Fairy Tale Stories

A background of Sylvia's life in the orphanage after she lost her mother.

Chapter II: Fairy Tale Stories

Sylvia was twelve at the time, when her and her mother lived with her aunt. Sylvia attended a private all-girl school, and was in grade seven. Her aunt only covered the cost of schooling in favor to their mother who had been ill for a long time. Lately, it had been getting worse. No doctor could find the cause of her sickness. No one could explain her mood with much detail. She was usually crying, or held a tired, stressed look on her face. No one knew why she coughed up blood sometimes either. She was not quite all there. She held a spaced out look in her eyes quite often. Sylvia had always done her best to please her mother. She did not have to try too hard. Her mother responded to her. However, Sylvia felt that because her mother was still like this, it was her fault. She felt like everything she did was not good enough to make her mother smile as often as she wanted her to. She loved her mother, though, and kept trying every day to do something different to make her smile. She was at a loss of what else to do to help.

Sylvia had never known her father. Sylvia often wondered if that is what caused her mother to act so far off. However, it would not seem to explain her coughing up blood, and having pains in her body. Had father left her because he was tired of her seemingly incurable pain? Could he have been such an inconsiderate man? Sylvia wondered what kind of man could all of a sudden leave his family, and his ill wife.

It was not too bad living with her aunt as long as her mother was there with her. Her aunt acted nice, but Sylvia felt like it was all a big covered up act. It seemed like she had only been acting like she had been taking care of Sylvia as if it was just out of favor. She acted snub to her, when they were not in sight of their mother. In fact, Sylvia remembered how mother was not very happy about having to turn to her sister for help, but she did not have anywhere else to go.

One night Sylvia was called by her mother to her room. Sylvia eagerly went upstairs to see her. “Mother, what is it?” She asked as she walked over to her bed.

“I’m sorry I have not been a good mother. I failed to be there when you needed me.” She said weakly.

Sylvia knelt at her bedside and held her hand. “You haven't failed! You are a great mother. It’s not your fault that you're sick.”

She held out her other hand to her daughter. “Wear this necklace, and think of me. Speak these words; With a prayer, a smallest whisper, hurt and lost, you will be found, you will see your inner most desire.”

“What is this all of a sudden?” Sylvia asked as she fastened the necklace around her neck. It was an eye catching color of blue. “Mother, I don’t really understand this.”

“I’m sorry we had to come here to live. My sister probably hasn’t been treating you well. When you're on your own, leave here, and find a safe place. Be strong.”

Sylvia began to cry, and was not too sure why. She just had a bad feeling that jerked at her heart. “Are you leaving me?” She cried. She hadn't meant to burst into tears. She couldn't help it after all this. It had been pent up too long.

Her mother caressed her face where the tears fell. “Please, don't be sad. I don't want to see you in pain. Unexplainable events take place in this world, and you have to accept it and move on. You have to accept that I have an unknown illness, and I'm not getting better.”

“No... what do you need? I'll do anything.” Sylvia pleaded.

“I just want you to take care of yourself.” She smiled. “Let yourself be taken to a land of happiness.”

She nodded and kissed her mother. She did not want to be separated from her. Neither did she want to believe the reality that she had accept somehow and deal with. Her broken heart was very heavy. Her stomach was weighed down with knots that made her feel sick.

The next day was a cold one. Snow danced down from the clear sky all day steadily. When Sylvia returned home from school that day she felt something was wrong. She entered the house slowly. Her aunt stood at the door, as if she had been waiting. The twisted look on her aunt's face was unsettling. There were lines underneath her eyes as if caused from lack of sleep or stress. It made her afraid to ask what the matter was. Without having to ask, her aunt spoke.

“Your mother has been taken away.” Her voice was empty.

“What do you mean 'taken away'?” She repeated and her body became tense.

“The doctors came, and tried their best, but it wasn't enough. She is finally free from all the suffering.” The aunt explained.

“Free?” Sylvia questioned. She could hear the nervous beating of her heart in her ear. She could feel the terrifying cold chills all through her body. Her knees beneath her shook uncontrollably. She was speechless in utter terror.

Her aunt did not seem in as much mourning as one should be after losing their sister, however she did seem troubled. Sylvia had always wondered about her sanity. Had this incident broken it? Sylvia began to turn to run out of reaction, but her aunt placed a painful grip on her arm, and pulled her back. She then brought out a whip and beat her with it. As it slashed against Sylvia's skin she screamed. It was unbearable even through her clothes. “It's your fault your father ran off! My sister's body changed after she gave birth to you! It is your fault she is dead!”

Sylvia's face was covered in tears. She could not speak, and had trouble getting her breath. Her arms and legs bore harsh red marks against her pale skin. “She became ill after giving birth to me? She died because of me? If I had never been born then...” A stinging pain brought her out of her lost thought. Her lip must have been struck as well. The taste of blood filled her mouth.

“You are no longer accepted in my house, wretch! Never return here!” Her aunt grabbed her up by her hair, dragged her out, and literally kicked her with her foot, and let her fall onto the hard ground. The cold ground. “Because of me? She died...” The thought continuously repeated in her mind, over and over again as she lied there trembling. She wanted to call for help, but there was no one she could call out to. Tears would not seem to stop rolling down her pale cheeks. She had no more family, she did not have any friends she could count on.

