Chapter 3: Wednesday's Child is full of woe,
Monty and Jane Smith had all but given up hope of having a family when Jane unexpectedly fell pregnant at age forty-four. The news of Jane’s pregnancy was welcomed by their many friends and on a sunny Wednesday morning their baby daughter was born. Neither parent had thought of a name, preferring to see that all was well with the baby first. The opinion was considered strange by their friends but not half as strange as the name eventually chosen.
Jane told the curious that an angel of the Lord had whispered the name to her telling her she would be blessed amongst children. Monty simply said he liked the old English nursery rhyme ‘Monday’s Child’. As Jane was known to be deeply religious and Monty known to be eccentric, people shrugged their shoulders and accepted their decision.
The baby was christened Wednesday Smith and the Smith’s settled into the job of parenthood. When she was a little girl Wednesday, or Wen as she was known, dreamt of an angel.
“My name is Ariel. You are special Wednesday. God has chosen you to bring hope to those who hunt evil and to be the Prophet of an angel. You shall witness to all that he does on earth as in heaven.” Wednesday cried out in her sleep. The angel scared her. “Do not fear Wednesday. I shall be your guardian and I will not leave you. Now, try to get some sleep.” The angel kissed her on the forehead and she felt love and security.
From that night Wen dreamt in Technicolor, or at least that’s how her father jokingly referred to the many strange dreams, nightmares and fantasies she’d recount over the breakfast table. Jane had found her tales amusing at first but as they showed no signs of abating upon entering adolescence, she began to wonder if there wasn’t something seriously wrong with her daughter. Coupled with the migraines Wen suffered on top of puberty and Jane spent almost as much time at the doctors as she did working.
To keep his daughter happy and ease his wife’s distress, Monty Smith encouraged Wen to write or draw her dreams in journals. On day, he had come across an abandoned hunter’s cabin by the banks of the town’s lake. He had shown it to Wen and together they cleared most of the rubbish out of the ruins turning it into a sanctuary of sorts for Wen.
Ariel visited Wen in her dreams. Sometimes they were wondrous, other times full of shadows and unease. The latter often accompanied by migraines that kept her bedridden, sometimes for days. If the headaches weren’t severe she would retreat to ruined cabin by the edge of the lake. Here she would stay recording her dreams and visions in journals.
She kept the journals in a chest at the cabin. It never occurred to her to re-read them or look at the drawings. It had simply become a habit, her way to ease the headaches and vision problems she suffered through adolescence. She would record her dreams and nightmares, place the journals in the chest and return home.
Wen was always at odds with her peers. It wasn’t just the journals or the tendency to solitude that set her apart. It was more like her interests and theirs ran in parallel to each other. When her friends were interested in boys, Wen was more interested in global politics. She preferred swimming and hiking to team sports and she took part in social or community activities because it was the expected.
Society’s rules, written and unwritten, confused her and made her nervous amongst company. Combined with her often bizarre and ill-timed life observations, an odd sense of humour and ad hoc approach to fashion and it wasn’t much of a surprise that what social life she had was more by accident than any real connection.
Still she managed to graduate, go to college, read history and get a teaching degree. Then the night of her twenty-fifth birthday, a truck blew a tire and ploughed into her family’s garage. Her parents died instantly and Wen was flown to the Penrose Hospital, Colorado Springs and treated for internal injuries. She died six weeks later. At least, that’s what official records would show.
part 2
Jane told the curious that an angel of the Lord had whispered the name to her telling her she would be blessed amongst children. Monty simply said he liked the old English nursery rhyme ‘Monday’s Child’. As Jane was known to be deeply religious and Monty known to be eccentric, people shrugged their shoulders and accepted their decision.
The baby was christened Wednesday Smith and the Smith’s settled into the job of parenthood. When she was a little girl Wednesday, or Wen as she was known, dreamt of an angel.
“My name is Ariel. You are special Wednesday. God has chosen you to bring hope to those who hunt evil and to be the Prophet of an angel. You shall witness to all that he does on earth as in heaven.” Wednesday cried out in her sleep. The angel scared her. “Do not fear Wednesday. I shall be your guardian and I will not leave you. Now, try to get some sleep.” The angel kissed her on the forehead and she felt love and security.
From that night Wen dreamt in Technicolor, or at least that’s how her father jokingly referred to the many strange dreams, nightmares and fantasies she’d recount over the breakfast table. Jane had found her tales amusing at first but as they showed no signs of abating upon entering adolescence, she began to wonder if there wasn’t something seriously wrong with her daughter. Coupled with the migraines Wen suffered on top of puberty and Jane spent almost as much time at the doctors as she did working.
To keep his daughter happy and ease his wife’s distress, Monty Smith encouraged Wen to write or draw her dreams in journals. On day, he had come across an abandoned hunter’s cabin by the banks of the town’s lake. He had shown it to Wen and together they cleared most of the rubbish out of the ruins turning it into a sanctuary of sorts for Wen.
Ariel visited Wen in her dreams. Sometimes they were wondrous, other times full of shadows and unease. The latter often accompanied by migraines that kept her bedridden, sometimes for days. If the headaches weren’t severe she would retreat to ruined cabin by the edge of the lake. Here she would stay recording her dreams and visions in journals.
She kept the journals in a chest at the cabin. It never occurred to her to re-read them or look at the drawings. It had simply become a habit, her way to ease the headaches and vision problems she suffered through adolescence. She would record her dreams and nightmares, place the journals in the chest and return home.
Wen was always at odds with her peers. It wasn’t just the journals or the tendency to solitude that set her apart. It was more like her interests and theirs ran in parallel to each other. When her friends were interested in boys, Wen was more interested in global politics. She preferred swimming and hiking to team sports and she took part in social or community activities because it was the expected.
Society’s rules, written and unwritten, confused her and made her nervous amongst company. Combined with her often bizarre and ill-timed life observations, an odd sense of humour and ad hoc approach to fashion and it wasn’t much of a surprise that what social life she had was more by accident than any real connection.
Still she managed to graduate, go to college, read history and get a teaching degree. Then the night of her twenty-fifth birthday, a truck blew a tire and ploughed into her family’s garage. Her parents died instantly and Wen was flown to the Penrose Hospital, Colorado Springs and treated for internal injuries. She died six weeks later. At least, that’s what official records would show.
part 2