I'm back after quite some time.
Sorry I didn't post it sooner.
Unforseen circumstances caused me to delay.
This is a revision of Chapter 1, and though the quality isn't much improved,
There was a mild inconsistency in the story, as pointed out by critiques.
Thank you for your help people
So its neccessary for me to repost this to avoid any misunderstandings in the story.
Once again, bear with its inferior quality. [I have some bad writing habits.]
I lack the skill to liven it up, as this is only my first try at a full-length ultra long story.
So it starts off slow.
And again, critiques and comments are very much welcome and appreciated!
(I apologise for the length of this chapter. It will continue to be like this, I should presume.)
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How do you escape from a nightmare? Not just merely a dream, but reality. How do you escape reality?
The day I was born, it marked the start of a nightmare; A nightmare that would never end, unless I could wake up from it. But how do you awaken from reality?
My sisters before me, Josephina, who was twenty-one, and eighteen-year-old Josepha, who is three years older than me, were both exceptional ladies. But even the most gifted women, had no place in high society. In that day and age, a man is second to none, and women took their places dutifully at a man’s feet. I myself, the third and last daughter, Josephine, of Henry and Alicia Fairwell, could have been five times more intelligent than any man, and still not earn half the respect they claimed to rightfully deserve. Pardon me for having displayed such immodest comments about myself, but it could hardly compare to the ever-inflated male ego.
My father, if you could call such a man that, was never much of a father towards my sisters and me, frequently disregarding our presence. He did not attempt to conceal his utter disdain for our mother, who had yet to produce him a son. A wife was regarded as a tool in our society, and simply served to give him a son, love was not factored into a marriage as it was her obligation to do so.
My mother, Alicia, was a relatively quiet woman, subdued by her husband’s constant insults at her incompetency to produce him an heir. She was one of the vast majorities of women, who accepted their social standings and surrendered their rights of equality to men. I was grateful however, that she had been schooled by her father, who genuinely cared for her, and in secrecy, she educated my sisters and I while Henry was at work. We were taught to read and write, and proved to be fast learners, which pleased my mother. But she became more distant as time passed, and our lessons stopped altogether, perceivably because of Joseph’s arrival.
We had gotten by quite comfortably, brought up in a middle class family. I did not know what my father had worked as, possibly a clergyman, but it was not a daughter’s position to inquire such things. I had a loveless childhood, which declined into nothingness, upon the arrival of my brother, Joseph. It was obvious that he pined for a son, as it was reflected in how his daughters were named. All our names started with Joseph, a man’s name. It was predictable what his son’s name would be. Henry was absolutely euphoric with the birth of his first son, and my sisters and I seemed to completely cease to exist, as far as my father was concerned.
Even at the tender age of seven, Joseph had led a pampered life, incredibly spoilt and already educated on the rightful position he had, as a male; Superior to all women, above his mother and older sisters. He took advantage of this, and ordered his siblings around for his plain amusement and treated his mother with disrespect. By then, it was obvious that we had faded from Henry’s memories and it was apparent to us that he thought us to have been a burden to raise. It was a common sight for us, when he threw haughty glances in our direction. Joseph wasn’t even half as talented as any of us, his sisters, yet I seethed in silent and barely-containable rage, my blood boiled, as I often overheard Henry describing how far more gifted he was, compared to his “good-for-nothing” sisters. Many times I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from disputing his words. It was forbidden however, to challenge what a man says, especially in these matters.
Josephina was first to go. She was “bought” by a farmer and was to be wed to his son. Leaving at dawn, there was no opportunity for parting words as I was busy attending to Joseph’s whiny demands, and had lost contact with my dear sister ever since. Poor Josepha was next, as it seemed our father was going by age. A nobleman was seeking a wife for his godson, and bought darling Josepha for quite a surprisingly hefty price. My father, greedily accepted the generous amount, and had eyed me; perhaps he had wondered what price I would fetch? I was about to find out, it was quite decided that my days at Fairwell Residence were numbered.
I had always speculated about what the money collected from the sale of my sisters was used to purchase, considering possibilities such as wine and other unnecessary luxuries, but the mystery was solved eventually. In my opinion, my sisters were worth far more than that the big wooden box of brand new toys, but Joseph had his own opinion, and casually commented on how he would take that exchange anytime, and thus caused me to see red. After Josepha left, I became depressed, for there was no one to share my pain and shame of having to wait hand and foot of my brother who was at least twice as young as me, and thrice in Josephina’s case. I then had to provide three times the amusement to my brother, to suffice for his two missing sisters. It was pure torture.
“Oi! Get over here, Josephine! I tells you I wants to play horsey! And fetch me some chocolate biscuits, and be quick about it!”
“Yes, Joseph.” I said through gritted teeth.
“Ahem, I thinks I ordered you to call me ‘Joseph, my brother who are in every way superior than his worthless sisters’, doesn't I?”
