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Clover's Curse (redone)

Dreamworx95 · 2008-07-28T17:41:35Z

Thanks to bradsk88, Livinginfantasy, zankoku_na_tenshi and clograbby for editing tips. Inspirational Song: Red is Blue by Ben Folds Chapter One - Good Misfortune I've always had the feeling that I was cursed, which is a little ironic because my name's Clover, and clovers are supposed to be lucky. That being said, what kind of a name is Clover for a boy anyways? Or a human, for that matter? It sounds like a name fit for an elf or a leprechaun, or even a dog. Not for a human. Moving on to my next point: I am an orphan. My parents didn’t die or anything, at least I don’t think so. You see, I was one of those unfortunate babies who were left outside the door of an orphanage in a basket during a snow storm. Yeah, the people who run this place didn’t have the decency to lie to me about that. Third, I am very accident prone. Okay, that’s putting it too lightly. I’m an uncoordinated, clumsy blockhead. I’ve broken more dishes than I can count. On a lucky day, I’ll trip only once or twice. You might be thinking that my body is black and blue in bruises, but shockingly, I’ve never even broken a bone. It’s usually the people around me that get hurt, which brings me to number four. Everyone I meet automatically loathes me. I’ve never had very many friends. Okay - I’ve never had any friends. But I don’t think that’s entirely my fault. I’ve tried to make friends, I really have, but something always happens to make everyone hate me. Don’t believe me? Okay, let me tell you a little story. I was ten years old, and I had my eye on this really pretty girl. Her name was Elizabeth. She had deep red shiny hair and dark brown eyes. She was the kind of girl that everybody wanted but couldn't have. I finally gathered up the courage to approach her. As I was walking, I slipped and fell right into her. The next thing I knew, we were both on the ground, and I was on top of her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we weren’t outside, and if the ground wasn’t muddy, and if she wasn’t wearing a new dress. I was so horrified that all I could do was stare at Elizabeth in shock. It was like I was paralyzed. She started screaming at me to get off of her and fussed over her ruined dress. I tried desperately to apologize but she kept yelling at me. As a result of this incident, all the girls in the orphanage thought I was a freak who assaulted women. And the boys...well, they just thought I was a freak. Can you see why it would be a little hard to make friends when everybody hates you? You’d think that people would realize it was just an accident, but no, they can’t get over the idea that I supposedly hit a girl. And in a way, that’s kind of Elizabeth’s fault. She had the power to tell everyone it was just an accident, but instead, she told everyone that I pushed her. Talk about an attention-seeking brat. I can’t believe that I ever liked her. The grown-ups weren’t much better than the kids either. “Troublemaker” was the word they used to describe me behind my back (I eavesdropped a lot). They stared down at me like they smelled something bad whenever I walked by. It was very depressing for four years. Yes, four years, because shortly after I turned fourteen, I finally made a friend. I’ll tell you the story. Don’t worry, it’s a happy one. It was midnight, and I, along with the other boys, was soundly asleep. Suddenly there was a loud scream. My eyes jerked open at the sound. I sat up and looked around in confusion, wondering where the scream came from. All the other boys in the dormitory were awake too, staring around the room for the source of the noise. The scream came again, and I realized it was coming from the girl’s dormitory. I hopped out of bed and followed the other boys out into the hallway. Ms. Aldridge, the bony woman who ran the orphanage, was already there, wearing a bathrobe and a hairnet, barely awake. “What’s-?” she began dazedly, when she was cut off by another scream. The door to the girl’s dormitory flung open and a hoard of screaming girls streamed out, followed by a very small animal. The girls all cowered behind Ms. Aldridge. “What’s going on?” she demanded. Elizabeth, the obnoxious brat, pointed at the animal and squealed, “R-r-rat!” Ms. Aldridge and the rest of the boys looked down at the tiny, rat-like animal. I bent down and took a closer look at it. “It’s not a rat,” I said, walking forward and picking it up, “It’s a hamster.” The other boys all groaned in unified annoyance and walked back into the dorm, eager to get back to sleep. Meanwhile, all the girls stared at me in disgust. “Ew! I can’t believe you’re touching