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05 February 2009 @ 09:44 pm
More of Gabriel  

Title: ?
Rating: PG?
The death of Gabriel's mother is only the beginning of his problems. The actual start to something I posted quite a while ago.

“Aaron, I'm bored,” Annabel whined, shifting uncomforable in her seat. “Come ouside with me.”

“No. Go away.”

The situation was unusual. For once, Aaron was sitting and reading quietly, and Annabel wanted to get out.

“But, Aaron, Gabriel won't go out. He's practicing, and you know what he gets like.”

It always annoyed me when a person spoke as if the subject weren't in the room. I started hitting the keys of the piano more forcefully than I meant to. Behind me, Aaron made a noise of annoyance, as Annabel's dress rustled again with her impatient movements.

“Gabriel,” Aaron said. “Can't you please go out with her? She's bothering me.”

Why should I give my time? You can read outsie,” I snapped, slamming my hands down on the keys. It made a very ugly chord. “We're not supposed to be leaving, anyway.”

Aaron had hit a very annoying age. His irritablilty only made me just as much so. I felt bad for Annabel sometimes, having both her brothers act like this at the same time. At other times, like this, I found her just as insufferable as Aaron.

“Why can't we?” she asked.

“Because Mother's viewing is today, and we can't mess up our clothes,” I said, abandoning the piano. There was little chance I would get much done.

“What's wrong with her?” I would forgive Annabel for her ignorance. She was only four, and it was the first time a person around her had passed away. All she understood was that a funeral meant something bad happened to someone.

“She's dead,” Aarong snapped. “Gone. You'll never see her again.”

“Aaron,” I said. “Don't be so harsh.”

“Why not? It's the truth,” he replied.

Before I could respond, there was a rumble of carriage wheels outside, causing Annabel to rush past me. She pressed her hands and face against the window, and a look of awe came over her face.

“Look” she said. “Look at her hair.”

Aaron and I joined her. There was a girl climbing out of a carriage with her parents. Her hair was in tight, white-blone curls.

Aarong shrugged and said, “So, what? It's blonde.”

“It's beautiful.”

It's okay.”

I wish I had hair like that.”

“No you don't,” I said. “It takes a lot of maintenance for a mediocre result.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means it's really hard to make it look good.”

“Well, I don't care.”

The door opened, and our governess, Miss Gibson, entered.

“Come along,” she said. “It's time to go.”


I could imagine that the four of us—my father, Aaron, Annabel, and I—looked like walking Death. A load of black ahir, black eyes, and black clothes. It had been ages since I last saw Father, and in a way, he scared me. His hair had been cut since I last saw him, and his pale face seemed completely impassice. It was impossible to tell whether he was in shock, holding in sorrow, or didn't care. It's hard to be devastated over a person you never spent time with, and therefore barely knew.

“Gabriel,” Annabel whined again. “I want to go outside.”

Aaron hushed her. “We're not going anywhere. Now be quiet, and try to look tragically beautiful.”

“Gabriel,” she said, in a refusal to speak to our brother. “What's tragically?”

“I means really sad,” I whispered. “Now stop asking questions.”

There were a lot of people coming up to us, offering condolences. I didn't recognize most of them, and wondered how many of them were relatives comeing for the sake of propriety. Either way, I nodded, and tried to look as sad as I could. All I wanted was to get out of there, away from all the false sorrow and a woman I hardle knew, who lay pale and thin in a casket.

Annabel suddently stilled beside me, staring into the crowd of people. I followed her gaze. The girl with the blonde hair was standing patiently beside her mother. She looked a couple years younger than myself, and I had to admit, she was rather pretty. She turned to look at us, and I quickly turned away, afraid of being caught staring.

Still, I found myself searching for her all day. She was a familiar face in a sea of strangers, although I didn't know her. She showed no sadness, not hiding the fact that she was only there because her parents told her she had to be. Her hair seemed almost like a beacon, white amoung black, and I had a growing desire to talk to her, to get away from everyone else.

When the guests finally left for the day, Father retreated immediately to his study. Aaron and Annabel finally got their chance to get outside, and I made my way to the library. It was easy to avoid people when you want to in this huge house, especially hidden amoung the dusty books. I went in between the bookcases, and settled myself on the seat of one of the tall windows. The second row of panes had a hinge, and I opened the window to let in some air. Outside, I could hear Annabel laughing as Aaron pushed her on the swing under one of the trees.

I had a book in my lap, but I never ended up reading it. I felt the dread of the actual funeral the next day. It had to be better than the viewing, though. It wouldn't be as long, and we wouldn't constantly have people coming up to us to tell us they were sorry.

Afterward, Father would leave again, and the three of us would be alone once again with Miss Gibson.


We were the first in the church the next day. I had to restrain myself from turning around in the pew to watch for the girl with the blonde hair. When I could stand it no longer, and glanced as quickly as I could, I wasn't able to see her.

The eulogy seemed to go on forever. The priest droned on in a flat voice, and I found myself starting to nod off. It made me feel slightly guilty, and I looked around nervously. Aaron was talking to himself, and I realized that he was counting the panes of glass in one of the windows. Father's head was lowered and his eyes closed. At first I thought he was praying, but then I heard a slight wheezing. He had falled asleep.

Before I could stop myself, I let out a bark of laughter. The priest paused, and everybody in the church turned to look at me. I shrank down, wishing I could disappear. There were few things worse than laughing at a funeral, and one of them is when the funeral you are laughing in is your mother's. I felt saved when the good father started talking again, and people's attention was diverted once more.

Very quietly, so much so that it felt like he was breathing in my ear, Aaron asked, “What was that all about?”

“Father fell asleep,” I whispered back. “He was almost even snoring.”

Aaron looked incredulous, and just as amused as I had been, but managed to keep his thoughts to himself. The priest clearned his throat slightly. It was discreet, so that only the two of us who were talking would realize that he was pointedly indicating that we should be quiet.

I leaned back, and waited for the sermon to finish.

Notes: So I'm having a rather odd problem with LJ. Well, a couple. First with the font size on the "post" page being smaller than it turns out being on my actual journal. This is something I must investigate. Eventually. I figure so long as I know that it should be "small", then it's right. Right?

Also, for some reason when something is originally typed out double spaced and saved, then I try to change it to single spaced, it...doesn't work. While this really isn't a problem for most of my writing, it means if I want to put old stuff up that I originally typed double spaced, I have to retype it, all over again. I'm not entirely sure whether this is my computer or LJ that's doing this. But it could be worse. I just found out today that if you want to put writing on dA it has to be saved as .txt, which is retarded.

*coughs* But that doesn't really have a whole lot to do with what I have to actually say about this. Except that I don't really have anything to say....

I've been doing a bit of other original writing, so I'll put that up. Eventually.