All Saints

Le monde est ton jardin

There was a more sullen man that had taken the place of her father. The warmth of his eye ceased and he could barely dare to look into his families eyes. His back slumped like the weight of the world had deformed him. Dahlia was sure that this city had lifted his grief set by humiliation and her father was slowly returning to her. She had been naively hopeful, when she saw her father who had became totally subdued she was crushed like the priceless, china vase on the mantle in their Paris apartment that she herself had gracefully elbowed down. His wife had come to the decision ,even after every helpless prayer to lift his spirits, that the alter in his character was irrevocable. It was all great series of unfortunate events that befell them one after another landing them here where they froze in the walls of their unfurnished home. Even the house it self shivered against the cold. The joy of summer had passed, nothing was eternal. Autumn was only just nicer than merciless, whipping winds of winter that crept in as the days grew shorter.

Disgraced by her own daughter's behaviour she began to shun her too. It had been three indifferent days since she had even spoken or met the eyes of her family. She finally understood what it meant to be disgraced. Although, her exile was short lived incomparable to her father's it was still gut wrenching. She supposed that was the whole point of being shunned. It's like this cold pool that you have dug for yourself. Her mother had come back from church happy and in the mood for forgiveness for whatever reason, sending her off to school with a scowl. Their eyes met and it felt like relief rushing through her pent up muscles and clotted veins.

It was the third day of her detention she was to follow a teacher all day and spend a whole day confined in a room with Descamps. Fortunately, Friday was coming soon and she did not have to bare the slight snore of the boy who as soon as the clocked chimed three would be slumped over his desk asleep. Other, than that their solitude was peaceful. Her friends pitied her fate especially Michèle who was so proud of Dahlia when she heard of the news. If it was up to her she would put her name on a plaque and in the news letter. She had said that, "A victory for you against that monster is a victory for me." She said smugly in which Annick scolded her for saying that it was truly not worth the length of suffering that  Dahlia would face for the rest of the week.

Her punishment dawned on her yet again and this time she could visibly see the boy itching to do something, this repetitive routine was making him become antsy. He twirled pencils around and around. He then stood on his chair peering out the large window looking out to a brick wall. Dahlia was watching the last students leave glumly from her desk.

When the pencil flew out his hands and struck her face. Descamps hands flew up to his mouth anticipating something. Beaufort was visibly holding back tears from the pain of the pointed lead scratching through the surface of her skin. An awkward frown shifted onto Descamps face as if he didn't anticipate the pen to hit her in the face. It had left a mark, "I've just had enough of you!" She yelled whilst grabbing the pencil that rolled across the floor in her fist. She stomped towards the boy and her other hand went to grab his skinny shoulder. His head was craning up to look at the flaming fury that crossed her face, "Do it." He taunted her in a whisper as if some part of him was worried that she would actually take out his remaining eye. His eye flickered to the pencil that she held up threateningly in the air but just like that it fell and she walked across the room huffing. She held her cheek as it sizzled sensitive against the touching air. Joseph stared at her shifting uncomfortable in his seat. He shrugged, "Didn't intend to hit your face." Dahlia rolled her eyes and tore her eyes away from the delinquent. "It would hurt less if you shut your mouth, thank you." He turned around and slumped over his table again deciding that sleep was the safest option for the both of them.

Their punishment had come to end for that evening and they shuffled out the empty halls and into the street. "It's late we should walk together." He suggested as he glanced at the slit of sun in the sky. Autumn early nights were coming to whisk France into its cold churn. Dahlia wrapped her coat tightly around her before walking off, "how chivalrous of you, it's a new decade chivalry died in the war with all the brave martyrs." She scoffed her lips pursed unable to digest the disgust he had evoked in her. "Don't be like that, I'm too young to be a solider anyway but I bet you find that romantic." He winked at her playfully as he practically applauded himself in his head at his slyness. "You're insufferable, the army wouldn't even accept you with your mental subnormality." She said smiling sarcastically at the boy. "What do you know about the army? Your father didn't even fight." He assumed due to his high grade background he had skewed his way out of the war. "What could you possible know about my father from speaking to my father what thrice times?" If Descamps was attempting to offend her, he was deeply successful. Joseph remained quite learning that his foolish assumption had struck the nerve of Dahlia. "My father was a lieutenant." She bragged proudly of her father's past heroism, the only pride and respect that no one could take from him. His body absorbed a bullet and starved in demolished homes, he had suffered for his badge of honour he no longer physical had. "Anyways... what's your favourite movie." Changing the serious topic of their conversation fast as they turned the dark street corner. He waited patiently waiting, "Sabrina." She said satisfied with her choice after some careful consideration. Her choice made a lot of sense in fact she could be Sabrina herself he thought to himself.
"I think I saw it in the theatre once and I never forgotten since." She said smiling largely at her foolish dream of being Sabrina. Descamps face looks unimpressed with her choice of film, "Sabrina is a decade old." He looks at her weirdly. She snaps out of her trance and shrugged, "11years so what? it's my favourite." Not understanding his problem with the show. "How did your mother let you watch that? Doesn't she hate love?" He chuckled to himself imagining her nun like mother having a seizure seeing what her daughter was watching. She stops what she's doing and looks up seriously, "I have father you know, the one that saved you that night." Her finger pointing towards the boy across the side of the pavement he was walking on. The night was a haze of humiliation for Descamps especially knowing that Dahlia was there to watch. He puts both his hands on his heart dramatically pretending to faint in awe, "Ah Mr Beaufort my saviour." He wailed whilst grinning like some cartoon character. "Shut up you would have woken up on the side of the street with no shoes or money." She said with an obnoxious look on her face waving the boy off.

