Hush (Official/Unofficial Title)

[• Echo]

I guess this is a rough draft, and I don't think it's really a completed first chapter. Please leave a comment, but no flames please, I'm fragile!

Chapter One

Ring-a-ring-a-roses,
A pocket full of posies.
Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush!
We’re all tumbled down.

POV: Danielle (Fiona) Meuse

My eyes snapped open to stare up at the ceiling, hand instantly going behind my head to reach under the pillow for my Glock. My chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, my body sprinkled with specks of sweat. Lifting up into a sitting position, bending my knees, I looked around the empty room, making sure there was no one else there but me. Of course there wasn’t.

I fell back onto the pillows with a sigh, torso turned upwards to the ceiling, legs falling to the side, and arms raised above me. My right arm was bent at the elbow, disappearing under the pillow, my hand still resting against the cool metal of the gun. Moonlight streamed in through the open window, letting in a welcoming breeze with it that gently caressed my body and cooled my heated skin, my heartbeat returning to normal. The nightmares had been getting increasingly worse these days, and it was becoming harder to banish the gruesome thoughts from my mind every morning when I got out of bed. My eyes drifted towards the clock as the thought crossed my mind. The green fluorescent numbers blinked 2:28 back at me, and I sighed, knowing I had no excuse to get up this early. I mine as well get back to sleep.

As much as my mind wanted to drift off into the dreamless recovery sleep that always came after an episode, my body continued to defy me, insisting it wasn’t tired in the least bit. Finally giving in, I pushed the light quilt off of my midsection and swung my legs to the side, climbing out of the bed. Walking around the side, I flipped the light switch at the door on, light illuminating the room with a yellow glow. I sat down at my desk, catching an image of myself in the full length mirror to my right before I flipped open my sketch pad to a new, blank page. Picking up a charcoal stick, I began sketching while the image was still fresh in my mind, thinking with my hands.

Streak after streak followed the first, each touch light, layered here, peppered there, cross-hatched there, adding shades and depth to the image. Crisp lines in some places, whereas thicker, choppier lines were needed in others. I didn’t think about anything except the drawing in front of me, taking my time in a hopeful attempt to finish and find it being a reasonable time to get up and go do something worthwhile. But, of course, the sketch didn’t take that long.

Finally I sat back to examine my handiwork. A sinister-looking boy looked back out at me, his entire face covered in gray shadows, the background completely black to frame his face and shoulders, which stood out from the darkness. His eyes were white, minus the very light shading, eyebrows narrowed down and iris dark, though the pupil was darker. Tiny lines went throughout his iris like veins, though I knew that it was really lines of brown that went through his hazel eyes. Dark hair fell shaggily into his eyebrows.

“Luke,” I whispered quietly to myself, recognizing the arrogant frown anywhere. For the past year he had haunted my dreams and tracked my every move, until I had finally gone to the one place where I knew he could never get me. Home.

But was it really? I had hated growing up in this house in Ireland. Or at least I had hated my father. And he had hated me. All of his children, I liked to think. Or he had a funny way of showing his love. He had sent us all to school in England, we couldn’t even stay in Ireland, and he had paid for us all to go. Except me. And he wouldn’t even enroll me in a school in town, I had to get scholarships and pay for all my own tuitions. He was only ever home half the time, but when he was, he was a mean and disorderly drunk. One of my older brothers had once had to beat him with a crowbar to get him off our mother. Then he had had to run off in order to not get killed by our father. We didn’t see him again for another week and a half, until ‘dad’ had finally left. He had never been no father to us; we would have been better off raised by a single mom. Which we practically were, anyway. It’s not like he had ever contributed anything but stress and anger to the family.

He had just disappeared shortly after my senior year of high school. Just left. I doubted he ever looked back. I never saw him again. Never wanted to, either. I was glad he was finally gone; things got a lot better after he was.

I shook myself out of my thoughts. Why was my dad even in my thoughts, anyway? And why could I still not stop thinking about Luke now? I was as safe as I could possibly be here, and I had Kat keeping an eye on him and keeping me posted. Thinking of Kat…

Picking up my cell phone, I dialed the familiar number that was etched into my brain. On the second call, a sleepy Kat finally picked up the phone.

