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A story about a thirteen year old boy who just wants his life to make sense and break free the bonds of his Christian town and strict mother.
Couldn’t Do It Alone…
Chapter 1: Uncle Rich’s Funeral.
Today was my birthday. It was also the day of my Uncle Rich’s funeral. I hardly knew him. My birthday did not really matter. Despite turning thirteen only happened once and having the pleasure of not wearing a tacky and itchy new suit. My Aunt Gladys had picked it. The moment she saw me within the suit she had tears in her eyes and said I was the splitting image of Uncle Rich. Apparently, it was the same kind of orange plaited suit Uncle Rich used to wear. The moment my Aunt had said that I resembled Uncle Rich in the suit, I had an image of Uncle Rich wearing the same kind of suit in his coffin. I shuddered at the thought, not wanting to resemble a dead person, relative or not.
My mum practically had to drag me on the way to the car to attend the funeral at the town church. I put up a great struggle but eventually gave up. On the way, I kept fiddling with my orange bow tie. The high collar kept on threatening to strangle me and I kept on scratching, which only made the itchiness worse.
“Don’t fiddle with it, Henry,” stated my mother in a disapproving manner as she kept on driving.
Huffing slightly, I crossed my arms in a disgruntled manner and glanced out the window.
(to be continued...)
Couldn’t Do It Alone…
Chapter 1: Uncle Rich’s Funeral.
Today was my birthday. It was also the day of my Uncle Rich’s funeral. I hardly knew him. My birthday did not really matter. Despite turning thirteen only happened once and having the pleasure of not wearing a tacky and itchy new suit. My Aunt Gladys had picked it. The moment she saw me within the suit she had tears in her eyes and said I was the splitting image of Uncle Rich. Apparently, it was the same kind of orange plaited suit Uncle Rich used to wear. The moment my Aunt had said that I resembled Uncle Rich in the suit, I had an image of Uncle Rich wearing the same kind of suit in his coffin. I shuddered at the thought, not wanting to resemble a dead person, relative or not.
My mum practically had to drag me on the way to the car to attend the funeral at the town church. I put up a great struggle but eventually gave up. On the way, I kept fiddling with my orange bow tie. The high collar kept on threatening to strangle me and I kept on scratching, which only made the itchiness worse.
“Don’t fiddle with it, Henry,” stated my mother in a disapproving manner as she kept on driving.
Huffing slightly, I crossed my arms in a disgruntled manner and glanced out the window.
(to be continued...)
81/82
(part 55)
“I’ll be fine,” I responded, feeling smothered by her worry about me.
I think she took the hint. She merely nodded and with one last look of sadness in her eyes, Jenny left the Assembly Hall as she passed by me. Her footsteps were receding until I could hear them no longer.
Sighing as best I could without hoping to cause injury to myself, I also left in the opposite direction of Jenny. I needed to get to my first class of the day.
“Now, class, repeat after me: “God is Just. God is Pure. Let no harm come to us nor those we hold dear.” Fifty times in your notebooks, please,” dictated Sister Margaret with precision.
Sister Margaret let her eyes wander around the classroom, her hands clasped entwined upon her desk as her lips set in a grim line. One student was absent, as far as she could recall. Dawson, Henry Dawson.
Sister Margaret had high hopes for the boy. He was not very bright, but not a complete nincompoop either. It appeared his Faith was the only thing lacking. Then again, he could have been worse, like that Eccles child. She was grateful not to be the one in charge of him in her class. Sister Margaret prayed for them both constantly, believing the children of Dunsville were a better solution for the Christian Faith of the town for the future.
A modest believer in Faith, Sister Margaret ruled with fair discipline and sharp order if needed.
(to be continued...)
“I’ll be fine,” I responded, feeling smothered by her worry about me.
I think she took the hint. She merely nodded and with one last look of sadness in her eyes, Jenny left the Assembly Hall as she passed by me. Her footsteps were receding until I could hear them no longer.
Sighing as best I could without hoping to cause injury to myself, I also left in the opposite direction of Jenny. I needed to get to my first class of the day.
“Now, class, repeat after me: “God is Just. God is Pure. Let no harm come to us nor those we hold dear.” Fifty times in your notebooks, please,” dictated Sister Margaret with precision.
Sister Margaret let her eyes wander around the classroom, her hands clasped entwined upon her desk as her lips set in a grim line. One student was absent, as far as she could recall. Dawson, Henry Dawson.
Sister Margaret had high hopes for the boy. He was not very bright, but not a complete nincompoop either. It appeared his Faith was the only thing lacking. Then again, he could have been worse, like that Eccles child. She was grateful not to be the one in charge of him in her class. Sister Margaret prayed for them both constantly, believing the children of Dunsville were a better solution for the Christian Faith of the town for the future.
A modest believer in Faith, Sister Margaret ruled with fair discipline and sharp order if needed.
(to be continued...)
82/82
(part 56)
She never raised her voice in anger nor rapped the knuckles of her students like some of the others of the Staff did. But even then, it was only due to extreme circumstances that such punishment in Priggs needed to be dished out. Her thoughts had wavered back to the Eccles boy, whom was known from gossip to receive at least ten whacks a week. The man dolling out the punishment was the head teacher of the Staff, Mr. Forbes. There was no detention program in Priggs, merely whacks with a hickory stick. Fortunately, Sister Margaret had no need to dole out such punishment and preferred not to be as brutish in her punishment. In extreme cases, Heaven forbid she had any, Sister Margaret merely sent them to Mr. Forbes if needed.
Sister Margaret had no qualms with Priggs itself. It was the only private School of Dunsville and the most religious.
Turning her thoughts from her station, Sister Margaret snapped back to the present situation as the door of her classroom opened.
All eyes from the desks glanced at the figure that opened the door. Sister Margaret nearly gaped in amazement at the sight she saw. The boy in the open doorway barely seemed recognizable if not for his distinguishable features and the fact she knew his face on sight.
“Henry Dawson, you are late!” snapped Sister Margaret with automatic reproach at the uncouth boy.
(to be continued...)
She never raised her voice in anger nor rapped the knuckles of her students like some of the others of the Staff did. But even then, it was only due to extreme circumstances that such punishment in Priggs needed to be dished out. Her thoughts had wavered back to the Eccles boy, whom was known from gossip to receive at least ten whacks a week. The man dolling out the punishment was the head teacher of the Staff, Mr. Forbes. There was no detention program in Priggs, merely whacks with a hickory stick. Fortunately, Sister Margaret had no need to dole out such punishment and preferred not to be as brutish in her punishment. In extreme cases, Heaven forbid she had any, Sister Margaret merely sent them to Mr. Forbes if needed.
Sister Margaret had no qualms with Priggs itself. It was the only private School of Dunsville and the most religious.
Turning her thoughts from her station, Sister Margaret snapped back to the present situation as the door of her classroom opened.
All eyes from the desks glanced at the figure that opened the door. Sister Margaret nearly gaped in amazement at the sight she saw. The boy in the open doorway barely seemed recognizable if not for his distinguishable features and the fact she knew his face on sight.
“Henry Dawson, you are late!” snapped Sister Margaret with automatic reproach at the uncouth boy.
(to be continued...)
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