To Be Continued?
So, if people like this, I may continue it. Thoughts?
She sighed quietly. It was the sort of day that called for a breathy sigh. Light grey clouds hovered reluctantly, as if quite wishing that they were storm clouds. She wondered in the back of her mind if the clouds were ever tired of being clouds. It seemed to her that these mild, misty confections must wish to be something else--they never seemed to want to commit to anything. The forefront of her mind was preoccupied by the idea of onomonopoea. There ought to be a word, she thought, for that soft whisper of air that passes through the hair next to one's ear. Not quite a shushing noise. More... expectant. The sort of noise one might hear if one's thinking was about to be interrupted by--
"Come on, Megs, I can't have scared you that badly," my brother grinned, jostling me out of my third-person thoughts. I smiled wryly.
"When you sneak up on me and grab me when I'm trying to have a good think, I squeak," I told him patiently, as if speaking to a two-year-old.
"Which is exactly why I do it, of course."
"Naturally. What's going on?" I asked, shaking off the irritation accompanying the loss of a lovely internal monologue.
"Mum wants you back inside," Ryan replied. "She said, and I quote, that you'd 'better hoof it back in here before I have to have a banshee fit.'"
"Mkay." I hauled myself to me feet, brushing a bit of dirt off of my brown leather skirt. "Any idea what she wants?"
"Well, we'll be landing soon; I reckon she wants you assigned and costumed before we touch dirt," he guessed, leading me back inside. The ship (for lack of a better word) was a pleasant one. Each room had an individual observation deck, to my delight. I loved sitting outside, watching the clouds go by as the balloons above held us high above the ground. Mummy wasn't thrilled; she thought I ought to stay inside, but I wouldn't stay cooped up inside whenever we're in the atmosphere
. "Mum? You in here?" I hollered, walking into the kitchen.
"Oh, Megsie, there you are. Time to get ready, love; we're performing as soon as we're land-side."
"Who am I today?" I asked. See, we're a travelling theater troupe--we have our own balloon system, and we travel all over, performing.
"Well, we're doing "The Clockwork Beauty", so..." she trailed off, looking apologetic.
"The princess. Again. And an automaton. Thanks, Mumsy dearest."
"I'm sorry, love, but your sister's too young; you're the only girl we have who's the right age."
"Who's the prince?"
"Either Lars or Ryan. Any preference?"
"Depends. Do I have to kiss 'im?"
"Lars. I am never kissing my brother like that again, stage kiss or no."
"I thought so. Go change, please? We'll be touching dirt in about fifteen minutes," she informed me.
"Can't I go help Daddy in the engine room?" I pleaded. I may not have been the best with the engines, but I could coax a smoother landing out of her than most of the boys.
"Absolutely not. Go," she ordered, swatting me on the behind on my way out the door.
"Meghan! If you are not ready to be onstage in fifteen seconds, you will go out as you are now!" shrieked Mum, hammering on my door.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I shouted back. "It was not my bloody idea to have a corset as part of my costume!"
"Don't you take that tone with me!" I stepped out into the hallway, thoroughly miserable, in a shabby-looking dress and bodice.
"Happy now?" I asked irately.
"Oh, honey, you look so--"
"Mum, you're giving me whiplash."
"Sorry. We're starting in two minutes--get to the stage, please."
"Yes, Mum..." I began to slouch off, only to find it nigh-excruciating due to the corset. Damned thing.
"Oh, Princess, how could you let me believe that was you?"
"The penguins would have killed you, my love--I couldn't let you be killed."
He kissed me with apparent passion (for the fourth time this week) as the audience sighed.
"Farewell, my love," I stage-whispered. "I will always be... watching over you..." And with those words, I died.
"NOOOOOO! My beloved, you will always be the sole woman in my heart." The audience cheers. The curtain falls.
I stood, shaking dust out of my hair.
"Great job as always, Lars."
"You too, Megs. Curtain call, c'mon." He gestured for me to curtsey, I gestured for him to bow, and we waltzed offstage to cheers and applause.
"Meg?" Lisbeth, the newest (and third non-family) member of our troupe called my name. My checks reddened, none too subtly.
"Y-yeah?" "I...sorta don't remember how to get back to my cabin..." she muttered, apparently embarrassed. I nodded, hoping she hadn't noticed my now beet-red face.
"I know, it's confusing at first. Here, I'll walk you back, shall I?" We started walking in silence. I quietly pointed out landmarks as we passed them, secretly hoping she'd forget again. This had happened after almost every show she'd been in so far, and I was not about to complain. There was just something about Lisbeth. She looked Gypsy-ish, I guess--darker than me, though most people were, with pitch-black, curly hair. Her eyes were a deep brown, but not flat. They sparkled, but I could see the sadness buried behind her cheerfulness. I often wondered what had happened to her, but I wasn't about to ask.
"Meghan?" I jumped at her soft voice.
"Y-yeah?" Dammit! No stuttering!
"I was just wondering... um... if you--"
"I think Ryan likes you!"
... What. Did. I. Just. Say?
"Uhm... I mean, like, as a sister, ye know? No' in the romantic sense, y'see, just, em, as if ye had lived here a while and were plannin' to stay and he wanted to call ye family..." I trailed off, cursing myself for panicking--and slipping into an Irish brogue.
"I see... I guess? Anyway, this one's mine, right?"
"Yep, off you go, see you, I have to go, um, take off makeup, bye!" I sprinted away, flushing.
I finally reached my room, panting. God, I need to excersize. I'm a wimp. This is utterly pathetic. I flopped on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I do not have feelings for Lisbeth. I don't, I don't, I don't. I refuse.