Tag Archives: piece of a story

snippet 2

“Table manners, Rabbit!”  Carmella roared.

Little Rabbit startled and dropped her bowl, splashing soup all over Crumpet, who opened his mouth to cry but was thumped on the shoulder by Cricket before anything but a squeak escaped. Rabbit looked up the table at Carmella. Her huge brown eyes wide in terror. Her small mouth pinched in alarm.

Carmella threw back her head and guffawed loudly.
“Oh Rabbit, my sweet child, you have so much to learn. You poor gentle thing, I didn’t mean to frighten you! Go, get some more soup, honeychild.” she said in a gentler voice.
Rabbit quivered in her seat. Crumpet giggled and nudged her amiably with a jam covered hand. Rabbit glanced over at Harlen, who nodded, smiling.
Rabbits little hands trembled around her bowl as she pushed her chair back back with her knees. She crossed the wooden floor to the fire, her little bare feet making no noise, and timidly spooned another bowlful of soup for herself out of the huge iron pot hanging over the fire.

Carmella shifted her bulk in her chair and caught Harlen’s eye. She smiled at him and she felt at ease.

These were all their children. Even the ones that she had not given birth to herself, the ones she had rescued. They were all her children. Rabbit was number twelve to join the large family in their huge rambling farmhouse. Carmella never turned anyone away. She would protect them with her life. As would Harlen. Six years they had been together, and she still did not know where he came from. But it did not matter. He loved and watched over her children as if they were his own.
When her husband had died, Carmella was left in their enormous farmhouse with 4 children and a multitude of farm animals. She struggled for nearly 2 years alone. And then one morning, after a terrible storm which had ripped trees down and taken thatch from the roof, Harlen appeared. He smiled at her and took the thatching tools from her hands without a word.
Things had been so much better after that.

snippet 1

She could not believe that the misshapen thing hobbling ahead of her along the path could once have been human. It hissed every breath it took as it stepped carefully over tree roots and lumps of grass on the way down the hill. It stank of sweat and mould and old blood and the layers of rags it wore were black with filth and a few patches of white dust and hair. But she felt no loathing for it, as she would have before. She could feel the warmth it gave out. The warmth of spirit, compassion. It had not even flinched at the sight of her: burnt and bloodied and beaten. It had already strapped her arm in a splint, using pieces of its own clothing. There was nothing of the cold metallic tinge she felt from the villagers in the small hamlet she had just passed through. No fear. No hatred. No judgement.

Perhaps its wits were as muddled as its appearance?

Right now, she did not care. She did not even care if she was being led to slaughter. She stumbled with exhaustion and the pain of her wounds and a small sound must have escaped her lips because the creature stopped and swung its body to face her. A frown of concern was clearly visible on its disfigured features.
“Not far. not far” it croaked in a high strained tone. As if to speak hurt it.
She nodded and regained her footing. The creature turned down the path again and began its careful tottering steps down the hill. She followed.