It's Done!!!! My new Story: The Story of Rose Finch
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:16pm
Thread Topic: It's Done!!!! My new Story: The Story of Rose Finch
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The postcard finally came today. Just one, a soggy one, laying flat in the kohl colored mailbox.
The colors of Paris were smeared like a rainbow took a dump on it, and didn't care to clean it up.
I wiped the rain-water off on my jeans and loped back to the house, swerving around famished potholes looking for a foot to swallow.
Once inside the dark, cool cavern of Richard's house, I took out the card. The picture was smeared, and unfortunately, so was the actual letter.
I could only make out a few words, but that's was enough to start my journey, and eventually have me here, telling this story.
Can't say....trapped....will.....help.....
I didn’t tell him I was leaving. I simply packed a rag-bag of most of my clothes, the rest I left where they lay, peeping out of a shackled bureau, strewn across the moldy carpet, or in his bed, next to his bare sleeping form.
In the fog of the dew coming off the grass and smog broiling in the city, I walked down a cracked sidewalk next to Burlesque lounges and medieval-themed hotels were last night love-makers and crack-heads crashed.
No one was out this early. The sun hadn’t yet come over the hills that cupped the cities in a humid basin, and no one would probably be out until ten, exception of bright-eyed tourists and homosexual men looking for an open café.
At the bus station I waited for it to open, then bought a ticket. It was one to the airport, to which I’d already purchased a one way ticket.
I would not be coming back to Hollywood. Even though it was my childhood dream. A place of dazzling lights advertising strip clubs and casinos, vividly painted hotels themed in different eras, and not so civilized civilians dressed in vintage cocktails dresses and tweed suits.
On a clammy bench that stuck to my legs, Richard sat down next to me. I had expected him to find me, since he needed a why.
“My mother, in Paris,†I said, looking into the smoky eyes I had once fell for many months ago.
He nodded into the Styrofoam cup that held his first of scores of coffee he would sip throughout the day.
I leaned against his shoulder, pretending I wasn’t about to go find my own mother, held hostage. I would gladly stay here, in the magical metropolis. Mother had left so long ago, I had forgotten about her. She had back-stabbed my father by running off with a fair-skinned, brunette haired Parisian.
Now I was going to find her.
The bus sped in, screaming to a stop and its brakes slowed the metal behemoth. In the mist of gas and the aroma of a caramel-macchiato, he grabbed my arms and pulled me to him. We kissed for the last time, and I climbed the bus steps.
The next 10 hours were spent on travel.
When I finally arrived in "the city of love", I found a hotel, and slept away the last three hours until morning.
A crack in the drapes awoke me. Hot sunlight poured in my eyes, making my pupils shrink in protest. I shielded them and closed the drapes, looking at the hotel I hadn't really studied until this morning.
I had slept in a queen sized bed, pushed up against the wall opposite the window. The bathroom was on the other side of the wall that the bed was against and my rag-bag was thrown on the desk next to the bed.
I grabbed out one of my vintage slip dresses and went to the bathroom to take a shower.
As the water heated up I slipped the poctcard out of a pocket in my bag.
It was still smeared, but I could still see the letters that had brought me here in the first place.
Luckily, there was an adress.
Easy as...as....a murderer killing a baby? No, that's not it....stealing candy from a baby, yeah there we go....I like the murderer one better....
Finally, the water was warm and I stepped in, letting it run off my skin and warm my blood.
Walking down a city sidewalk, trying to find someone who knew a thing or two about this city. Smelling the grain and yeast of bakeries, seeing the infamous Eiffel tower, scraping the sky and lumbering over apartments and cafés.
And that's where I saw him, in a café, buying a coffee and sitting down at a metal table that wobbled on an uneven concrete block.
I approached him, hiding my face behind a pair of Aviators.
I couldn't believe I was feeling this way; nervous, like I had a swarm of butterflies in my stomach.
I swallowed hard once, then twice to push away the feeling. It didn't work, so I approached him.
"Um....would you know were this place...er, address is?" I hated the way my voice sounded: shaky, like my knees.
It still astounded me, I was normally the outgoing, loud-mouth, who was always hitting on boys.
But this one was different, and I wasn't a little silly girl anymore.
I was 19, in Paris alone, practically an adult-
"Yes, but you'll have to have dinner with me first." I blushed, and hoped he didn't see it, "Met me back here at seven, yes?"
I nodded, then bought a coffee and sat with him for a while before I left to go sight-seeing. -
*I saw it all from a different perspecitive.
Mom had been trapped here, she brought me as bait and pretended to him to be his little partner and crime.
But when then time came to kill me, she had it all planned out.
"Mom, that was amaz-"
"I'm sorry, Jesabelle. I shouldn't have you, or your father. I wasn't fit to be a mother, even now I'm not..."
Then she took her own life. She plunged the knife into her heart, straight into it, with a wet thump.
I cried. Cried like I've wanted to all these years after mom left me, I left Richard, I had a dead-end job, and no one to hear my cries.
I got up then, wiped away my tears with my long fingers, and walked out the door.
I got a one way ticket back to Hollyway, where I started my new career....
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