“Hey.”

“Danielle? What the hell, it’s, like, three in the morning,” she yawned. “What do you need?”

“What’s new?” I asked quietly, knowing the answer before she said it, though I just needed to be sure. Kat would have called me if things were getting too sketchy.

“Shit, man, nothing really. Luke’s still pissed, guess you missed this season, cost him a lot of money I guess. He’s still obsessed, though he’s taking on new jobs again, finally. Stopped driving us all crazy.” I heard her yawn again and breathed a sigh of relief. This was better news.

“Okay, good. Hey, Kat, I’m going to need your help with something,” I said after a moment’s tentative pause. The other line was silent for so long that I thought she may have fallen back asleep.

“This can’t be good then, you’re little ‘favors’ are always long and require real work. Can it wait until morning? I’d like to get a decent night’s sleep without something you need me to do stuck on my mind,” she said, and I smiled tightly.

“Yeah, sure, I’m not forgetting this anytime soon, even though the night is technically over.” Kat swore into my ear and hung up. Putting the phone back down on the desk, I picked up the charcoal again, writing over the top of the page of the drawing. Now that I had this plan in my mind, it wasn’t going anywhere, and it might be the only way I was ever going to get real sleep again, even if Luke was still coming after me.

Where are you?

I sighed, flipping the pad closed and standing to walk back over to the bed. Crawling under the covers, I picked up the remote and flipped on the TV.

‘At least it’ll give me something to do until the morning.’

[Daydreamer]

This sounds great!! You should post it on Quizzilla!! and write more lolz

[• Echo]

Thanks. This started out as a short story for last year's AP English exam, but then instarted thinking and started to make a deeper plot line and so on and so forth. So now I've got seemingly hundreds of little pieces and details and ideas all centered around this one story, and I finally decided to try and put it into better words. But, what's Quizzilla?

[Daydreamer]

http://quizilla.teennick.com/

Its great for posting original work, people can see it rate it and in my opinion its great! You should deffinetly check it out

[themagus]

Thats pretty good, the beginning didn't catch me right away due to lack of information, or something els i found missing and can't get into words, but by the end its great.

[Man O' War Lover]

You could also post it on Ficion.Press it's sister site to Fan.Fiction.Net exsept the members on Fiction.Press write there own origanal work. It's got over 1.2 million members-

[• Echo]

I've heard of Fiction.Press and was thinking of putting it on there, I had never heard of Quizilla, though I'll check it out. And themagnus, do you have any idea for a way to fix that, then? I'm happy to take any reviews and comments.

[themagus]

I guess its the first person thing, im not used to reading material written like that...
What i found missing is the character appearance i think, i can find out about the personality as the story goes on, and thats really interesting. But right at the beginning while the words goes through my mind and the character refered as "me" sit up and then lie back down, i as a reader don't know how that new "me" im reading about looks like and its getting hard to see in my mind how that character handle him/her-self.
On the other hand it seem to be pretty difficult to describe a the hero in a first person story... i guess thats why they don't make many movies like that. I guess its a huge imagination opportunity too.

[• Echo]

Well, I tried to fit the description in more, but it's in the next section, still the first chapter. She's also not exactly what I would call 'the hero' of the story, and not the entire story is in first person. If you've ever read a James Patterson story, then it's like that, in a way. And I'm still not exactly sure what view I'm doing it in, either. If I do it in first person, then only sections (in Danielle's POV) will be in first, and the rest in third. But I was also thinking of doing the whole thing in third, or even parts in ominous.

[• Echo]

But like I said, this is a rough draft. Thanks for the opinion, if it's difficult to get, then I'll switch it into third and re-post it.

[themagus]

I don't know if you should, if its your style of writing... it got its pros and cons and you don't see a lot of works like this one, so maybe you shold keep it that way. It does become better and better as i go on reading, till its great, so don't be so hasty as to change that, if its a rough draft give it more time.

