GRAVE FOR THE SOLITUDE, theodore laurence

01| a normal day in the neighbourhood

CHAPTER ONE
a normal day in the
neighbourhood

In the outskirts of the mainland within the thin woods laid a wrecked-up cottage, where dark moulds embedded the cracks. The chimney was always seen sending out hazy smoke to the sky— which would crinkle and puff into thin air. Everyone who lived nearby knew the lonesome Rigby family of three which lived in that cottage; they were the embodiment of poor, yet the pure examples of humble and kind. The Rigby cottage was lopsided and looking as though it was on the brink of shattering into its remains of planks of jagged oak wood. Its floors were spotted and dark, due to the many unforgiving storms which managed to leak through the patched roof.

           And as the excitement and giddiness of Christmas and New Years died down, Mrs Rigby would soon get around to knitting a whole new batch of clothing to fight against the Winter. A fresh scent of new beginning perfumed the entirety of Cordon Massachusetts, as snow laid a blanket over the man's land. The snow prevented anyone to go out and take their usual afternoon walks, though, Eleanor Rigby would have said otherwise.

           Her thick boots engraved footsteps into the powder of wet snow as a wild tale flourished in her head. Perhaps it was the chilling weather, but as she rambled to herself carelessly, her teeth clattered together. Shivers rolled up her spine and the tightened bulky wool coat felt coiled around her waist. Though, Eleanor was vaguely aware of the shivers, as she was more concerned about the merely translucent huffs of smoke which exploded from her bright pink lips every time she took a breath. Eleanor trudged through the woods as her half-empty beaten down satchel swung back and forward in the beat of her strides. The world to Eleanor was gorgeous; especially the seemingly unforgiving Winter. Though many fevers and flus begin from the tempered frost, she couldn't help but admire the works of nature around her. The pristine weather-beaten treachery was beautiful in Eleanor's eyes.

           To Eleanor's avail, she wasn't surprised when her mother's five-hour tutoring lessons left her hungry for adventure. Drawn out calculus lessons and algebra were the worst, as Eleanor claims that 'writing and adventure will last forever, but math and algebra is far too structured for my reckless mind'. This is, of course, due to the reckless mind which she claims to have.

           'Why do people never take walks when its Winter, Aqua?' She asked Aquila.

           However, the only response she received was the whistling of the chilling wind.

        Aquila was no one. She has always been the figment of Eleanor's imagination— ever since she became old enough to read and grow self-conscious about herself. Of course, Eleanor knew that Aquila wasn't real. Sometimes, in rare cases, Aquila would be the person who Eleanor yearned to be. However, the fact that her imaginary friend (sometimes foe) wasn't real, never stopped Eleanor from naming her conscience the gorgeous name "Aquila", who adopted the short sweet nickname of "Aqua". Aquila made her feel less lonely and more or less weird than she already felt.

         Eleanor paused for a moment but spoke again as she weaved through the stick-like trees. 'I don't know . . . it's just people would say that it is an un-pleasurable weather to take walks in. But I don't see the problem in that,' she murmured. Eleanor made her way out on an all too familiar open field, sandwiched between two large homes— one a deep black and the other being an angel white, just like the Winter snow surrounding it. She grinned to herself. 'The Winter is just as beautiful as the Spring.'

           She proceeded to stroll along the rim of the field, mostly towards the intimidating mansion, as she observed the infamous March home across from her.