Virtue & Vanity (SAMPLE)

CHAPTER ONE

The light from the computer screen glowed on my tired eyes, but I was determined to keep on typing. The story I had replayed in my mind for months had to come to the surface, and I was so inspired that even after hours of writing, I still felt the drive that kept me going. My mother's words—that I was a foolish dreamer who needed to start living in the real world sprang to my mind and even though she had a point, nothing seemed to be able to dampen my motivation. I was so wrapped up in reading books and writing my own stories that I'd sort of become oblivious to the world around me. But that was alright, because the reality that surrounded me wasn't even a bit alluring, so it felt good to escape into the exciting world I'd created in my imagination.

I had lived in Rosemont my entire life. It was a small, rural town in the middle of nowhere. Come to think of it, I wasn't quite sure that one could even locate it on the map; it was that irrelevant and tiny. If one wanted to get out of Rosemont and achieve something, it was anything but easy. But staying wasn't all that great either. With few job opportunities and even less chance of getting a decent education, people were stuck in one place, waiting for something to change. Needless to say, I hated living there, and all I wanted was to leave and make something of myself. I had just finished high school and I was looking forward to starting a new exciting life, but things hadn't gone as smoothly as I planned. I had a dream of studying literature and becoming a famous writer. Unfortunately, nobody in Rosemont understood my unusual ambitions, least of all my mother.

To the outside world, she tried to come across as a caring and sacrificing single mother who would do whatever it took to stand by her three daughters, but the truth was quite different, because she had been anything but supportive when it came to our dreams. To expect a glimpse of love and affection from her was like asking for rain in the hot desert. I tried my best, but I couldn't get past her cold walls. Before my father died from liver cirrhosis, she had been somewhat more affectionate and caring towards us, but it was only because appearances meant everything to her. Back then, she thought that her reputation as a loving mother could make up for my father's embarrassing conduct in public. But even then I knew he wasn't as bad of a person as my mother portrayed him to be. It was more that living with her had been so challenging for him, that he sought comfort in the vice of alcohol and it had completely destroyed him. In time, things had only taken a turn for the worse. Memories of when we were children and he would play with us and make us laugh would always return to my mind, and I couldn't accept the fact that it had been the same man who would come home drunk and aggressively attack us. I guess I held a little resentment towards him, to say the least. Because of his weakness, I'd lost him when I was only ten years old. Not to mention that he was the sole reason I hated alcohol, and because of him I had almost no friends. One could say that my father's behavior turned us into outcasts in an already isolated town.

Ever since he died, my mother's frantic obsession to make the small community of Rosemont forget her late husband was a failure and an alcoholic had spiraled out of control. Sometimes people would share different kinds of embarrassing stories about my father's behavior in town of when he would make a fool out of himself and it had only contributed to her constant need to impose her feeling of self-worth to everybody around her—and we were no exception. Somehow, she believed that because we were her daughters, she owned us, and she would always make decisions which regarded our lives without even trying to get our consent. Standing up to her wasn't an option. Either we obliged or we would be manipulated into doing what she wanted. Later I would find out that it was a trait I should have feared a lot more than I had.

Since we had a lot of financial issues, her secret dream was to get rich and show off her lavishness in front of everybody. We thought that her ridiculous attempts to get her hands on large amounts of cash were simply ridiculous. My younger sister Ashley and I often observed her excitement right after she played the lottery, because every time she was convinced it was her lucky ticket out of Rosemont. It had been both sad and fun to watch her write all of her plans on a piece of paper in case she won a lot of money. Her dreams of luxury would probably never come true, but she dreamed nonetheless. We were kind of similar in that, because I also had dreams of my own and I wanted to fulfill them so eagerly.

***

I returned to the love story I was writing and started a whole new exciting chapter. The story was a complete cliché, but being a hopelessly romantic soul, I didn't care about that. It was the kind of story where a knight in shining armor saves his damsel in distress and they live happily ever after. Although it wasn't the type of story that would turn into the greatest literary success, it held a lot of sentimental value for me. The muse in my head warned me to stop writing when I heard someone walking in the hallway. The light brightened the room and hurt my exhausted eyes.

"Isabelle, what on earth are you still doing here?" I heard my mother's upset voice.

"Mother, I was just writing something," I said defensively.

She sighed and shook her head in disapproval. I didn't understand why she was annoyed or why she'd come to the living room in the middle of the night in the first place. She never did that. Given her status of a deeply religious and humble woman—which was nothing but yet another ridiculous pretense that helped her build her false persona—she preached how she hated the computer and everything that went along with it. Sometimes, in front of the church community, she would call it the devil's tool which would destroy us, and I was amazed that all those people failed to see through her shallow act of deceit. But all that resulted in was us having only one computer, which was in the living room, and access to the Internet was strictly limited. Mother was the only one who knew the password that could grant us the luxury of being in touch with the outer world. We weren't allowed to have access to any social media sites and ever since Ashley had tried to trick her by making a Facebook account, Mother blocked those sites and only allowed us to use the Internet for school purposes. Her biggest worry was that we might get in touch with boys; and dating was strictly against the rules. She often told us that she would only allow us to date once we found someone who was serious enough to marry us, because as she would put it, nobody wanted to buy damaged goods. Even a fool could understand that she was protecting herself from the possibility of yet another public humiliation, so she wanted us to gain the status of moral saints in the Rosemont community.

"Go to sleep. I need to use the computer for a while." She arched her eyebrows, a sign that she was waiting for me to comply.

Surprised by her unusual request to use the computer in the middle of the night, I noticed she looked away from me and I knew there would be hell to pay if I didn't disappear into my room immediately. I hurried out to the hallway because I didn't want to anger her, and I went up the stairs, but once I reached the door to my room, the curiosity to find out what she was doing took hold of me. I decided to risk my mother's outburst and I tiptoed back down the stairs, making sure that I didn't make a single sound. When I came to the door of the living room, I noticed that the light was out again and the room was illuminated only by the computer screen's light.

I leaned around the door and saw my mother typing an email to someone. I didn't even know she had an email account. But what actually caught me by surprise was seeing her chat with somebody on Facebook. I moved my foot, accidentally causing the wooden floor to creek underneath me, and it caught my mother's attention. She looked around her and I held my breath next to the door, hoping she wouldn't discover that I was spying on her. Luckily, she got a reply on her email, and she focused all of her attention on the computer screen again. Relief washed over me as I realized that I would be able to walk back to my room without her noticing me.

That night, I lay awake for hours, thinking about knights in shining armor, damsels in distress and Mother's motives to use the Internet in the dead of the night.