[• Echo]

Well, I can do third-person just as good and sometimes better than first, it's ominous that gets tricky, and sometimes first or third. I revised it to put it into third, I have both copies saved, and this one is more complete and detailed than the first, less rough. Tell me which you guys think is better.

Chapter One

Ring-a-ring-a-roses,
A pocket full of posies.
Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush!
We’re all tumbled down.

Danielle’s eyes snapped open to stare up at the ceiling, struggling to control the sudden onslaught on her mind as her hand jerked up to reach beneath her pillow, fingers closing around her Glock. Her chest rose and fell with shallow gasps, her body sprinkled with specks of sweat. Lifting herself up in a sitting position, bending her knees into a more comfortable position, she looked around the empty room, eyes struggling to adjust to see into the shadows. She tried to detect something, anything out of place, heart skipping a beat when she mistook the standing lamp to be the silhouette of a person, but there was no one else in the room with her.

She fell backwards against the pillows with a sigh, letting her legs fall back down again to the sides, lifting both her arms above her head. Her right arm was bent at the elbow, disappearing under the pillow, her hand still resting against the cool metal of the gun. Moonlight streamed in through the open window, letting in a welcoming breeze along with it, cooling her skin and aiding in returning her heartbeat to normal. The nightmares she had been having for the past seven months had gotten increasingly worse these days, making it harder to banish the ghastly figures from her mind each morning when she got out of bed. Her eyes drifted towards the clock as the thought crossed her mind, the green fluorescent numbers blinking 2:28 into the darkness and drawing a sigh out of her. This early in the morning, she had no excuse to be getting up. Rubbing her free hand across her forehead, she pushed her hair from her blue-green eyes as she slipped them closed, letting out a deep breath.

As much as her mind wanted to drift off into the dreamless recovery sleep that always came after an episode, her body continued to defy her, insisting it wasn’t tired in the least bit. Finally giving in, she pushed the light quilt off of her midsection and swung her long legs to the side, climbing out of the bed. Walking around the side, she flipped the light switch at the door up as she passed it, illuminating the room with a yellow glow which gave the light blue walls a green tint. She sat down at the dark mahogany desk, catching an image of herself in the full length mirror to the right, her dyed white-blonde hair tousled and falling down over her shoulders. She flipped open her sketch pad to a new, blank page and picked up a stick of charcoal, leaning forward to begin sketching while the image was still stuck in her mind’s eye.

Streak after streak followed the first, each tough light; layered here, peppered there, cross-hatched over there, adding shades and depth to the image. Crisp lines in some places, whereas thicker, choppier lines were needed in others. Danielle focused her attention on the drawing in front of her, absorbing herself in her work. She took her time, hopeful that she would finish and find it to be a reasonable time to get up and go do something worthwhile without getting strange looks from her brothers. But, of course, the sketch didn’t take that long.

Finally she was able to sit back to examine her handiwork with a critical artist’s eye. A sinister-looking boy looked back out at her, his face covered in shadows for the most part, highlighted on high points like his nose, forehead, and cheekbones. The background was even darker, bringing his face and shoulders more into the foreground. The boy’s eyes were white, minus the very light shading, and stood out from the rest of his features, eyebrows narrowed down and his iris dark, though the pupil darker. Tiny lines went throughout his iris like veins, but Danielle knew it was really lines of brown that went through his hazel eyes. Dark hair fell shaggily into his eyes, and Danielle shivered slightly, not knowing if it was from the cool breeze or the sudden chill that had crept its way into her chest.

“Luke,” she whispered quietly to herself, not even realizing she had spoken as she leaned closer over the image, lost in her thoughts. She would recognize that arrogant frown anywhere. For the past seven months this man had haunted her dreams and tracked her every move, until she had finally fled to the one place where Danielle knew he could never get her. Home.

