The door handle rattled violently, eventually releasing to welcome father's deep, mellow tone's call - the call for Charlie. But no patter of tiny feet was heard on the stairs. No treble squealing 'Daddy'. No motion in the whole house at all. Just silence. His sweet tone changed instantly back
to his common growl. He spat out my name, once, twice. I obeyed, reluctantly, dragging my feet, cowering, afraid of his belt. Each thread formed with a scream of pain. Each drop of blood, a reminder of the suf ering Eb and I had endured over the years.
I faced three lashes for being slow and disobedient - but, in truth that wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. I had believed his anger at Charlie's death would be wholly taken out on my smooth, and recently, unscathed skin.
Upon seeing Charles’s body, motionless and cold in his child bed,
Father began weeping, screaming.
This was an emotion I had never seen cross my Father’s brow before; I watched him - almost bemused - unsure of the root of this agony, but also afraid - for every action has a consequence...
The following morning, I woke up to the sound of noise, a clatter of dishes. I feared it meant that I had overslept, so I went down to the kitchen, to arrive to a freshly baked loaf of bread - something I'd never experienced. It was my job to make his daily gruel - homemade bread was entirely new
- was this the consequence of my negligence? He sat me down on his knee (instead of instantly retreating to his room), and offered me a generous piece, lavishing it with rich butter; speaking fairly, talking kindly, blessing me with promises of clothes and anything I merely passing
mentioned.
VOUS LISEZ
Dear Fred
FanfictionFan, Ebeneezer Scrooge's older sister has a story rarely told on the stage. Based upon a production I acted in (playing Francesca Scrooge herself) in December 2019, I took the opportunity to write out Fan's backstory (with ideas from the cast and cr...
