Excerpt from They Stay by Claire Fraise
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Teen (13-17)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
to Francesca in the whole of my sophomore class at Bethany high school. There isn't a girl who's more odd than me. I can see it in their eyes when they look at me, the other Children at school, the boy with the kind face doing the bags at the grocery store. Even my teachers side. I mean when I walk into the classroom and sink into a desk in the back and the hope it will stop everyone from staring at me. I have gotten used to the stairs but I do not particularly enjoy them. Do you see that creepy girl? They whisper that's Francesca, russo Francesca, firestarter. eight years ago. She burned a guy, let his dead body on fire at his own funeral. Hey Francesca. He was dead. Anyway, what was the point? While the words are mean? It is true. I did exactly what they said I did, but what is also true. But what nobody cares to believe is that I didn't burn him because I'm crazy. I burned him because he asked me to, I was eight years old on the day of George R Haggerty's funeral. The service was boring. I remember that much George Haggerty died not long after my mother and I remember not being pleased being back in the pews sandwiched between my father and brother smelling of wood polish and sanctity and listening to strangers give speeches full of words I didn't understand next to me. A woman was crying silently. I watched her chest heave, saw her tears flow and felt nothing. Death as a concept had never been elusive to me. Even when I was eight. Once people die, they exit their bodies and transform and diversions of themselves made of mist and moonlight, I can't touch them. Most people don't even see them. They wander the earth until they fade away and sink back into its fabric after a few years, sometimes more, sometimes less. My friend mrs Lewis has lived in the cemetery for close to 10 years, but when my mother died, she faded away before I even got a chance to see her. My heart squeezed at the thought. I missed her. I wished I could still see her. Even the afterlife isn't fair. The service ended. My father knew the hacker, he's quite well, so he wanted to stay for the reception. I stood beside him and trained my eyes on an old photograph displaying the two owners of the Eugene J. Haggerty funeral home. I was pretty sure George was one of Eugene's sons. It must be awfully hard having to put makeup on the dead body of your own son. I thought, as I leaned up and brushed my fingers against the glass. The embalmers put makeup on bodies for their funerals at least that's what Mrs Lewis told me because she was not fond of the way they painted her face for hers. I glanced around the room. Heavy shouldered guests passed around orders and condolences. That's when I first heard the moaning, a horrible, hideous groaning like someone was in so much pain that the sound had to force its way out of them. I checked to see if my father had reacted to the noise, but he did not flinch. The moon sounded again louder. This time I wandered over to my 11 year old brother Richie, who was rapping pigs in a blanket into a paper napkin and stuffing them into his pockets. I talked on the back of his puckered dress shirt. Do you hear that sound, Richie spun around. I had pulled his tie against his throat from behind as he was trying to swallow and now he was making choking sounds of his own almost in harmony with the groans. It was actually quite funny. I let out a shrill laugh and heads turned, quit it Frankie for christ's sake. Richie's cheeks bulged from the pigs in a blanket and he sprayed me with half chewed bits. I didn't mean to hurt you. Do you hear that strange sound? What sound? The crying ain't no crying. I gestured to his pockets. Does daddy know you're taking those, you tell him and I'll kill you! He jabbed his fat finger into my face and I giggled. I will. I'll smother you in your sleep. Richie walked away to go talk to his friends. I began to follow him when I heard another grown okay. I thought I'm definitely not imagining this. The sound wasn't coming from the reception. It was coming from farther down the hallway from the parlor where we'd all sat for George's funeral service. I wove through the black pants and tights stretching up around me like cauterized trees. My shiny black flats made small taps on the floor like drops of rain and an upside down bucket. I pressed my hand against the door. Be brave! I told myself with that I opened the door.
Tags
Drunk, Kid Next Door, Nerd, Aloof, Girly/Girlish, Sad, Scary, Youthful, North American (General)