But was it really? She had hated growing up in this house in Ireland. Or at least, she had hated her father. And he had hated her back. He had hated all of his children, she liked to think; it had seemed he was never impressed with any of the five kids. Or he had a funny way of showing his love to them. He had sent all of them except Danielle’s twin brother, a cancer patient, to school in England, and had even paid out of pocket for them all to go. Except for Danielle, the only girl, which convinced her he was sexist. And he had refused to enroll her in a school in town; she had had to get scholarships and pay for all of her own tuition fees, though her father never knew that two of her older brothers and her mother secretly helped pay.

He had only ever been home half the time, but, when he was, he was a mean and disorderly drunk. One of Danielle’s brothers had once had to beat him with a crowbar to get him off of their mother. Then he, Cathal, had had to run off in order to not get killed by his father. Danielle and her family didn’t see him again for another week and a half, until ‘dad’ had finally left again like he always did. He had never been a father to any of them; they would have been better off raised by a single mom. ‘Which we practically were, anyway,’ Danielle thought to herself. ‘It’s not like he had ever contributed anything but stress and anger to the family.’

He had disappeared shortly after Danielle’s senior year of high school; just left. She doubted he ever looked back; they never saw him again. Never wanted to, either. Danielle was glad he was finally gone; things got a lot better for them after he was.

She shook herself out of her thoughts. ‘Why is Dad even in my thoughts, anyway?’ she asked herself dryly. Her eyes drifted back down to the drawing in front of her. ‘And why can’t I stop thinking of Luke now?’ She was as safe as she could possibly be here, and she had Kat keeping an eye on him and keeping her posted. ‘Thinking of Kat…’

Picking up her cell phone off the charger, she dialed the familiar number that was etched into her brain. On the second call, a sleepy Kat finally picked up the phone.

“Hey.”

“Danielle? What the hell, it’s like, three in the morning,” she yawned. “What do you need?”

“What’s new?” she asked quietly, knowing the answer before Kat said it, though she just needed to be sure. Kat would have called her if things were getting too sketchy over there.

“Shit, man, nothing really. Luke’s still pissed, guess you missed this season, cost him a lot of money I guess. He’s still obsessed, though he’s taking on new jobs again, finally, heard he missed rent. Stopped driving us all crazy, at least.” Kat yawned again on the other end of the phone and Danielle breathed a sigh of relief. This was better news.

“Okay, good. Hey, Kat, I’m going to need your help with something,” Danielle replied, crossing her fingers and hoping. The other line was silent for so long she began to think that Kat may have fallen back asleep in the short time it had taken Danielle to reply.

“This can’t be good then, you’re little ‘favors’ are always long and require real work. Can it wait until morning? I’d like to get a decent night’s sleep without something you need me to do stuck on my mind,” Kat grumbled, and Danielle smiled tightly.

“Yeah, sure, I’m not forgetting this anytime soon, even though the night is now technically over,” she pointed out to her friend. Kat swore into her ear and hung up without a goodbye. Putting the phone back onto the desk, Danielle picked up the charcoal again, scrawling over the top of the drawing. Now that this plan had begun to form in her mind, it wasn’t going anywhere, and it might be the only way she was ever going to get a real night’s sleep again. ‘Even if Luke is still coming after you,’ the tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her. She ignored it.

Where are you?

Danielle let out her breath in a sigh, flipping the pad closed and standing to walk back over to the bed, running her fingers through her long hair, trying to straighten out the waves and curls. Crawling under the warm covers, she picked up the remote and flipped on the TV.

‘At least it’ll give me something to do until the morning.’

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh, and by the way, if that little lullaby at the top sounds a little familiar, it's because it's the oldest version of Ring Around the Rosy. I've always thought all the versions interesting with all the refereces to the Plague. Now that I think about it, most little kid stories and a bunch of rhymes and nurseries are pretty creepy.

[themagus]

I actually like the first one better, im not sure why... maybe because the secound one feels more artificial but only at the beginning. I don't think you need to add more description to the actions the chatacter make, but thats a personal opinion, those kind of things usually win more votes than lose. Either this, or im still missing info about the whole story and background to appreciate those description properly, and if so its good.
Perhaps you can use something to describe the character in the first person version? For example - when she looks in the mirror (and thats a big mirror), or as a child in her memories.
Its not that i don't like the first person concept, i think its great especially in this story, im just not used to it.

