Romance Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Phantasmagoria ❯ Punter ( Chapter 2 )

The pressure was thin with nerves pressing against mine. The very air in the room itself was thick with anticipation and expectations; although not focused upon myself, but upon the actions I was capable of doing with what I held in my very hands. I sighed dismally, knowing I could no longer procrastinate what I, as well as my peers, had been waiting for the duration of the night that would set this night on the calendar as a bloody holiday to celebrate joyfully. I had to admit, I had never felt such a thrill, yet aching, feeling in the pit of my stomach; it felt much better than anyone could have described to me. I gave one final grin, allowing my teeth to gleam and my lips slide past them in a devious manner, hearing faint sighs and swoons breathed out as I did so. It was just a matter of time; only a matter of time now. My hand shook once…twice…thrice until the bars of the prison I called my fingers opened and released the prisoners to meet their fate.

 

My eyes widened and my breath was caught in a sudden choke in the back of my throat. I simply refused to believe this. I feared that if I did, it would all go away within a matter of moments of being awoken and disappointed from this dream. The sudden whooping and cheering brought me to the present time and my thoughts snapping back to the depths of my mind, the smile I wore so well deviously making its way back upon my lips, dancing upon my face. I had just won 10,000 pounds gambling, which is not as much as I had liked it to be, although beggars cannot be choosers. I wore my grin as proudly as I could, turning in my ticket to receive my prize money and head off home, dizzy and quite inebriated from the adrenaline that had been rushing around since I had walked into the building.

 

With the money in my hand, I trotted off in a skip and a hop, almost dancing down the streets. It was such a lovely night; I knew not the reason why people would celebrate such lovely hours sleeping and wasting away these beautiful moments while they could be shared with someone. I looked around with a rather disappointed face, a soft smile dancing on my lips, my mind wandering to other things that were not to be on my mind, yet haunted it with quite the feeling left behind. I shrugged it off as best I could, my eyes wandering to the street lights that were dimmed; it was only a while now before I was back in the country and out of this horrid, congested and overcrowded city. As much as I adored the city for the wonders that it held, I could never call it my home.

 

The light posts soon turned into deceiving light bugs, greeting me on my way home. It seemed quite late in the morning, which did not surprise me in the least. Everyone around town who knew me knew of my reputation of being quite the connoisseur of moonlight as well as a regular Casanova. My arrival late at home wasn't surprising in the least to anyone who knew me well enough—such as my father and my sister (heaven forbid she catches me out this late though, even with her knowledge of my infamous night wandering). My father was an easy-going man who was enormously proud of the one son he had, never worrying too much about when I came home or where I was off to, knowing better than myself that I would be back in the morning with something for him.

 

I could not believe how quickly this disease had struck him ill. It has been said that his happiness and joy, in which were profound and prominent through his younger days, created this weakness in him, which left him quite vulnerable to the sickness. However, knowing town rumors, there is not just one side of the story, but also two. The whole town disagreed to agree on the fact that he was left in this pitiful state due to his crazed and perplexing love he was so willing to give away as if it were a simple exchange of, “Hello.” They had come to the decision that it was one of two people (on occasion, I have heard it was both) who had diminished the young man they knew and grew to admire: my mother and I.

 

Mirabelle tends to concur with the thought that it is me who kills my father and places him in his bed, drought and stricken with illness. No, she believes it is not the disease who is causing my father real harm but my “dirty” habits of gambling, drinking, and staying out and coming back only when I please. I wish to argue with her, although, I find my real self being portrayed in the horrible words she speaks and I am to do nothing but hold my tongue and embrace the horrible thing I've become. Even if this had not been true, it is not wise to argue with a woman of her stature and pride, for you find yourself losing even more than you had keeping your mouth shut.

 

Neighbors and villagers, as well as others, spread cruel whispers about my mother's death stealing my father's happiness and health right from under him and leaving him in a cruel and deplorable state. I have to disagree with these gossips; even though I had been young at the time, there was never a time where my father could stay upset at my mother, or not be able to suppress a smile in her presence. It made me long and jealous of that kind of feeling I observed between the two of them, wanting someone just like that to hold, although it seems she could never be there, for she does not exist. Although being besides the point…

 

He and my mother were fit together better than a lock could ever hold up to a key. She was his Juliet and he her Romeo, only the rest of the tale spewed out and left Romeo dying after his lost Juliet. My fair mother had lost her life to an illness circulating around the country, which was quite rare, seeing as how she was rarely unwell. My father nursed her as best as he could, exhausting himself day after day from working to tending to my mother, only to be lost in the dismal, disturbance of my mother dying very shortly after her battle with the illness. As strong as she was, it had taken over her body and left us with a frail outline of what had been our strong mother.

