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Literature Text
Imagine the approaching dawn of a crisp spring day, its buttery heat bringing the frosted landscape to life. An Easter morning in the not-too-long-ago past. Consider the cool white kitchen of a nondescript house in the suburbs. Spindly rays of light pierce the ashy cloud cover, casting a faint glow on the dingy walls opposite the glass-paned windows. A sturdy wooden table is its main feature; placidly set upon a dingy linoleum floor, its mismatched chairs bear testament to the whims of its owners. Just today the thermostat was, after much coercion, turned up.
Someone is peeking around the banister at the foot of the stairs. He is wearing green footie pajamas and his chocolate hair is tousled with sleep. He has that slightly gawky look of a child in a growth spurt, like a colt--not quite used to the extraordinary length of his legs, not quite caught up in the rest of his body--but his round face betrays him with its anticipatory expression. His eyes are sharp and blue. After a moment’s pause, he whispers in a comically loud voice up the stairs: “Come on already!”
The person to whom he is speaking is myself. I am six; he is eight. I am his sister, alike in both manner and appearance, and we have called this place home for--well, almost as long as I can remember. Other people also occupy the house, our parents, but though they command respect and delegate orders, we are the true rulers, for we see everything while they know nothing. We are sometimes friends, sometimes mortal enemies. We do not address each other by name, for there is no one else around to mistakenly presume as an intended audience.
“See? The Easter Bunny has to be real,” he informs me, “he brought us candy baskets.” His eyes stray from mine as I cautiously pick my way over the sleeping dog on the stairs to join him. Impatient and unable to wait a moment longer, he bolts for the table, nonslip pads on the soles of his feet rendered useless by the slick linoleum. “Come on, it’s almost time for Mom and Dad to wake up! Don’t you want to see what he brought before we have to get dressed?”
It’s a scene I expected: his obvious delight as he labors under the delusion of a benevolent character who doles out sweets once a year, buoyed by the sugar rush that as we speak creeps through his veins like hummingbird food. But I know better. I caught them putting the candy out last year, I did, and now I know the truth. I pride myself on knowing something he doesn’t, and I feel slightly superior, for once coming out on top. Regardless of my disdain for this fictitious Easter Bunny, I am not one to scorn the opportunity to consume copious amounts of sweets.
His basket is ransacked, the plastic woven in the image of straw stuffed with pastel paper strands, not even distantly resembling the grass after which it is named. Nestled among the folds are delicacies to delight any child; malted eggs, and--wonder of wonders--one chocolate bunny apiece, resigned to a fate of slow nibbling to make its goodness last for months. I spy my favorites and immediately enter extraction mode, painstakingly mining the gem-like jelly beans, smooth and firm between my fingertips, bursting with flavor on my tongue. I eat them quickly, unable to get enough.
Our clandestine mission is cut short by the running of a faucet, muffled by the ceiling above my head: it seems we’ve been compromised. Our discoveries made and our bellies filled with enough sugar to power the Energizer Bunny, we steal back up the stairs, leaping into our beds and pulling the covers over our heads in a poor imitation of sleep. Only moments later, our parents will come to wake us, and we will feign shock and wonder. As I clench my eyes shut in the darkness, I ponder my second lie of the day: pretended suspension of disbelief in a pretty story that I have seen disproved. And I wonder what else I will learn soon.
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Another English assignment.
Supposed to be written in the style of Truman Capote's A Christmas Memory, which can be found here: [link]
Please do not use without my permission.
Comments are welcome and greatly appreciated. Any feedback is great to hear. What can I do better?
EDIT: I've been featured here: [link] Thank you so much!!
Supposed to be written in the style of Truman Capote's A Christmas Memory, which can be found here: [link]
Please do not use without my permission.
Comments are welcome and greatly appreciated. Any feedback is great to hear. What can I do better?
EDIT: I've been featured here: [link] Thank you so much!!
© 2012 - 2024 violetense
Comments3
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Dang... you're really good at writing! 