[• Echo]

Yeah, but like I said, it was rough, so I was adding in the original thoughts I have. My rough drafts tend to be me scrawling down a thought before I forget it ^.^ Lol. Yeah, I never exactly proof read it before going to bed last night (at one in the morning), so I did that this morning before classes started and was like, 'Okay, not loving all this...' It seemed pretty crowded to me, and the structure just seemed to have fallen apart... So I edited out the bad parts again.

And it's not that big of a mirror... My full length mirror isn't as tall as me, nor as wide, but it's still considered full length because if you angle yourself right, you can see everything at different times.

[themagus]

I still like the first one more, the writing seem as it came more naturally.
And i still think you can use the mirror to describe the character in the first person version.
As long as it shows the whole body its good, right?

[• Echo]

Wow, took me long enough to get back here to see what you guys' opinions still are... You don't have to keep replying, though I'd greatly appretiate it.

Second part, not finished. First chapter, added to, kinda bleh and needs revision in some parts. Just, let me know.




Chapter One





Ring-a-ring-a-roses,
A pocket full of posies.
Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush!
We’re all tumbled down.



Fiona moved backwards from the mirror, newly dyed, white-blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders to frame her lightly tanned face. She reached up to catch one of the damp tendrils between her fingertips, feeling the wetness against her skin.
“It looks great,” she mused aloud to herself, eyes meeting her own in the mirror before sliding upwards to look at her older brother, Declan. His dark hair fell shaggily over his forehead and into his blue eyes.
“You wanted a new beginning,” he said slowly in his thick Irish brogue. “And so it is. New school, new country, new hair, and new name. And friends,” he added. Fiona shifted slightly in the chair and stood, removing the towel from her shoulders.
“And name,” she said quietly, her voice much less accentuated, adding to her brother’s list.
“Yeah, now you’re a ‘Danielle’ instead of ‘Fiona’. Basically just switching your first name with your middle name, but still new, Danni,” he teased gently, and Fiona smirked, her sea-colored eyes sparkling with anticipation of the new school year. Finally a freshman, finally escaping her father and being able to start over. She turned back to the mirror, twirling the strand around her finger. There were still so many changes she wanted to make, but she had four years before high school was over, plenty of time to do what she wanted to piss her father off.
“New,” she thought aloud to herself. “Brand new.”


Danielle’s eyes snapped open to stare up at the ceiling, struggling to control the sudden onslaught on her mind as her hand jerked up to reach beneath her pillow, fingers closing around her Glock 26. Her chest rose and fell with shallow gasps, her body sprinkled with specks of sweat. Lifting herself up in a sitting position, bending her knees into a more comfortable pose, she looked around the empty room, eyes struggling to adjust to see into the shadows. She tried to detect something, anything out of place, heart skipping a beat when she mistook the standing lamp to be the silhouette of a person, but there was no one else in the room with her.

She fell backwards against the pillows with a sigh, letting her legs fall back down again to the sides, lifting both her arms above her head. Her right arm was bent at the elbow, disappearing under the pillow, her hand still resting against the cool metal of the gun. Moonlight streamed in through the open window, letting in a welcoming breeze along with it, cooling her skin and aiding in returning her heartbeat to normal. The nightmares she had been having for the past seven months had gotten increasingly worse these days, making it harder to banish the ghastly figures from her mind each morning when she got out of bed. Her eyes drifted towards the clock as the thought crossed her mind, the green fluorescent numbers shining the time 2:28 into the darkness and drawing a sigh out of her. This early in the morning, she had no excuse to be getting up. Rubbing her free hand across her forehead, she pushed her hair from her blue-green eyes as she slipped them closed, letting out a deep breath.