 

I smiled a bit, entranced with the surroundings suddenly that popped to life, creating an escape from my drab thoughts. A cottage came out from behind a few trees with lanterns in the front of the doorway, the little flames dancing around for someone to put them out and let them rest for the night. Of course; as much as my father seemed unworried about where I was off to, he showed a token of caring here and there for me.

 

I strode up to the building, blowing out the flame of one lantern and bringing the other inside with me to light the way to my quarters. I passed by silently across the hallway where my father was located, peeking my head in ever so lightly. Content when I heard the sound of his soft snores echo across the room, I gently climbed the stairs, giving as much effort possible not to make even the slightest of sounds, seeing as how it was quite late and considering the thought of my father being worn down from his work, that he does ever so diligently even in his horrid condition. This was one of the things that upset Mirabelle most of all about me living with my father instead of him relocating with her and her husband in their quaint home: I allowed him to work and do what he pleased so long as it didn't put him in a grave. She would have denied him of any of his joys that he has now, such as reading late at night and running the family business. I believed he needed as much as he could to enjoy himself, seeing as how you live life only once and he has nothing else left to lose.

 

Halfway across upstairs I stood in front of my door, taking out the key and sliding it into the keyhole gently, turning it and opening up my room. As much as I had liked to rest for the night, I felt even more restless when I entered the room. With the lantern as my guide, I crouched down on my feet, my eyes falling down on the safe that had the income from the business my father was running quite successfully. I placed the bag with the prize money within; closing it off and locking it back up with a small smile and a sense of happiness rushing through. He was going through a tight time right now; I felt this was the least I could do to help.

 

I sighed, getting up off my feet and looking around for the tools my hand was aching to hold. It was time to do what I came in this room to do, other than to deposit the money within the vault. The lantern guided me around the room once more, my feet scuffling against the old wood floors to the rather small rack I had near the wall, full of my unused canvases, ready to use. I grabbed a medium sized one and took my leave, locking the door behind me.

 

Placing the key within the confines of my pocket, I strode off downstairs and to the backyard, where my own small house was. As much as I had adored the main house where most of everything took place and was, I couldn't bring myself to live in the same room I had many years ago as a child, or even a new one due to the memories it brought. In seeing so, I created my own small cottage outside in the back, hidden by trees and guarded with only the best dog I could have wished for. It was a bit marshy out on the front porch, but I was not one to complain. It was rather late and it had rained rather hard just the other day, so it was only to be expected. I made my way inside, unbuckling my shoes and leaving them on the doorstep to prevent a mess from happening. While my “ways” might be dirty, I myself certainly was not.

 

A warmness spread over me as I stepped foot within the house. What it was not in size made up for it in how much of a home it had become to me. I had the most marvelous tree house any boy of my age could have asked for right where I had constructed this small cottage with mine and my father's bare hands. When my mother had collapsed under her sudden death, I was the child appointed to stay with my father to nurse him back to health not just from the illness he had contracted himself, but emotionally as well. He saw no reason in having to build this sanctuary I had longed for, seeing as how there was more than enough room for me inside of the main house. As much as I had tried to explain to him, there was no amount of words to describe and draw a picture of what I had craved for the most: independency.

 

Being an artist, you need all the space you can get, in which I took. In exchange for using my previous room that I had resided in as a child as an art holder room and art supply room, I would be using more than enough room that I had cared for, needing a separate place to stray away to. As much as it had dismayed my father that I could not live in the main house along his side, he understood to the fullest extent; helping me with a grin and a pair of working hands to build my current household.

 

Grabbing an easel as well as a few paintbrushes and my tray of an array of paints I headed back outside where I had already had my stool waiting for me just outside of my window in the back of my house. I placed the easel down gently with the canvas already strung on snuggly to the marshy ground, the ends of the easel being swallowed by the mud and God knows what else beneath the grime. I placed my thumb through the hole of the tray, holding the rest of it flat and straight with the rest of my fingertips, tapping at the base of the board. With my free hand, I checked my pocket watch for the first time this night, finding that it was about to be seven. I just needed a few more minutes for the most perfect thing I have ever desired to capture and paint on a canvas. I felt almost guilty for having to keep such a beautiful thing captive on nothing but a canvas and allow other eyes but mine to see it, but beauty in its form as this was should be shared and cherished.

 

“Ah!”