"Isn't that in black and white?" He abruptly states as if he had picked the question from the air. Unable to keep up with Joseph's quick pace she was left confused, "What is?" She questioned him. He rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious "The movie, Sabrina." He reminded her with an exaggerated breath. Her mouth made an O shape but before the words came out he had already started babbling off again, "You're so old fashioned haven't you heard we see things in colour now." He laughed and it was full of youth before taking the opposite street toward his house. He didn't even bother to wave or say goodbye. He didn't look back at the speechless figure who stood looming at the splitting street with a strange look on her face. So much for chivalry she thought.

When she got home her mother instantly picked up on the scratch stretching along her cheek as long as the Red Sea. "Dear God what happened?" She said scowling at her trying to hide her worry. Dahlia sighed, "accident." She said going upstairs to change out of her school clothes for supper. She had finally come down a few hours later being too immersed by her book that time slipped past her. "The duty of the women is to cook don't waste your time reading anything but the book of God." Her mother ridiculed her scoffing at her reckless and godless actions. Her mother shoved a tray supposedly for her to take to her father's prison of books. When she reached his door he left the tray on the ground and knocked before shortly leaving as she would be unable to live with guilt if she met his face. She walked back down and sat at her quiet table. Her mother was no friend or companion but a silent statue dedicated to cause of God, so it really felt as if she had been eating her meal in solitude nothing different to her father's dinner.

The night was long she watched the moon stagnant in its eerie, luminous glow. She pulled herself out of bed treading lightly in fear of arousing her mother up from her sleep. She pushed the door upon jaw clenched anticipating her mother to be standing waiting for her outside the door. To her relief her mother was tucked asleep with a rosary clutched in her hands. She was going to leave. For a stroll of course, she had no means to escape. Her heart beat every single time her foot met the floor in an echoing thud. The marble floor cold under her bare feet making her shiver. She had reached the front door and one glance at the top of the swirling stare case to settle her paranoia she daringly opened the door with the key hanging listlessly on a hook. She pushed the handle pulling the door open to find the shadow of her father. She joined her which almost startled the man who had not realised her presence. "It's late." He sated his eye brows drawing confused. "I suppose so." She hummed agreeing as she looked up at the dark clouds that drawn the star behind its curtains. She sat beside him on the grey steps of their house. He tapped his knee in a comforting gesture, "you be good, damn even better than good." He said to her in hopes that she wouldn't feel discouraged by the state of their lives. Her brows jerk up in confusion as she obnoxiously said "what?" Her father puts a light hand on her mouth reminding him of the hour of the night. "What I'm saying is, the world is your garden don't let my short coming stop you." He sighs smiling earnestly at his daughter the only fortune in his life he was able to keep. She rolled her eyes at his nonsense, "father sometimes you are really quite bizarre." Shaking her head at his serious attitude. Unlike her mother she never blamed her father for their fall from comfort. Fate was the enemy. His father holds her hands that sat on her lap in his, "I'm sorry I know it's much too late but I wanted to tell you before I wouldn't be able to." He confessed to her, his hands frigid, solid, structures in hers in which she could not warm up. He brushed the top her head with her hand, "God father your acting barbaric, it's not like you're on your death bed." She giggled at his dramatic tone in which was met by a large smile from her father. For a long time it was like father has died, maybe in her mother's eyes but in Dahlia's her father was very much here.  He kissed her head firmly before sending the girl to her bed before her mother found them both.

Writers note:
Like a chef who hasn't tasted his food I have n't read it. It took me so long to finish because of my failing motivation that has spread across every aspect of my life, like a plague. Excusez mon ton misérable et profitez-en, merci.