I closed my eyes in frustration, and pinched the bridge of my nose, I felt my temperature rise, heard my teeth ground together, jaws locked tight. For goodness sake, there he was, declaring how magnificent and better than his sisters he was, and yet he could not string together a grammatically correct sentence, which my sisters and I could have done perfectly at his age, when we still had an education at least.
“Hello? Don’t be rude and keep me waiting. Did you hear what I says?” Joseph demanded impatiently, and irritatingly tapped his foot, arms folded.
“Me? Rude? I’ll show you manners, you little-” I had opened my mouth to say, but restrained myself in time. I was losing my patience with him, hanging on precariously to my last nerve, preventing myself from snapping. I felt my nostrils flare dangerously, a sign when I was in a very bad mood.
“Don’t let it bother you, don’t let it bother you…” I had chanted in my head continuously. Joseph cleared his throat, annoyance flaring up inside me, threatening to explode any moment.
Finally, I forced my eyes open and glared at my loathsome brother.
“Yes, Joseph, who is in every way superior to his worthless sisters.” I spat, injecting as much venom as I could in my statement, and emphasizing the correct grammatical structure. He rolled his eyes in response and seemed to be placated, however he noticed and did not fancy how I had glared icy daggers at him, and he scurried off to complain to Henry, that little snitch. I sighed exasperatedly, for I knew what was in store for me. I was sharply reprimanded and denied my share of dinner for the night. It was nothing new, as I was often stripped of my right for a share of a meal, whenever there was not enough left for me, when my brother’s voracious appetite vacuumed every dish into the abyss of his apparently bottomless pit of a stomach. Yet, even as I was used to such treatment, my stomach had grumbled, demanding to be filled. The demand was not met till the following day and I had gone to sleep, starved.
In addition, I was commanded to polish all of Joseph toys, the very ones that had cost the price of my two sisters. I conceded defeat, and obediently but viciously cleaned the toys, knowing that to refuse would have only brought on more rebukes and possibly a flogging. My monstrous little brother watched me, never failing to point out imaginary dirt spots and ordering me to stand while cleaning. Eventually that evil brat became bored and left me to suffer in peace. I made sure to forcefully chuck each newly cleaned toy in the wooden box whenever I was out of hearing and seeing range. Such revenge did little to appease me. The injustice was fresh on my mind, burned permanently into my memory.
My days at the Fairwell Residence were quite routine, and everyday I would stare wistfully out the window, whenever the opportunity presented itself, not really seeing anything, but rather deep in thought, melancholy evident in my sad green eyes. Otherwise, I would have been attending to my brother’s foolish whims. I would sigh, as Joseph’s shrill calls would break the comforting silence and demand my attention, forcing me to reluctantly tear my eyes away from the window.
Another occasion, where Joseph’s antics led to me meeting some disaster, was when I had to play dress-up with Joseph. I was not allowed to dress up as a man of course. I was not “worthy” of being one, rolling my eyes every time I recalled Joseph, who was two heads shorter than me then, and a hundred times as obnoxious, lecturing me on this. He too, did not dress up as a mere girl would be simply too menial for a person, namely himself, of superior blood. I had to fight off the strong urge I had, to claw out his stupid little eyes. I was to be a slave woman in rags, and him, a king, donned in a fur-trimmed coat. In my opinion, the only king he was fit of becoming, was the King of Nincompoops. I was forced to stoop to such a low level, as to bow and kneel before him, praising him with undeserved titles such as “Your Majesty, Joseph, who is grand and wise, beloved by all his subjects.” It was worse than having to curse aloud, and I just had to wash my mouth after that, which I duly did. He proceeded to ordering me to do pointless tasks such as tying his shoelace, and labour about the house, serving as his “trusty” steed. At one point, as I carried off a tray of fine china, the little idiot thought my movement was too slow-paced. Before I could react, he delivered a swift kick to my knee and stomped hard on my foot, causing me to yelp in pain. The tray of china tumbled over, and crashed to the floor as my hand flew to my knee, clutching it, my face twisted in agony, whimpering. Shame, that his aiming was so good.
How could so much evil be stored in the body of something so puny? He was seven, for crying out loud! I crumpled to the hard wooden floor, unable to balance on one leg any further. I heard a sickening crunch as my skull came in contact with the wood. I was not given any treatment for my knee, and a purplish patch formed. Instead, my parents directed all their attention over Joseph, whose leg had sustained a minor cut as a result of a shard of china searing his skin. I was outraged, furious, and completely livid at the injustice. I was blamed for breaking the china, denting the tray, as well as causing “poor Joseph” harm. I wanted to scream, scream till my lungs burst. It was just so unfair! What did I do to deserve this? Was it a crime to be born, such unbelievable felony that I deserved all of this?
I was alone, in a loveless family with a not-so-fatherly father, and a mother who, after giving birth to son, became alienated. Henry had warmed towards as he was pleased that she had finally presented him with a son. She doted on Joseph, whose presence made Henry pleasant towards her. She resented her daughters, who had brought nothing but scolding from Henry. Then, one day as I was sewing a coat for Joseph, as decreed by my mother, a gentleman came to our doorstep to ask for my hand. He seemed quite well-off; by the way he donned expensive silk and satin. However, his “dowry” was something else that left something to be desired. Am I not worth more than a jug of milk? To treat me like a commodity was degrading enough, but this was simply insulting! I refuse to marry!