She heard footsteps come near her hurriedly. “Girl, stand!” She looked up as much as she could through the tears in her eyes, through the snowflakes that were now falling. Two tall men stood over her shouting words. They wore dark red uniforms... the town guards. Was she in trouble?

“Come with us!” The command was shouted again.

“Mother!” She cried out suddenly with force. She felt strong arms around her. It was not the kind of strong arms that young girls dreamed of having around them. No these were forceful arms that were going to take her away with no regret. She screamed louder and louder as she was practically dragged off by them. She screamed until her throat was raw and raspy. Desperation grew into fear.

Wellington Orphanage. The name of it was etched above on the building that Sylvia saw as only the beginning of her hell. She had stopped crying by now. She was taken into the building. The building was huge. Wooden, brown staircases wound up on either side of the room. Across from her in the dining area there were many large tables filled with children. They did not seem like children though. None held smiles on their faces, no laughter came, but she figured this place was not about laughter. They sat up straight at their tables as they ate slowly, and properly. No sound came from them. Were these children or programmed robots?

“Ah, Mrs. Roberts.” A guard greeted an older woman as she approached.

She was a large built woman. She wore glasses on her stern looking face. She had many wrinkles lining her face. Sylvia wondered if was because she never smiled.

“Is this another orphan?” Mrs. Roberts assumed. She spoke of Sylvia as if she was not even a person. Just another orphan? Just another child to burden her.

“Yes, her aunt called us soon after the girl's mother died.” Again those words, and the reality of them tore at Sylvia's heart. She had not had any time to grieve or to throw up in response to how her stomach felt about this hellish day. She knew she could get no kindness from this place, just as she could not from her aunt. She was shocked at how little they cared.

She was shown around the orphanage. It was nothing exciting or pretty, besides the finely polished floors. Everything was so clean. Cleaning duties were assigned to the orphans. They took trash out, and washed dirty laundry and dishes and anything she could think of. Mrs. Roberts was constantly pushing the kids to do more, better, faster. She frowned, and reprimanded when she saw what little laughter came from the broken hearts of the kids. They deserved to be happy. Sylvia did not understand this place, or that blasted, cold-hearted Mrs. Roberts. None of the kids, ages ranging from six to sixteen, were truly taken care of. They were all made to dress properly, every wrinkle smoothed out of their clothing, every shoe polished to shine, and every hair on their head combed through. That was not truly being taken care of though. There was no love, no kind words, no happiness. It was like a prison. They were not free to play and be children.

Most of the kids, when upstairs in their rooms for a bit of free time would gather with their friends, talk, tell stories, and play games. Most of all they would laugh. Sometimes they would stay up late in each others room with candles lit. Stories of fairy tales would be told. Such exciting adventures of a far away land were lovely to dream about. They had to keep a look out for Mrs. Roberts, or any of the maids who may tell.

Sylvia was beaten many times of all the time she stayed there until she was determined to figure a way out. To be beaten for being caught laughing was wrong. It was more understandable to be punished for attempting to leave. She had every good reason to want to get away. However she stayed there until she was sixteen, and continued to run and hide for years.

Author's Note

I tweaked chapter 2. I hope it's enjoyable. Don't be cruel.

Reviews

[Meat of Dog]

You touch on so many realistic points that it makes my head spin. Those who have lived a rather privileged life often challenge points like Sylvia’s father leaving. No one could be that cruel right? Wrong. I have seen so many times worthless husbands abandon their wives with horrific, incurable illnesses out of laziness and spite. It’s a repulsive fact of the society we live in. It’s not really relevant but I’m curious, what is the time frame in this story meant to be? Like, what year or era are they living in? Reading about her aunt kind of made my stomach sick, she reminds me a lot of my step mom. Some people are insane, in a way that is so violent and outrageous that it’s confusing and sickening. She sounds like a sociopath, and it explains Sylvia’s need in the first chapter to be ‘tough’ and ‘survive’. It seems like an unconscious response to this trauma.

I’ve added this book to my library list and look forward to the next chapter. I do hope you stick to it because you have a very good, intriguing start here in which I see quite a bit of potential! Cheers.


Suggestions:


“she had accept somehow and” a word is missing here, maybe ‘to accept’?

“and literally kicked her with her foot” This is a little nit-picky but parts like this would flow better if slightly less wordy. This kind of thing is called ‘telling the reader what they already know’. What I mean by that is the word ‘kicked’ already implies she used her foot so we need not be told that. Rather maybe: ‘and literally kicked her, letting her fall into the hard ground’.

“She had no more family, she did” I would replace the coma here with a semi colon

“pretty, besides the finely” Another nit-picky suggestion. I would replace ‘besides’ with ‘aside from’

“words, no happiness.” And no

[Silver_water_dragon]

I'll have to look in my notes about the time period. The next chapters take place in medieval time. Your critiques are helpful and detailed. I appreciate it. I have it all written already. It just needs to be revised since my style of working has changed since when I wrote it in 2008. Thanks!
Even though it's fiction I do try to make it realistic.

[Meat of Dog]

Cool, that helps the visual. Yeah that happens; more than once I've picked up and old piece and been like 'wow, okay, starting over' ha. Change means improvement and we all love that. But yeah, the more realistic the details the better the fiction I say.