it!” Elizabeth shrieked. I rolled my eyes, “It’s not like it’s going to hurt you.” “I don’t care, it’s disgusting!” she hissed. “Clover,” Ms. Aldridge finally intervened, “Take it outside and get rid of it.” I raised my eyebrows, “What do you mean ‘get rid of it’?” “Drown it in the fountain or something.” My jaw dropped, “You seriously expect me to-” “Yes, I seriously expect you to!” she cut me off and glared. “But it’s just a hamster!” I protested. “I’m not going to ask you again!” she growled, “Go outside and get rid of it.” So I had no choice other than to take the brown hamster outside, but I had no intention of “getting rid of it” in Ms. Aldridge's definition. I mean, it was just a hamster for Pete’s sake! I stroked the hamster’s soft fur as I brought it out into the cool night air. It nibbled at my fingers affectionately. “Now what do I do with you?” I said. I picked the hamster up so that we were face to face. It had a furry white face, dark little eyes and a tiny pink nose. It was adorable. How could they be scared of such a thing? Its whiskers twitched as it sniffed my knuckles curiously. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cracker, crushing it into crumbs. The hamster eagerly munched away at the snack. “Wow, you sure like to munch away at those crackers, don’t you?” I chuckled, “Alright then. I’m going to call you Munchie.” And from that moment on, I finally had a companion. I inconspicuously carried Munchie around in my pocket, feeding him cheese, crackers, biscuits and bread crumbs. I was really amazed at how no one ever seemed to notice the bulge in my pocket. We were inseparable, and I was glad to have a friend, whether it was a human or an animal. Finding Munchie seemed like the only good fortune I ever had. Unfortunately, that good fortune was short-lived. I was thrown out of the orphanage after I turned fifteen for lighting the kitchen on fire. Long story. Of course, no one would believe me when I said it was an accident. The orphanage thought I was too much of a nuisance to stay there, so they kicked me out. They figured I was old enough to take care of myself now, though I don’t think they really cared about my well being. So I had no choice but to accept my fate, and leave. Since I had nowhere to live, nowhere to go, and no one who gave a damn, I decided the best thing to do was get a job. I figured it couldn’t be too hard. The village was pretty small, and I’d been around, but I still had no idea where to start. Anyone who was hiring would be looking for someone with skills. I think you’ve read enough about me to know that I have no skills. Still, it was worth a shot. I wandered the cold streets, looking for a place to start. I began with the bar. I talked to the bartender, Dewey, who seemed like a nice guy. A little on the short side, but he was beefy to make up for it. He was apologetic, saying that he couldn’t afford to hire anyone right now. I had to admit I was disappointed, but my hopes lifted when he told me he heard the bakery was hiring. I rushed outside and ran to the bakery, and sure enough, there was a big sign in the window that said, “Help Wanted” in large red letters. Sometimes, kismet happens. I bolted into the bakery. Inside, I met the baker, Mr. Garrow, who was a little chubby with rosy cheeks, a round nose and a black mustache. I couldn’t see his head because of his chef’s hat, but I could tell he was bald. We talked a little, and he agreed to hire me as an assistant. I would get paid minimum wage for dusting, washing dishes, et cetera, et cetera. On top of all that, Mr. Garrow said he had an extra room where he lived above the bakery. I couldn’t believe my luck! And so I was hired. The first few weeks passed by uneventfully. Mostly I swept the bakery after closing hours, cleaned the windows, and wiped the counters. Occasionally, Mr. Garrow told me to keep an eye on the ovens and warn him if the pastries started to burn, but I dared not touch anything. Sadly, it wasn’t long before my luck began to run out. My clumsiness made itself known within the first month. The first incident was when I knocked over the supplies in the storage closet. Mr. Garrow let it pass without a second thought, but I could tell he was beginning to worry when I broke a flower vase the next day. I really wanted to keep my job, so I tried harder to be less clumsy, measuring my every move as I dusted the furniture and washed the dishes. I was especially careful around the ovens, where it would be more likely for me to cause another fire. Despite my mindfulness, I couldn’t help it when I tripped over things. One time, I was carrying a tray of dough and tripped over a chair leg. I fell onto the floor and the