 

My hands moved at a quick pace suddenly, keeping up with the speed of the movement knowing that this would not last as long as I had liked it to, which made it even more beauteous and precious to me. I was idiotic enough to blink right when it had come out, causing me to miss a second of the glorious wonders it brought along with it.

 

The sun transformed the lands that I had walked on not too long ago; a drab grey and black with an array of darker colors and shades to a wondrous tint of what it truly with yellows and pinks. The sky that was meant to be blue danced around with a silver-misted dress bathed in a gentle blush. My hands and color mixing abilities tried to keep up with it this time at the upmost speed, only seeming to flail in excitement from seeing it yet again, as if it had been an old acquaintance. My eyes barely left the horizon line of bumps in the valley, making the peak seem even more dramatic. It seems like seconds had been passing by and the sun was taunting me with its ability to move quicker than my hands, although it had been a good forty minutes since I had sat here and wriggled my arms around the canvas in attempt to capture every color, shade, tint, and hue expressed.

 

I sighed with relief, sitting back now with content. I felt a small smile pulling at the edges of my lips, brought on by the sight before me. I was able to enjoy the morning come up and bless the earth with its shining rays, before it turned into the unbearable day. As the pinks in the sky were fading outwards, I began to reach for my easel, coming out of my relaxed pose. I sat up slowly, walking into my house once more and setting the easel aside for the canvas to dry and my brushes as well as the pallet inside of the small sink full of dishwater to allow the paints to be soaked out.

 

With a final groan, I threw myself upon my bed, finally experiencing the exhaust my body was in attempt to allow me to feel, being ignored by the adrenaline that had kept me busy from feeling otherwise. My head was cushioned by the fall with pillow, my body undressing itself out of my breeches and leaving my undergarments intact with my arms pulling the covers to the bed over my body.

 

My eyes closed and all the faint sounds of chirping birds disappeared all into a peaceful and quiet blur…

 

“I swear by the heaven, boy, if you do not get up right now I shall hang you by your toe nails and then your toes! You better pray God is merciful on your soul!”

 

My throat released a groaning sounding from the back of my throat, my body aching in misery.

 

“What is that you need so dearly, seeing as how we're still in the early hours of the morning?” I raised my head slightly off the pillow to where I was able to see my obnoxious sister standing in her usual hands on her hips stance over my bed. “Yes, and in some countries, such as this one, that means to get up and start work! More than half the town is up right now with their daily activities, whereas you, my brother, are doing nothing but lying on your lazy, inconsiderate, arse!” She hollered, feeling the need to yell when I was only but a foot away from her. Ah, it was times such as this one and every other morning I was burdened to hear her voice and see her face, I wish I were but a blind and deaf fool. I was more than appreciative of the fact that I was blessed with sisters and caring ones at that, although sometimes they felt nagging—this one in particular.

 

“Why is a young woman, such as yourself, using such coarse and unmannered words? I thought we had taught you better.” I laughed gently, murmuring another string of words to her through my pillow as my head shifted back to its original position. The room stayed in a silence for a splice of a moment, only to be broken by Mirabelle.

 

“I swear by the grave of our mother you shall be the next one to lie beside her if you do not get out of your bed this instant! Or do you need further persuasion to rise otherwise?” I sighed, exasperated with where this conversation was leading to. My toes were the first to touch the floor, bringing the rest of my exhausted body upwards and giving it balance. “Ah good,” She smiled, her snow rose pink lips curving upwards into a satisfied manner. I had just noticed that she was dressed as if she were going somewhere expecting. Her rather long, soft brown hair was curled into small ringlets that were pinned neatly in the back with some falling in front of her face, topped with a small hat and dressed to match her dark purple velvet hat was a nice dress. Her piercing green eyes looked through mine with a hard set stare, her seemingly sweet smile morphing into a devious one.

 

“Where are we going, oh dear Mirabelle?” I moaned, throwing myself back upon my bed when she turned around and headed for my wardrobe, picking out what I would wear as if I were five years old and she were my mother. “To town to meet this very lovely girl I picked out for you. Oh, I swear brother, she's quite the accomplished lady! I cannot wait for you to meet her yourself! I'm sure you'll come to find her quite agreeable!” Her grin stretched from ear to ear.

 

“No, I will not go. You should know better by now that even as a sister, you can no longer play a matchmaker with me. I wish to be free and free of marriage as well as all of its responsibilities of being in love and whatnot.”

 

“If she was that horrid, Devry, then I would have not chosen her. You will like this one!” She attempted to smile sweetly, countered by my scowl and dismayed face. “I already said no and you cannot twist my arm or tell me otherwise to go.” With that, I marched over towards the door, grabbing my jacket and placing it on as I walked outwards with screeches of my sister following me from behind.

