[story] the house on fifth street
author: kelsey l. h. (kerilu)
email: chic_ninja_love [at] hotmail.com
Today was very strange indeed, thought Caroline. It was an odd thing to experience anything out of the ordinary in Evergray (the only commonly recognized oddity was that the weather always took it upon itself to make the inhabitants as miserable as possible), which was as gray a town could ever be (and possibly grayer). If ever a place existed that was more glum than the little town, Caroline couldn't say.
True to its wretched name, everything that lived there was so dull that no one, not even with the best of intentions, could look upon it fondly. The skies were gray, the bricks of the various businesses were gray, and even the white picket fences around the tiny white houses seemed as gloomy as the clouds that always hung low. There was also no such thing as a light rain; it had a much-despised loyalty to the saying, "When it rains, it pours." The clouds were merciless in their drenching - and no matter what you tried, there was no possible way to be dry going anywhere at all. Rain in other places, even places depressingly near the hapless town, was always much more pleasant.
There is always a sort of joviality when an umbrella is unfurled and coats are pulled up, as people dodge puddles with the tips of their toes. The rains of Evergray were notorious for the opposite - the wind blew your umbrella away, or you would happen to fall rear-first into a large puddle. Clothes were usually wet and tempers were foul just as often.
Caroline herself had not been pleased when she left school. The skies were low over her head and she resolved that the only way to stave off the rain was to keep her umbrella at the ready and walk as quickly as possible. But she had become very distracted from her goal, and that is where this all begins.
For a child like Caroline, or Carrie, as everyone called her, Evergray was even more awful to live in than it was for normal people. Because, you see, Carrie had an amazing and powerful thing - she had an imagination. Most of the children who lived in Evergray had their imagination and creativity squashed out of them at a very young age. Perhaps their parents thought that if their offspring were raised this way, it would be less of a disappointment for them to grow up to see how dull this place was. Or perhaps they just wanted their children to be as miserable as themselves - one can only guess.
But Carrie's mother had died shortly after birth, and her father had been too busy being a single father to properly squash his daughter's best asset (for everyone knows a child's imagination is what makes them so precious). So Carrie continued to dream of marketplaces in foreign lands and mermaids combing their hair on sea-pounded rocks, and other such things children of nine think about when they read the proper books. So it was truly a strange thing to see something that even she had not thought of before her, in front of her very nose.
The house. The incredible new house on Fifth Street.
Behind the intricate loops and whorls of of wrought iron was a yard bursting with color and foliage, startling against the gray background of her world. Flowers with blooms as big as her upper body bloomed in riot along the side of a sinuously curving path, paved with delightfully mismatched cobblestones that shone with some kind of light. It crossed itself in loops and was almost concealed at some points in foot-high grass, which was an extravagant, vibrant green. The whole yard shone with life - it thrummed with it. She had never seen anything so amazing in her life. Her eyes traveled across it - and then, the house.
A phantasmagorical, jumbled, and bewitching thing it was - full of frivolity and light, so unlike the gray-white houses that bordered it on all sides. The tiny cobblestone path widened and continued on to the house in large cobblestoned stairs, which led on to a porch. The porch was off-center, placed about five feet from the tiny door. However, the stairs continued on; up and above, three whole stories. They ended at a massive door, inlaid with fantastic stained glass of countless birds, some she had never even seen before, not even in her animal books.
The wall surrounding the door was a creamy stucco, which covered the whole house. Every now and again, the stucco stopped and a violently beautiful mural began, portraying whimsical, fantastic things. One featured an ever-opening rose in the cunningly slanted demon eye; another a child having a tea party with griffins and daisies.
Countless peaks spread from the roof of the three-story house, continuing what seemed to be forever into the unchanging gray of the sky. One was a tiny tower, painted an eye-smarting shade of pink, barely bigger than a bird house. She rather thought that it was a bird house. The other parts of the house were as colorful as a box of paints, the method in its madness hidden in its many twists and turns.
Carrie was brought back from her stunned reverie by a wet something hitting the bridge of her freckled nose. And another something, and another after that. Rain came pouring down in an endless torrent as she struggled to raise her umbrella. It hardly made a difference, as the rain drove sideways, soaking her shoes and socks in minutes. But she found she could not move from that spot, ignoring the moody people who chased their runaway umbrellas with an air of resignation. Her gray eyes were wide and unblinking, until a momentous thing happened.
The gate opened.
One step forward, and then another - and her hand was brushing the gate wider, and her feet were resting on the cobblestones. The tips of the green grass touched her hand as she passed, and the flowers seem almost to incline their heads in her direction. Her leather shoes rose upwards, from step to step, until she was at the door.
Carrie's heart fluttered. Something inside her called out for this, and she waited in the gravity of the moment, as an eternity passed by in a second. And then she moved her hand forward - and caught the handle, pulling the door wide in one smooth moment.
Her world burst into color. The sky was blue beneath the gray, and even the dismal umbrella-chasers seemed to have a bit more peach in their skin and a little more raven-wing's black (not dull charcoal) in their long coats. The front garden seemed even brighter than before. She felt as if she had been deprived of color all her life - of being alive. Everything sang its own song, rising in a chorus to praise the heavens and their creator. She shut her eyes and opened them - the singing stopped, but the life was still there, humming in her veins. She stared at her hands, and at the open door, and realized she was not the one holding it open.
Vivid golden eyes looked her over, amused. Volatile designs, like those of the gate, swirled and changed color in a never ending pattern on glowing fur and feathers. The griffin was sleek and awe-inspiring, all smooth lines and grace. Her voice chimed like a thousand bells as she murmured a question.
