MATILDA (A Series of Unfortunate Events)

CHAPTER 4: SPLIT HAND-BELLOW AND A MOUSETRAP

Behind the growling man in front of them, the Baudelaire's could peer at the girl. The three children wondered why she was here in this awful house with this despicable man. She stood hunched and cowered and forgotten. Count Olaf stood suddenly with a grimace on his face as his hand dove into the dust ridden jacket he wore and pulled out an extensive list, garnished with immaculate and lavish handwriting. This handwriting did obviously not belong to uncultured man that reared before them; cluttered with rings and mites. Matilda had written that list not too many days before hand. She had sat at the counter while Count Olaf rambled for hours, occasionally piking up and saying, "write that down". In that moment, Matilda did not care what it was she was writing; she was consumed by the euphoria of being able to write freely. Often, she wrote without her captors' knowledge, there were napkins scribbled with pen and on the door of the closet were random words that she had just fancied to write. Her favourite words were written on that door. Words that encapsulated her and allowed her to glimpse at liberty. Matilda was often caught when writing on old paper shopping bags, or when he realised the single pen he owned was not in its precise spot.

"Do you know what this is?" Count Olaf questioned the children, just as any adult would suspect that they are unintelligent and ignorant. Unlike many, Klaus was not afraid to answer the hostile count.

"It looks like a list." An educated and correct answer that the man did not wish to understand. At the sound of his voice, Matilda peered up as the man further tried in insult the children's intellect.

"Wrong!" Count Olaf eyes rolled back in the emphasis of this word, strangely looking like two bleached marbles had been placed within his face. "It's a list. A list of chores." He began to roll up the list. "Rich brats like you are probably spoiled rotten and have never done a chore in your life.". Matilda was curious of what the children would say to this. All her life, she has suffered due to no money and no freedom; despite the kind children in front of her, she had a perturbed thought that they had deserved to feel pain and torment, they have never had to deal with the struggles of life. Barely scrapping money for food, sitting on a busy street with cup and begging for the right to survive. Not buying new clothes but making them out of multiple old ones. Squeezing into shoes because there were no others. Sitting in a damp room, alone, for months at a time.

In the midst of these grim thoughts, Matilda fought her jealousy with rationality and compassion. The loss of a life was not to be taken lightly, one's life torn to shreds, thrown along the spans of the earth and inevitably and fruitlessly tries to piece itself together, however, the pieces no longer fit with the others of the jigsaw. She skirmishes to maintain life, and she would never wish that on anyone; not even the man that enforces lifes inexorable lie and betrayal. These children had been lucky with the life they have had so far. Possibly, they could escape the series of unfortunate events that will ensue in the company of Count Olaf.

While she tried to justify and reverse her thought process, her own spite terrified her.

"Actually, we often help around the house." Violet spoke uneasily and her soft voice broke through the ragged dust mites that infected the air around the count and the young girl. Count Olaf scrunches his face to the point at the which his pale skin and wrinkles resembled a foul onion.

"Really? Did you help around the house? That's great." Count Olaf spoke with a sardonic tone that one would expect to hear from a high school gossip guru. "Well, welcome to your lucky life." His voice drops back to its sonorous tone. "Come with me, and I'll show you the delightful features of your home." He shoves the list into Klaus's hand and as he goes to walk around the children, stomps heavily on Matilda foot, making the girl wince and pull her put away as quick as she could. Count Olaf turns around to view Matilda and lets out an exaggerated and weary sigh as he peers upon her dishevelled appearance. Matilda can feel the eyes of the children on her once more, like a mosquito that has become addicted to the taste of her blood; buzzing around for the next place is inspect and prod. "Go on upstairs and move your cupboard for the orphans," he said while rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly, "not into your room, into the sixth bathroom. Cant have you whisking away in your cupboard during the night, now can we?" he added before advancing to the kitchen, where his oh so grand tour begins. The children then slowly turn around to follow him through the threatening double door that Count Olaf pulls open splendidly. He calls over his shoulder, "This is the kitchen" and as they move further into the room that is suffocated by rusted pots and pans, many of which are never used, their voices fade as Matilda makes her ascent up the stairs. She knew moving the cupboard by herself would be quite difficult as the cupboard twice the height of Matilda and no doubt twice as heavy. As an idea sprung to her mind, she hurried up the rest of the stairs with a small smile on her face.

She ran into her old room and surveyed the cupboard; her hands situating themselves on her hips as Matilda estimated the dimensions and finally the weight of the object that loomed viciously ahead of her. With the small and excited smile still present across her face, she rushed to a storage cupboard down the hall that held all the things that Count Olaf no longer wanted. It was a random assortment of objects, ranging from beach ball to broken screws. To others, it would seem to be a heap of junk, but to Matilda, they were materials. In the past, however, not all her ideas or creations seemed to work right, occasionally blowing up or dishearteningly lacking in motion. She always seemed to miss something, even though her calculations were mostly correct. From the cupboard, she grabbed: a pair of old pantyhose's, a crank, a car door handle, a split hand-bellow and a mousetrap. She set off to her old room to build the contraption, hopefully before the children return from their tour.