 

“Boy you listen here!” Her hands had flown onto my arm and kept me where I was. “You need to marry yourself out of this debt that you've crawled into for the sake of the family name! You cannot just depend on the business to do you any good when you hardly have any income coming through! Father is dying, in case you have not noticed and he is far too ill to be working! Even at his age, he should be retiring in his bed all afternoon or doing whatever he pleases!” She snarled. Yes, because marrying out of poverty was not only ethical but a wonderful way to express sentiments of compassion. As easy as it sounded, I could not be persuaded to marry as easily as it was to gamble or drink.

 

“I enjoy working, I shall have you know, my dearest Mirabelle. As for you Devry, I agree with Mirabelle about you being wed to a woman, seeing as how all the rest of the eligible men are having weddings every day and there are no more good men out for you.” My father smiled delicately. “Papa, I am serious! Don't make a joke of that to Devry; he might take you serious and God knows how much I'd like nieces and nephews.” She made a quick cross with her hands at the mention of His name. “My dear, you need to stop pestering your brother and make do with pestering your husband, seeing as how you have one to do so. Leave your brother be and let him be a free man while he still can.”

 

As much as my father's words assisted in ridding Mirabelle, I knew deep down inside him as well as a desire for grandchildren from me, seeing as how I was down the line next and Mirabelle was already a mother of two. “Speaking of children, where are the little ones, Mirabelle?” He inquired, looking around the area, his eyes returning to hers with the same question desiring to be answered. “They are at home with their father right now. I was to take Devry to make the acquaintance of an old friend, although it seems that socializing without alcohol seems to be less of his forte.”

 

“Nonsense! Devry is quite talkative with me and I hardly ever see this boy drink, unless it be of special occasion, then we drink together! Speaking of, I do require some help in the printing room. Would you mind lending me a hand or so, Devry? I'm afraid I'm not able to move as I used to.” He smiled warmly, beckoning me with his hand. “I must go sister. Have fun with your friend and give her my condolences.” I bowed my head and left off with my father, whispering small strings of appreciation for ridding Mirabelle.

 

“Ah, the joys of being young! When are you going to find yourself someone suitable, my son? I do not mind waiting to receive grandchildren from you, although it would be nice if I could see a young lady prancing around in the morning or you residing in the main house again.” He chortled, his eyes gazing over to the house he so fondly spoke of. “But like I said, I can wait if it's a good woman you are after. Until then, let us go to the shop! I need a new cover for this book this rather meticulous author's upcoming book. I swear, that man will be the end of me.” My father shook his head angrily. “But anyways, come now.”

 

His frail fingertips clawed my shirt, tugging at it to pull me forward. “Father, you know Mirabelle's right.” I spoke hesitantly, waiting for him to say something. “Of course she is; her and your mother think exactly alike, and we all know your mother is never wrong.” He chuckled. “Then you should take her advice and retire soon from the printing press. If anything, I can take over and bring in the girls to help me when needed. You should be resting right now, not up and about as you are.”

 

“Oh Devry, I know both you and my dear Mirabelle worry so much over your dear father here, although I am quite fine. You both should not worry at all; I enjoy working. How would you feel if you were to take the only joy I have present in my life?” He stared up at me for a moment, his soft eyes turning suddenly hard and cold, waiting for my answer. “…fine. Just promise me that you will not overwork yourself into a stupor.” I sighed, following his movements to the main house. “You shall be working in the back today, dear boy. Unless you'd like to work in front where the girls and women can gaze and swoon at you, my handsome son.” He chortled.

 

I shook my head immediately. It was not understood to me quite yet why I was considered amiable in the eyes of young women. Both my mother and father had always said it was my unusual eyes of a mixed green in the left and brown on the right that attracted women, placing them under my trance. I agree, my eyes were odd and rare to where I lived, although I had a feeling at the pit of my stomach it wasn't my eyes that the women were after but the weight of my pockets.

 

“Then you are fine as you are. Pull your hair back please; you might get it drenched with ink again.” He giggled, walking to the front yard where we would set our destination and head over to the press shop. I laughed, running my fingers through my hair quickly and pulling strands out of my face, combing it back a bit. I looked back upwards towards the sun where I had been painting just earlier, capturing a new sight that would have me perplexed and craving to capture it tomorrow.

 

“Devry, are you on your way? Or should I leave you to find your own way there?” My father called out from the carriage. My thoughts snapped back as well as my head towards the direction my father was beckoning from. “Wait, I am coming.” I replied, turning my head once more towards the garish light and walking over towards my father, onwards towards the press.