that it was her fault, she often couldn’t even figure out what she’d done wrong. She loved her parents and she wanted to make them proud of her, so they would love her back. She kept finding excuses for them; they were just going through bad patches in life and had no patience left for her.
She couldn’t remember her life at home being any different. The beatings became more severe as she grew older. She was taller and cried less, therefore they “worked” harder on her while drinking and watching their shows.
At school, nobody ever asked her about her family life or the conditions she lived in. Why would they? She was attending
Allan felt a slight fear at sharing so much with somebody he barely met, even though the latest developments required him to make allies very quickly. “Listen Lan,” he said, “I trust you, but please keep quiet about everything I told you.” They both froze suddenly at the sound of a voice downstairs.
“Father is calling,” said Lan “We planned to go out for lunch today.”
“ Then I’d better get out of here. Look, I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for you to accept what I’m telling you. Think about all we’ve discussed. You can’t stay here for long. See if you can get a sense of anything out of father at lunch.”
Lan agreed. “How about I meet you tomorrow morning behind the Servers’ compound? I’ll see what I can find out and maybe then we can work together.”
“You sound like me,” Allan said, smiling. “ I’ll see you tomorrow.” They shook hands and Lan surprised him with a sudden brief embrace before leaving the same way he’d come in.
10
“Who wants cookies?” T om called out as he entered his Scrappie house later in the day. Jules and Mel came racing at him.
“Goodness gracious, girls, how old are you? Here, there’s enough for all.” He opened a tin can for them to take some.
“I just love the way you spoil us. Makes us feel like a real family,” Mel exclaimed with cookie crumbs flying out of her mouth, her eyes dancing. The taste of the cookies left her suddenly homesick. Seeing Jules so intent on telling Tom everything that happened during his absence, including Allan’s rescue, she went back to the kitchen to finish preparing supper and to hide from the others her unexpected distress.
Mel had left home two months before, on the eve of her seventeenth birthday, just as spring was in full swing, the promise of a new beginning giving her courage. She had met Jules while being admitted to the hospital. Jules wouldn’t let her go back to her home and old life, not after what had happened to her.
She finished preparing supper and then went outside to sit under her favorite tree and gaze at the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Mom, dad, why did you do this to me? Why didn’t you love me back? Was I not good enough? Why did you have me, then? She knew her case was not that special. How many more sad sons and daughters are out there like me? She wished there was a way for her to help them.
Her story was a typical one. Her parents liked to take all of their frustrations out on her, in bursts of explosive rage. Then they hit her: the back of a hand from her mother, a foot in the stomach from her father. It never happened at the same time, just when one or the other was having a bad day and she dared to ask a question right in the middle of a most dramatic turn in the movie her mother was watching or walked in front of the Digiscreen when her father was playing with the controls.
Occasionally, they would apologize to her and yell at each other for being out of control in front of the child, but most times they just resumed their show or game or whatever else there was on, ignoring her silent, shaking sobs. She never dared to cry out loud, not after she’d been locked in a closet for a whole day.
Even though she sometimes felt that it was her fault, she often couldn’t even figure out what she’d done wrong. She loved her parents and she wanted to make them proud of her, so they would love her back. She kept finding excuses for them; they were just going through bad patches in life and had no patience left for her.
She couldn’t remember her life at home being any different. The beatings became more severe as she grew older. She was taller and cried less, therefore they “worked” harder on her while drinking and watching their shows.
At school, nobody ever asked her about her family life or the conditions she lived in. Why would they? She was attending
Similar Books
