Dinner Bells
Who: Edric Nott and Rudolph Atkins
What: Loss
Where: Margo Nott's manor, Waterford, Ireland
When: June 7th, 2000
Status: Complete
The curtains were still drawn. The rain against the window was not the inquisitive pattering of the day before, but a consistent hum, waves washing over the glass. She didn't open her eyes.
There is only one clear goal in life. Whether you live enough to deserve an end is entirely up to you. Winning the game is never as interesting as playing it.
The newspaper still lay beside her, half read, turned to the middle where a pamphlet advertising a sale at Honeydukes covered the obituaries. Not many a day went by that Margo Nott was left at peace with the world, secure with the knowledge that what remained of her friends or family had survived to see the sun set yet again. She had stopped reading. To be so affronted with mortality was a difficult thing at her age.
She had not watched the sun rise. The light had attempted to push its way through the heavy curtains, but only managed a peek; a narrow line of orange light through the center of the room. It was enough.
Ewling never came. The light turned pale then darkened with the storm, and Margo's patience for once wasn't enough.
With one candle lit, dripping wax onto the bedside table, Edric watched his mother. For nothing, really. She had already turned pale and cold, and the sheets did not rise with her chest. There was nothing left for her to do. But he watched her until the candle was only an unrecognizable stump, the newspaper beside them, the obituaries hidden. Ewling still didn't come.
What: Loss
Where: Margo Nott's manor, Waterford, Ireland
When: June 7th, 2000
Status: Complete
The curtains were still drawn. The rain against the window was not the inquisitive pattering of the day before, but a consistent hum, waves washing over the glass. She didn't open her eyes.
There is only one clear goal in life. Whether you live enough to deserve an end is entirely up to you. Winning the game is never as interesting as playing it.
The newspaper still lay beside her, half read, turned to the middle where a pamphlet advertising a sale at Honeydukes covered the obituaries. Not many a day went by that Margo Nott was left at peace with the world, secure with the knowledge that what remained of her friends or family had survived to see the sun set yet again. She had stopped reading. To be so affronted with mortality was a difficult thing at her age.
She had not watched the sun rise. The light had attempted to push its way through the heavy curtains, but only managed a peek; a narrow line of orange light through the center of the room. It was enough.
Ewling never came. The light turned pale then darkened with the storm, and Margo's patience for once wasn't enough.
With one candle lit, dripping wax onto the bedside table, Edric watched his mother. For nothing, really. She had already turned pale and cold, and the sheets did not rise with her chest. There was nothing left for her to do. But he watched her until the candle was only an unrecognizable stump, the newspaper beside them, the obituaries hidden. Ewling still didn't come.