As much as her mind wanted to drift off into the dreamless recovery sleep that always came after an episode, her body continued to defy her, insisting it wasn’t tired in the least bit. Finally giving in, she pushed the light quilt off of her midsection and swung her long legs to the side, climbing out of the bed. Walking around the side, she flipped the light switch at the door up as she passed it, illuminating the room with a yellow glow which gave the light blue walls a green tint. She sat down at the dark mahogany desk, catching an image of herself in the full length mirror to the right, her dyed-blonde hair tousled and falling down over her shoulders. She flipped open her sketch pad to a new, blank page and picked up a stick of charcoal, leaning forward to begin sketching while the image was still stuck in her mind’s eye.

Streak after streak followed the first, each tough light; layered here, peppered there, cross-hatched over there, adding shades and depth to the image. Crisp lines in some places, whereas thicker, choppier lines were needed in others. Danielle focused her attention on the drawing in front of her, absorbing herself in her work. She took her time, hopeful that she would finish and find it to be a reasonable time to get up and go do something worthwhile without getting strange looks from her brothers. But, of course, the sketch didn’t take that long.

Finally she was able to sit back to examine her handiwork with a critical artist’s eye. A sinister-looking boy looked back out at her, his face covered in shadows for the most part, highlighted on high points like his nose, forehead, and cheekbones. The background was even darker, bringing his face and shoulders more into the foreground. The boy’s eyes were white, minus the very light shading, and stood out from the rest of his features, eyebrows narrowed down and his iris dark, though the pupil darker. Tiny lines went throughout his iris like veins, but Danielle knew it was really lines of brown that went through his hazel eyes. Dark hair fell shaggily into his eyes, and Danielle shivered slightly, not knowing if it was from the cool breeze or the sudden chill that had crept its way into her chest.

“Luke,” she whispered quietly to herself, not even realizing she had spoken aloud as she leaned closer over the image, lost in her thoughts. She would recognize that arrogant frown anywhere. For the past seven months this man had haunted her dreams and tracked her every move, until she had finally fled to the one place where Danielle knew he could never get her. Home.

But was it, really? She had hated growing up in this house in Ireland. Or at least, she had hated her father. And he had hated her back. He had hated all of his children, she liked to think; it had seemed he was never impressed with any of the five kids. Or he had a funny way of showing his love to them. He had sent all of them except Danielle’s twin brother, a cancer patient, to a school higher up towards Northern Ireland, and had even paid out of pocket for them all to go. Except for Danielle, the only girl, which convinced her he was sexist. And he had refused to enroll her in a school in town; she had had to get scholarships and pay for all of her own tuition fees, though her father never knew that two of her older brothers and her mother secretly helped pay.

He had only ever been home half the time, but, when he was, he was a mean and disorderly drunk. One of Danielle’s brothers had once had to knock him out before the older man had truly hurt anyone. Then he, Cathal, had had to run off in order to not get killed by his own father, wielding a loaded shotgun when he got back up. Danielle and her family didn’t see him, Cathal, again for another week and a half, until ‘dad’ had finally left again like he always did. He had never been a father to any of them; they would have been better off raised by a single mom. ‘Which we practically were, anyway,’ Danielle thought to herself. ‘It’s not like he had ever contributed anything but stress and anger to the family.'

He had disappeared shortly after Danielle’s senior year of high school; just left. She doubted he ever looked back, and they never saw him again. Never wanted to, either. Danielle was glad he was finally gone; things got a lot better for them after he was.

She shook herself out of her thoughts. ‘Why is Dad even in my thoughts, anyway?’ she asked herself dryly. Her eyes drifted back down to the drawing in front of her. ‘And why can’t I stop thinking of Luke now?’ She was as safe as she could possibly be here, and she had Kat keeping an eye on him and keeping her posted. ‘Thinking of Kat…’

Picking up her cell phone off the charger, she dialed the familiar number that was etched into her brain. On the second call, a sleepy Kat finally picked up the phone.

“Hey.”

“Danielle? What the hell, it’s like, three in the morning,” she yawned. “What do you need?”

“What’s new?” she asked quietly, knowing the answer before Kat said it, though she just needed to be sure. Kat would have called her if things were getting too sketchy over there.

