|An Opheliac's Escape
Author: EpitomeOfHappiness PM
What happens when a young woman who was once independent and happily married has her life completely flipped around? When she is taken in by a family she's never met before, how will they change each others perspective on the world?Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Tragedy - Words: 1,085 - Reviews: 3 - Published: 12-28-09 - id: 2757534
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
An Opheliac's Escape
Opheliac- (N) A person with an abnormal obsession with another person.
Midnight—more or less, a girl inching towards her mid-twenties slipped into a small sleep on her leather butter-colored couch. Falling progressively into an unconscious state, the green-glassed liquor bottle slid softly off her pallid fingers and rolled over the wooden-planked floor towards the floral curtains flying in the wind coming from the open window. Coincidentally, perfumed candles that have been burning for so long shrunk its size to nearly ground-level. The bottle continued to rotate towards the candle at a steady pace, until it stopped at the wall and unleashed splashes of alcohol directly into the flame, enlarging the blaze and lighting the ironically-placed flammable window curtains under the vanilla-scented blaze. The steady breeze entering the townhome from the open window pane encouraged the reinforcing deathly combustion by tossing around papers and novels. Fortunately, the semi-conscious female was awakened by the thunderous crashes of furniture merely just twenty feet away from her. She got up in a frantic and struggled to leave her home as quick as possible despite the dizzy aftereffects of being under the influence of alcohol.
Have you ever heard of the idiom phrase, "one thing leads to another"? The situation above is a vicious example of it.
Within a few minutes, the heavy smog activated the fire alarm and an aggravating ringing noise vibrated throughout the entire apartment complex. Ceiling sprinklers set off as a feeble attempt to leash down the fire. Fingernails clawed the rough walls of the smoky hallways to gain balance. She could no longer breathe properly; her lungs are being contaminated with the sick haze. Despite the view, living on the fifth-floor during an emergency isn't quite what the majority of many want.
Someone must have phoned the emergency center; every vehicle known for helping the public was there—the fire truck for putting out the deadly flame, police car for investigation on what or who possibly started arson, and the ambulance for assist anyone injured. Red and blue lights fought vividly past gated windows, earning the attention of nearby citizens. Firefighters hustled to extinguish the disaster, whilst residents emptied out of the aged crimson-colored building. Asthma attacks and mild injuries hit the townhome inhabitants—though it's not to fret about since they were receiving medical attention.
It took her a long time to make it down the worn stairs, but make it down she did. She stumbled across the two-lane street and crashed her back against the glass window of a grandfather clock shop as a result of exhaustion. She slid down to her bottom and watched the scene unfold, though it was blurry in her eyes.
As time elapsed, the people who are—or should I say were, considering that their homes are nothing but rubble now—living here notified their relatives for a place to reside in for the night or so. The ones who currently had cash in their pockets called the local hotel and booked a room. Each person slowly fled the scene at sporadic times, and she remained still.
Police and firefighters investigated the complex for any corpses and discovered that the source of this catastrophe was created by an accident. The chief police remained within a ten foot radius from his car associating with others about mild matters. To his peripheral vision, he saw a figure partially hidden in the dark night.
He casually crept closer to the mysterious person, hands softly gripping the weapons that hung on his belt. Who knows how dangerous this person can be? Robert Fairwoods flicked on his flashlight and shone the yellow beam at the timid female. Gradually, she lifted her head and cocked her head curiously, half-closed eyes inspecting. Robert loosened his grip on his gun; he was relieved to see that she means no harm.
"Umm, do you have a place to stay?"
No answer. Was she deaf?
"…A relative to call, possibly?"
A blink and two shakes of her head answered. Nope, she was not deaf.
The winds howled and tree branches rustle in the frigid February night. There was a sharp drop in temperature and Robert shivered.
But she didn't shiver, despite how she's only clothed in a white v-neck dress—quite fancy for someone who never planned on leaving her house.
Being the kind-hearted person Robert is, he offered to have her dwell in his home for as long as she needed to free of charge. It'd be quite inhumane to leave her out here and have her suffer from hypothermia.
"If you really don't have a place to stay…" Robert scratched the back of his head. "I guess I can have you in my home for a couple of days or so. Just until you can pick yourself back up."
She tilted her face up, propping her chin on her knees that she hugged. Why in the world would someone just take her in out of the blue? It's not too common finding anyone with a pure heart in our time.
"Come on, let's go. Don't be shy now." Robert bent and assisted her up by clutching her forearms, which are cold to the touch—it doesn't even feel like he's holding a living person. He continuously pushed her to his vehicle, opening the door for her and gently shoved her inside.
Entering from the other side of the car, Robert shivered and said a quick "brr" as an attempt to lighten the mood and blasting on the heater. She remained speechless and leaned her forehead towards the chilly window and stared at the blinding lights from the metropolis city, still dazed as to what is really happening, yet conscious enough to answer questions and develop thoughts. Robert faced most of the heat towards her; her pallid fingers and darkening lips hinted that she needed more warmth than he.
'Maybe I'm not drunk enough.'
A/N: First writing piece from Tutu of TutuandJo, pretty tedious to read, right? I'm slimming down the details in the future chapters, so no worries. As always, please read and review –clasps hands together and bows-
Oh, by the way—
If anyone is interested in science-fiction stories, a writer by the penname of "Glothe" writes them. I'm sure he is looking for readers and reviewers, also.