Mind Over Matter

Disk 3: "...in a world of Lucys and Bettys".

This, my audience, is Player Number Two.

Seems like they're always crying when I tell you about them, does it not? However, I think that she has more of a reason to cry. But, I will not tell you why, for this is as much of a thriller for you as it is for me. For, I too, am discovering the story alongside you. With, what I am told is a camcorder? Well, it is a device that, I am told, will capture motion and proceed to play it back. I do not think it’s fair, that I am made to do all the hard work; so, I want you to look at her. Really look.

Do you see?

Do you see the how she punches her excuse of a mattress in anger, but her face portrays that of a woman broken? Look at her eyes, full of tears, and watch how they run tracks down the slope of her nose, clearing off the grime. See how she takes fistfuls of her hair, and pulls upon them violently, as if she were possessed. I want you to see, really see, for in my opinion there is only one thing that can drive a woman to this state. 

Love.

Even myself, a self confessed pessimist, and person who scoffs at the thought of the subject, has to admit that her state must be contrived from the emotion. For, without seeming like an utter romantic, it is evident that most forms of heightened emotions derive from this. Jealousy, hate, worry. 

Now, back to the girl, who I shall inform you, is called Eleanor Hale, yet I came later to find out, that she disliked the name. For those of you haven't noticed, we are now in an orphanage. Surely everyone noticed the iron beds, line in line, and the dull grey dirty sheets? 

Now, orphanages back then were not as they are for you, they were places of extreme discipline and squalor. Children have this adaptability about them, which forces them to, in a sense, become their surroundings. Thus, many of the children were as rough and guarded as the walls that contained them. Eleanor had the unfortunate displeasure of being given a name, which assumes such airs and graces, in a world of Lucys and Bettys. It's said, that she was named as such, as a form of irony, as it does not befit her status. 

It could be said that the feeling that she is encounters now, does not befit her status either. Crumpled in one of her calloused hands is a letter. In an attempt to control herself, Eleanor slides herself on to the bed, and brings her knees up, pulling the hem of her thin dress over them. She brushes her black locks out of her eyes, and slowly un-crumples the letter, beginning to read for the umpteenth time today.

Ellie, 

I'm sorry, but this cannot go on. It was nice having you as my pet, but I am to be engaged and therefore our relationship cannot continue. I can just imagine your tears now, but really you should be thanking me. Why, without my teaching you, you would not have been able to read in the first place. Do not tell me that you are upset for surely you knew nothing could come of the situation. You were just merely someone for me to pass the hours with; never someone that I could commit to. 

I've given you a better childhood then most children of your class. You know how Father used to scold me for entertaining an orphan. Yet, I must say, you did repay, entertainment-wise. 

Carl.

She feels love, and despair. Love for the man she can never have, despair at herself for believing his charade, and her stupidity in falling for his tender smile. Eleanor knew that, her affair with the young man would have to concede some time, yet the promise of love and tenderness, in an environment lacking, swept her up. 

Carl would be married, she theorised, to a woman that would compliment or enhance his status. She would be called something refined, like Isabella, and she would be everything that Eleanor is not. For any hair would be better than her drab locks, and any eyes more worthy for his gaze. 

Eleanor had, what I have coined, the Martyr Persona. You must know of someone just like that, or has evolution over the ages eradicated the type? Well, for you who do not understand, it is someone who fails to see their self worth, and constantly puts themselves down for the benefit of others. 

How tedious these people are to deal with. Any person of normal function, would be enraged at the audacity of Carl, and would probably let out a stream of somewhat colourful words, damning his parents. Yet, our Saint Eleanor did not. She pulled her hair in anguish, yes, but because she was disgusted with the body she was in. Isabella's hair, she thought, would rich, luscious and dark red; a perpetual juxtaposition to the thin, mousey strands she called hair. If she was of more aristocratic decent, she figured, Carlos would love her as much as she did him. So instead of cursing Carlos and his parents, she dammed her own.  

Then, when she could damn no more, when her throat was dry from her wracking sobs, and when her scalp was too sore to pull anymore hair out, she clambered underneath the army blanket that was her duvet. She slept, underneath the covers, oblivious to the fighter planes droning in the sky. 

Now, dear audience let me give you an example of irony. For, whilst Eleanor slept, she expanded the realms of her imagination, dreaming - no wishing for a better life. Let us imagine that Eleanor did not wish. Would you like to know where she would be? Our Saint Eleanor would have been obliterated, by the Zeppelins.

Yes, it is January 18th 1915, the night before the German Zeppelin raid. And the despair and loneliness that Eleanor is feeling is her saviour. As, at 3:00pm the following day, an incendiary bomb was dropped in London and Wellston Orphanage, Cadogan Gardens, Chelsea was blasted to smithereens. It was a national disaster, the lives of poor orphaned children taken away so cruelly. However, what didn't make the headlines was that one child was not accounted for, as just twenty hours earlier a metallic thrumming noise was heard, and Eleanor Hale was gone.

Now my audience, the irony is that they very thing that saved her, would be her downfall.

I think that should have made the news.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The Judge made his way to the DVD player, and extracted the tape.

"Objection Your Honour, is this really necessary? I fail to see why the witness must conduct himself in this manner. It is a waste of time. The prosecutor has failed to give any concrete evidence for Mr King's alleged involvement in the case." enraged Malcolm's barrister. "All we have been shown is a selection of clips, which may well have been tampered with".

There were murmurs of agreement in the courtroom, and Malcolm leaned back in his chair, soaking up the attention. His face portrayed that of a man victimised, earning him pitying clucks from the pair of old women seated just behind him. They patted his arm, and he grasped their hands, squeezing them affectionately.

The Judge slowly looked up, his hands still meddling with the DVD player.

"Over-ruled".

He slid in the next DVD, letting the darkness engulf them all. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

Just three more time periods to visit now, then we get into the actual plot properly! Sorry these chapters have been so short; I just need to introduce each player a little!

Dedication to Shaun, as thanks for all the times he dedicated to me. 

Ta Sugas.