“Shit, man, nothing really. Luke’s still pissed, guess you missed this season, cost him a lot of money I guess. He’s still obsessed, though he’s taking on new jobs again, finally, heard he missed rent. Stopped driving us all crazy, at least.” Kat yawned again on the other end of the phone and Danielle breathed a sigh of relief. This was better news.

“Okay, good. Hey, Kat, I’m going to need your help with something,” Danielle replied, crossing her fingers and hoping. The other line was silent for so long she began to think that Kat may have fallen back asleep in the short time it had taken Danielle to reply.

“This can’t be good then, you’re little ‘favors’ are always long and require real work. Can it wait until morning? I’d like to get a decent night’s sleep without something you need me to do stuck on my mind,” Kat grumbled, and Danielle smiled tightly.

“Yeah, sure, I’m not forgetting this anytime soon, even though the night is now technically over,” she pointed out to her friend. Kat swore into her ear and hung up without a goodbye. Putting the phone back onto the desk, Danielle picked up the charcoal again, scrawling over the top of the drawing. Now that this plan had begun to form in her mind, it wasn’t going anywhere, and it might be the only way she was ever going to get a real night’s sleep again. ‘Even if Luke is still coming after you,’ the tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her. She ignored it.

Where are you?

Danielle let out her breath in a sigh, flipping the pad closed and standing to walk back over to the bed, running her fingers through her long hair, trying to straighten out the waves and curls. Crawling under the warm covers, she picked up the remote and flipped on the TV.

‘At least it’ll give me something to do until the morning.’


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Danielle woke up not even three hours later to the sound of rain driving against the windows. A cold spray of water struck over her and she shivered, sliding her legs over the side of the bed and standing, reaching over to drag the window shut. She stood there for a minute, watching the rainwater trickle down the window, thinking about how only a little over two hours ago, she had woken up from the same old nightmare with the same old Luke.
Grey clouds blocked out the color streaks of dawn, though the sky was still considerably darker than it had been earlier, even when the stars and crescent moon had been out. Danielle turned away from the window on a sigh, picking up a small, wool blanket that was draped over the back of the chair placed in front of her desk, pulling it tight over her shoulders. Trading her shorts for a pair of long pajama bottoms, she straightened up the sheets on her bed. The rain began to pick up in tempo, the wind lashing mercilessly at the house and seeming to drive a permanent chill into the building. Danielle shivered and pulled the blanket closer to her small frame, glancing out the window as she moved forward to tug the drapes shut. In one of the pastures, about a dozen cattle were huddled together in a group beneath one of the shelters, heads down and turned away from the driving wind and rain. Danielle’s eyes wandered over the green, Irish valley once more before the curtain was pushed into place, and she turned away again.
Downstairs, the house was quiet, though a light was shining brightly in the kitchen. Danielle walked in to see her mother standing at the counter, hands clasped around a cup of tea that was still steaming slightly. She looked up as her oldest daughter walked in, offering a small smile to the slight girl who she hadn’t seen in at least a couple years.
“Good morning,” she greeted, her Irish tongue sounding strong yet quiet at the same time, resounding throughout the small kitchen.
“Morning,” Danielle said quietly, her accent noticeably softer, wavering on the edge of a soft English or Australian, both of which countries she had spent considerate amounts of time in over the years after high school.
“There’s still some left,” her mother said, gesturing to the tea kettle, and Danielle nodded, hesitating only a moment before she moved forward to pour herself her own cup. She was pouring a bit of creamer in before she spoke again.
“It’s a little early to get up,” she said quietly, glancing at the clock, now reading 5:54.
“Yes, it is, yet you’re up,” her mother commented, and Danielle shrugged slightly.
“The rain woke me up,” she explained, gesturing out the kitchen window as lightning lit up the sky in the distance, the sound of thunder following it after a moment’s pause. Danielle’s mother nodded her understanding.
“You never did like storms,” she recalled, and Danielle let a small smile play at the corners of her lips, remembering how she used to force her brothers into staying by her side until she fell asleep at nights where the rain shook the house.

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