tray went flying out of my hands. I looked up and was terrified to see that the dough had landed on Mr. Garrow's head. I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. I was surprised and relieved when Mr. Garrow let it go and just told me to clean up the mess. I continued to work diligently, but my clumsiness got in the way of doing a good job. As I knocked more brooms over and broke several more vases, I saw that Mr. Garrow was beginning to regret ever hiring me. I knew the only reason he kept me around was for pity’s sake. Mr. Garrow kept me around for a year before he had finally had enough. I’m pretty sure he was already debating whether or not he should fire me, but it was this incident that made up his mind. Prepare yourselves, this is not a happy story. It was late evening and the bakery had already closed for the day. I whistled away while I swept the floor, oblivious to the fact the Munchie had crawled out of my pocket and climbed up the shelves. I continued to clean like a clueless idiot. When I was done sweeping the floor, I moved on to dusting the shelves, and that was when I saw Munchie scurrying on a shelf I couldn’t reach. I gasped and dropped the duster. “Get down here!” I hissed at the hamster. Munchie ignored me and continued creeping on the shelf, sniffing curiously at the contents. I frantically tried to talk Munchie into coming back down, but my efforts were wasted; Munchie climbed up to the highest shelf. “Crap!” I said to myself. I grabbed a nearby stool and climbed on top of it. I reached my hands up to Munchie, praying that I wouldn’t fall. “Come on, Munchie, get down,” I begged. The hamster went about his business like I hadn’t spoken. “Alright, alright,” I chided nervously. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small slice of Gouda cheese, Munchie’s favorite. I waved it at him enticingly, “You want it?” Munchie stopped crawling abruptly and stared at the cheese in my hand. His whiskers were twitching. “Mmm, yummy cheese,” I waved it under my nose alluringly. Munchie swiftly leaped off the top shelf and landed neatly in my hand, eagerly nibbling at the cheese. A wave of relief washed through me. “That’s a good hamster,” I said, patting Munchie’s fur. As I started to climb down from the stool, it wobbled slightly, enough for me to lose my balance. I fell back against the wall and crashed into the shelves, sending them careening down onto the front counter, which was made of glass. I watched in horror as the glass shattered into a million pieces and the cakes and pastries behind it were squashed. Luckily, the glass shards didn’t come near my skin, but I was more worried about Mr. Garrow's reaction when he saw the destruction. Mr. Garrow lumbered into the room with an alarmed expression. When he beheld the disaster, it looked like he was about to have a heart attack. For a moment he was speechless. I was afraid that he was in a state of shock. “Mr. Garrow?” I said in small voice. He slowly turned his head. When he laid eyes on me, his dumbfounded expression turned into one of vitriol. I swallowed. He stomped over to where I was lying on the ground and pulled me up. “ That's it! Get out! You're fired, You good-for-nothing lummox !” Mr. Garrow was red in the face with fury. “But Mr. Garrow…” I pleaded as he dragged me out of the bakery by one ear. “ No! I have had enough !” he roared, “I thought I was doing something good when I took you in, but I was wrong !” I winced at the words. Mr. Garrow threw the door open and flung me out onto the street. He glowered down at me with indignation, “I never want to see you around here again, do you hear me?” I nodded helplessly, “Yes, sir.” Mr. Garrow slammed the door shut without a backwards glance. I sat in stony silence, staring at the door. Now what? Munchie crawled out of my pocket and climbed up onto my shoulder, nibbling at my earlobe. I stroked his fur comfortingly. “I don’t blame you Munchie. It would have happened sooner or later.” I sighed, “I guess it’s just you and me now.” I got off the ground and brushed myself off, “I could use a drink.”

sireal

Gender

Points 1040

Reviews 7

Tue Mar 17, 2009 11:46 pm

sireal says... · Tue Mar 17, 2009 11:46 pm

I love this it is very well said.
I think you do have a chance at being a succesful author!
Good Job!!

friendship
is when people know
all about you
but like you anyway
(anynonomous)

Quote

Uh, Lisa, the whole reason we have elected officials is so we don't have to think all the time. Just like that rainforest scare a few years back: our officials saw there was a problem and they fixed it, didn't they?
— Homer Simpson

Clover's Curse (redone)

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