A week later and I still haven't managed to eat something. It's not as if I haven't tried, I'm not trying to starve myself, my stomach has simply rejected everything it comes in contact with. I've lost weight, my energy levels are much lower, and sleep evades me most nights. All I can think of is how wonderful the factory was and how I'll never see it or its magical inhabitants again.
Mum's had a cold this whole week, so I had to work double time as well as work on fixing the ceiling and that hole in the roof. It's been too long. It's time I stop looking at the stars.
The whole experience has had the exact opposite effect on Charlie though, he has blossomed with creativity. Now it seems like everyday he's coming up with new ideas for candies, and now he can request similar ones from the Oompa Loompas who take orders every night and arrive early the next morning with deliveries. The whole mood of our small house has been lifted with the constant promise of chocolate. Mum has a beautiful rosy shine on her cheeks and the grandparents sparkle with energy. I, on the other hand, have paled to an ashy grey color and my bones protrude more than they ever have before.
Just the other day, Charlie noticed, "Dawn, your eyes..."
I turn from my new position huddled in the drafty corner of the upstairs. "What? What is it, bud?"
"They're...they're grey." He looks at me with concern. "They aren't green anymore, they're grey. You don't look too good, you need a doctor."
I didn't know eyes could do that. "I'm fine, bud. A little sick is all."
"Then why do you keep going to work? Mum was sick and she didn't work. Why are you working?" He slides close to me and wraps his arms around me.
"Well, Mum is older than me. If she gets sick and still goes to work, it could get much worse and become a serious illness," I calmly explain.
"So you won't get sicker?"
I can't lie to the kid. I've had enough of lying. "Maybe. It's possible. It's likely." I shrug. "I'll live."
"No, you won't, Dawn. Not if you keep living like this." Charlie stands up. "Don't take my big sister away from me. Please." He goes over to his bed and tucks himself in. I lie down and hug my arms to my chest, breathing deeply to clear my head. In through the nose, out through the mouth. My breath forms tendrils of water vapor in the air and I watch them rise and twist like smoke.
>< >< >< >< ><
I wake up the next morning after an erratic night of sleep, barely able to breath through my nose. My head pounds with a splitting headache, and I feel nautious without even having eaten something. I guess Charlie was right, I am getting sick. I shrug it off and go downstairs quietly as everyone else is still sleeping. Mum has a stuffy nose too right now, so I rekindle the fire and boil some water for her. I cook a small breakfast of toast with cooked cabbage from last night on it and set out six plates. My worn scarf is thrown around my neck, my thin gloves are shoved onto my stiff, skeletal fingers, and I leave the house quietly.
Ever since that night, which seems years ago though it was only nine days, I've avoided that side of town completely to keep myself from freaking out while working. I subconsciously drew a line on the map in my head of what area to stay away from, but...
There could be some good business over that ways. I'm pretty much the only independent Jack-of-all-trades besides my mother around here, and I haven't been near there in over a week. There's bound to be something with good pay that someone needs done.
I don't want to, heck I'd pay not to, but I have to. If there's a chance that there's a chore someone's needed done for a week, I have to go check it out. I know which neighborhood to avoid, so I should be alright. So I set out with a few houses in mind, people I've worked for before.
There's one old widow, Ms. O'Brien who always has a lot of indoor house work to be done, and she pays fairly well. The only problem is, her house is only two streets away from that house. Thing is, if I get work from her and she pays me well, I can go home and lie in bed for the rest of the day.
I find my way down the street and up the front drive to her front door. I knock and wait politely. The door opens slowly with a loud creak, and Ms. O'Brien pokes her head out. She has a light pink shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders and a cream colored dressing gown covering her frail little body. She's at least half a foot shorter than me and over eighty years old, but her blue eyes sparkle with life and the fire of determination. One look and I can tell she isn't going to die anytime soon out of sheer will. Her pearl necklace matches pearl studded slippers, and her thin blond/silver hair is up in curlers.
She squints out in the snow at the dark figure before her. "Who's this?"
I pull my scarf away from my mouth. "It's me, Ms. O'Brien, Dawn Bucket. You remember me?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, yes, yes. Do come in, it's colder than the queen's toilet paper out there." Well, it's good to know she's still insane. I nearly crack a smile as I follow her into her entryway after shaking the snow off my boots on her step. She shuts the door behind me and shivers. "You're that darling girl who fixed my heater last November." I nod and try to keep the snow from melting off of my coat onto her floor. "I do extend my gratitude to you for that, it was freezing in here, now it's like the beach everyday!"