But alas, it was not to be my choice, and my father readily accepted. A dowry was not important, though I assume it was a bonus point, but being rid of dead-weight daughters were his priority. No, I had to leave before early morning tomorrow when the stranger would come to take me away against my own will, and I had to leave NOW. I grabbed my worldly possessions: a few articles of clothing, purse and toilettes, and flung them into an empty valise. As soon as the Fairwells left for some afternoon tea in town, I fled from the house, which had kept me a prisoner for fifteen years that had trapped me with such horrid people.
“Farewell, Fairwells.” I thought dryly. Though I looked suspicious on my own, I was kept in the house frequently enough for people to be unfamiliar with my existence.
Unsure of where to go, I had walked a dozen buildings away from the Fairwell residence, just to ensure that I would not have been found so soon, not that anyone would look for me. Wandering around the huge town for a few days, drawing strange and curious looks from passersby, I aimlessly travelled from one unknown street to another. Lane after lane, unfamiliar names such as Uppercross Avenue and Cresent Boulevard had not rung a bell in my head. Left and right, I recognized nothing and was as lost as any clueless foreigner, even though I had lived in this town for years. My father had saw no need to let me and my sisters step outside of the house and we were confined inside, only on certain occasions were we set free from our oppressive “prison”. Finally, I came across a vaguely familiar street name: Pebbleton Street and relief washed over me like a tidal wave. It would not seem conspicuous to run so I broke into a brisk walk, recalling that a Convent was only a few more blocks from where I was, finally had I found some form of bearing, rather than to walk around the town like a fool.
It was a grand building, old, but had an air of peace and calm; it was one place where a lady would not have to worry about being under the shadow of a man. Admiring its splendour for a brief moment, I glanced at the skillfully painted glass windows high above the building, with vibrant colours clashing together to form a mosaic pattern. I could see, beyond the vine covered gates, quaint little pond. Ripples of water reflected the light differently, giving the water complementing hues of blue and green. The lilies floated about gracefully, their white petals providing home for little pond dwellers. The roofs of the buildings stretched up high, providing shade from the glare of the sun as the curved outward, over the entrances of the buildings, with walls made of red brick. But I was wasting time, and thus took a deep breath, and knocked upon on the regal oak door, adorned with an ornately carved crucifix. The place was quiet, with no indication of any inhabitants.
No answer. Perhaps I was too soft. I tried again, knocking with so much force that my knuckles smarted painfully and turned red. I winced, the door opened with a creak, and I was greeted by a stout nun, dressed in the traditional black and white clothes. Before I could open my mouth to speak, “There’s no need to knock so loudly dearie, we’re not hard of hearing.” She frowned at me, sheer disapproval colouring her tone.
“Oh, I’m so very sorry, Sister, but there was no reply the first time. Have I come at a bad time?” I enquired politely.
“Goodness gracious, no! We’re just about to start lunch. What can I do for you, darling?” she smiled, taking on a friendlier look, her face softening.
“Please, I need a place to stay. I have no family, and I wished to be educated, but I cannot afford to go to school.” I pleaded pitifully, staring at her with tears threatening to spill over, my lower lip trembling, hoping to tug on her heartstrings. Well, I wasn’t exactly lying when I said I had no family. A family is a place where a person is happy and loved by her kin, but there was nothing of the sort in my case.
My charade miraculously worked. “You poor dear! Do come in,” she made way and beckoned me into the grand hall of the convent. “Is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry? I shall think so. I insist you to join us for lunch, and I will not take no for an answer. It would be simply sinful to leave you starving, my poor girl.”
I nodded gratefully, lost in the beauty of the hall’s décor, that I forgot my basic manners. Eventually when I had snapped out of my trance-like state, I thanked her profusely.
When questioned about the valise I was carrying in my right hand, I hadn’t considered its significance, but when I realized this was not what a supposed orphan would lug around, I quickly blurted out, “These are my worldly possessions, I happened to be carrying them when I was separated from my family.” I tried to put on another sad face, and the sister sympathetically comforted me. When asked how I got separated from my family, I grimly replied that I’d rather not talk about it, and she was tactful enough not to press further. I felt somewhat guilty deceiving her, but I could not tell her that I was a runaway child, the nuns would rat me out and try to locate my family. This ridiculous society frowns upon runaways and the child, as punishment, whether caught or not, would be written off the will of their father. It didn’t apply to women anyway; whenever the head man of the house passes away, only the son may inherit his property and money, in the case where the father is without a son, it is given to the man’s brother, or the next closest male relative. No woman has the “right” to inherit anything. Not even residence in her husband’s house. No doubt the day when Henry would pop his clogs, Alicia would find herself on the streets.
No sense in being honest here, I had nothing to lose from running away.
Absolutely nothing.