"Are you coming in?"
the end
email: chic_ninja_love [at] hotmail.com
Today was very strange indeed, thought Caroline. It was an odd thing to experience anything out of the ordinary in Evergray (the only commonly recognized oddity was that the weather always took it upon itself to make the inhabitants as miserable as possible), which was as gray a town could ever be (and possibly grayer). If ever a place existed that was more glum than the little town, Caroline couldn't say.
True to its wretched name, everything that lived there was so dull that no one, not even with the best of intentions, could look upon it fondly. The skies were gray, the bricks of the various businesses were gray, and even the white picket fences around the tiny white houses seemed as gloomy as the clouds that always hung low. There was also no such thing as a light rain; it had a much-despised loyalty to the saying, "When it rains, it pours." The clouds were merciless in their drenching - and no matter what you tried, there was no possible way to be dry going anywhere at all. Rain in other places, even places depressingly near the hapless town, was always much more pleasant.
There is always a sort of joviality when an umbrella is unfurled and coats are pulled up, as people dodge puddles with the tips of their toes. The rains of Evergray were notorious for the opposite - the wind blew your umbrella away, or you would happen to fall rear-first into a large puddle. Clothes were usually wet and tempers were foul just as often.
Caroline herself had not been pleased when she left school. The skies were low over her head and she resolved that the only way to stave off the rain was to keep her umbrella at the ready and walk as quickly as possible. But she had become very distracted from her goal, and that is where this all begins.
For a child like Caroline, or Carrie, as everyone called her, Evergray was even more awful to live in than it was for normal people. Because, you see, Carrie had an amazing and powerful thing - she had an imagination. Most of the children who lived in Evergray had their imagination and creativity squashed out of them at a very young age. Perhaps their parents thought that if their offspring were raised this way, it would be less of a disappointment for them to grow up to see how dull this place was. Or perhaps they just wanted their children to be as miserable as themselves - one can only guess.
But Carrie's mother had died shortly after birth, and her father had been too busy being a single father to properly squash his daughter's best asset (for everyone knows a child's imagination is what makes them so precious). So Carrie continued to dream of marketplaces in foreign lands and mermaids combing their hair on sea-pounded rocks, and other such things children of nine think about when they read the proper books. So it was truly a strange thing to see something that even she had not thought of before her, in front of her very nose.
The house. The incredible new house on Fifth Street.
Behind the intricate loops and whorls of of wrought iron was a yard bursting with color and foliage, startling against the gray background of her world. Flowers with blooms as big as her upper body bloomed in riot along the side of a sinuously curving path, paved with delightfully mismatched cobblestones that shone with some kind of light. It crossed itself in loops and was almost concealed at some points in foot-high grass, which was an extravagant, vibrant green. The whole yard shone with life - it thrummed with it. She had never seen anything so amazing in her life. Her eyes traveled across it - and then, the house.
A phantasmagorical, jumbled, and bewitching thing it was - full of frivolity and light, so unlike the gray-white houses that bordered it on all sides. The tiny cobblestone path widened and continued on to the house in large cobblestoned stairs, which led on to a porch. The porch was off-center, placed about five feet from the tiny door. However, the stairs continued on; up and above, three whole stories. They ended at a massive door, inlaid with fantastic stained glass of countless birds, some she had never even seen before, not even in her animal books.
The wall surrounding the door was a creamy stucco, which covered the whole house. Every now and again, the stucco stopped and a violently beautiful mural began, portraying whimsical, fantastic things. One featured an ever-opening rose in the cunningly slanted demon eye; another a child having a tea party with griffins and daisies.
Countless peaks spread from the roof of the three-story house, continuing what seemed to be forever into the unchanging gray of the sky. One was a tiny tower, painted an eye-smarting shade of pink, barely bigger than a bird house. She rather thought that it was a bird house. The other parts of the house were as colorful as a box of paints, the method in its madness hidden in its many twists and turns.
Carrie was brought back from her stunned reverie by a wet something hitting the bridge of her freckled nose. And another something, and another after that. Rain came pouring down in an endless torrent as she struggled to raise her umbrella. It hardly made a difference, as the rain drove sideways, soaking her shoes and socks in minutes. But she found she could not move from that spot, ignoring the moody people who chased their runaway umbrellas with an air of resignation. Her gray eyes were wide and unblinking, until a momentous thing happened.
The gate opened.
One step forward, and then another - and her hand was brushing the gate wider, and her feet were resting on the cobblestones. The tips of the green grass touched her hand as she passed, and the flowers seem almost to incline their heads in her direction. Her leather shoes rose upwards, from step to step, until she was at the door.
Carrie's heart fluttered. Something inside her called out for this, and she waited in the gravity of the moment, as an eternity passed by in a second. And then she moved her hand forward - and caught the handle, pulling the door wide in one smooth moment.
Her world burst into color. The sky was blue beneath the gray, and even the dismal umbrella-chasers seemed to have a bit more peach in their skin and a little more raven-wing's black (not dull charcoal) in their long coats. The front garden seemed even brighter than before. She felt as if she had been deprived of color all her life - of being alive. Everything sang its own song, rising in a chorus to praise the heavens and their creator. She shut her eyes and opened them - the singing stopped, but the life was still there, humming in her veins. She stared at her hands, and at the open door, and realized she was not the one holding it open.
Vivid golden eyes looked her over, amused. Volatile designs, like those of the gate, swirled and changed color in a never ending pattern on glowing fur and feathers. The griffin was sleek and awe-inspiring, all smooth lines and grace. Her voice chimed like a thousand bells as she murmured a question.
"Are you coming in?"
the end