"I'm glad it's working. I was wondering if you had something for me to do. Chores or errands? Anything will do." My nose drips onto my scarf and I mumble. "Something inside preferably."
She thinks for a minute with a wrinkled finger on her chin before looking sympathetically at me. "Nothing inside, dear, I'm terribly sorry. But there is a pesky leak in the sunroom roof. It would be fantastic if you could patch that up."
Why she has a sunroom, I don't know. We're in England, there's only sun for one short season and a few odd days in the other seasons. Regardless, she has one and there's a leak in its roof that I need to fix.
"Alright, do you have supplies on property?" I am not going out to search for roofing and tar and a ladder. I'm not in the mood.
"Yes, my daughter got them all for me, I was going to have professional men come over in a couple days to do it. It's a good thing you stopped by when you did!" I'm about to protest that if she'd prefer a professional, I can leave, but she continues. "Your work always seems to stay fixed permanently. None of that garbage I get from those company hooligans. And cheaper! So, how much do I owe you? Does fifty-five sound good?"
"Fifty-five pounds sounds perfect!" I shake Ms. O'Brien's hand and head outside to begin working. She'll have the money ready by the time I'm done, and I think I can take the rest of the day off after this. I want to be done as quickly as possible, so I find everything laid out under a tarp in her backyard and start.
I lean the ladder up against the roof of the two story house and climb up, hauling a bundle of roof shingles with me. Setting the bundle on the top rung carefully, I brush the snow off of the area and watch it fall to the ground. A two story sunroom is a very rare thing, but Ms. O'Brien is a wealthy lady who loves her sunlight. I push the bundle of shingles onto the cleared patch of roof and climb back down for the rest of the supplies. Once I have them under one arm, I climb back up and scoot onto the roof.
Half an hour later, I have tar on my hands, a layer of sweat on my face and an ache in my back, but the roof is finished. I stand up carefully, arms out for balance and stretch my back. From my vantage point I can see several streets around, I turn a full circle to appreciate the view. This reminds me of when a certain man showed me what it's like to fly. I wince and curse myself for thinking of him. In my distraction, my eyes fall on a lamp post that looks familiar. I scan to the left and right in order to figure out why and a thick haze fills my mind when I see the house. I knew I shouldn't have come here.
My breath comes in quick gasps and a hand is flung over my mouth. Is it mine or Nigel's? My chest feels heavy, almost as if someone is pressing down on it. The hand. Mine or Nigel's? My stomach tosses but there's nothing for me to throw up. Mine or Nigel's? It doesn't matter. I step away from the hand, but the hand follows me. There's no one else up here! It must be mine. I try to unclench its vice from my face, but it won't let go. My cheeks hurt from the fingers digging in to them, and I try to scream but it's stifled by the hand.
I struggle back, trying to wrestle the hand from my face. Finally it comes off and I knot my hands in the fabric of my shirt and pull at it absentmindedly. I look up, trying to catch my breath and accidentally see the damned house again. I flinch back and take one more step...
...into open air. My arms flail, trying to propel me back up, but it doesn't work. I fall. Down, down, down. It feels like I'm actually flying until I hit the frozen ground with a sharp crack. Then I just feel pain.
In cartoons, when the characters hit their head, little birds fly around it and they shake it off. This feels nothing like that. It feels like someone stabbed the back of my head with a red-hot knife and is turning it slowly. My right shoulder and wrist explode with pain and my right hip hurts. I don't feel any pain below my waist, is that good or bad? I think my head took the brunt of the force, so I'm going to assume my legs are fine. I try to struggle to a sitting position, but I can't. For whatever reason I can't and that scares me. Hot tears start to fall as I reach up to touch the back of my head to feel for a bump. They come away sticky and red.
Black spots dance in my vision and I try to call for help, but no one can hear me. The black spots grow and grow until they cloud everything and my eyes flutter shut. The darkness accepts me and allows me into its haven of peace. There's no pain here. No more work. No more tears. No more memories. I can hardly even hear the ambulance sirens as they grow louder and louder.
I wonder who they're for?
Thank you so much for reading! I know this chapter was really boring, but thank you for getting through it! I'm sorry it's so late, I've been really busy. What do you think happens to Dawn? Will she be alright? Comment your thoughts and remember to vote. Thank you all for just hitting 10k reads, that's insane! Thanks again, stay amazing!
xoxo, Tilly