Sister Françoise: A Short Story

Two older sisters who lived in a small village that was destroyed by a bombing were interviewed. They tell of the sadness that the live with now that have lost their other sister, along with everything else that they had. One sister tells an account of how she had no home, no income, and no source of help, besides her sister. The two of them now only have each other. Again, the endless sadness seen here evokes the strongest emotions of sympathy, especially with their lack of involvement with the political chaos around them.

She stood there, a tall, thin steal gray fluffy haired figure on the top step for a second. And then looked down at the fair-haired children and smiled widely revealing a large gap between her two front teeth. She laughed cheerfully and declared, "Pay no mind to her. She's not so bad once you get to know her." Anna wondered about that. She seemed as if she were pretty good at being furious. "Come on, follow me." The lady said as she opened the door and allowed them to pass, "My name's Miss Margot. Now come along, there's no time to dawdle." She said in her sing-song voice and led them down a long, dark, narrow hallway that was lined with solid wood paneling. As we walked, she tugged at their arms to quicken their pace. Eventually she stopped and pressed on a spot in one of the boards and a door popped open. She and the children hurried into the cold, damp lopsided little basement storage area that was filled with spider webs and smelt dank. Once inside the room Anna noticed that a single light bulb on a long cord swayed from the ceiling and an old broken folding chair and a chamber pot leaned against one of the walls. And that in the back of the room there was a tiny, grimy window that permitted a sliver of evening moonlight to pass through. "That's yours." Miss Margot said and pointed her

They had spoken for many hours about this Opera Ghost, and Emelia still had trouble grasping all she heard. Finally, the time came for Emelia to begin preparing for the performance, so their conversation ended there to never be continued.

When I entered the “Petit Salon”, everybody was there, with the exception of Juliette, the young daughter of the Baron de Valfort. All the faces reflected a strange and eerie anticipation, their eyes, glowing like flames that turned yellow at the final stage of their burning life. Sadly, the hope that the Baron was still alive, had not completely left those present in the room. They looked at me as if they were expecting a report on his health, when unfortunately, I couldn’t even present them with a guess about the nature of his death.

Frances-Jane’s sobs filled the hollow room. As one tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. It had felt as if someone was attempting to strangle her - their hands tightening around her neck as she struggled to gasp for air. Her future was filled with darkness. She stared down at her plain dress- it had fit a little too snug at her stomach. That night with Andy was a horrible mistake, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.

Stella slowly opened her eyes to her family and some of her friends from her dance company. Confused and not knowing where she was, she began to sit up. As she looked around the room, she saw lots of complicated equipment and the room smelled strongly of chemicals. Suddenly, a wave of tiredness washed over her and she quickly lay back down on the uncomfortable mattress. Stella felt each part of her body get heavy and she felt as if she couldn’t move. Finally, she built up the strength to ask,

Henri LeSouris, sat in the corner of the large cabin beside the fire. He tugged on his beard every time Jeanne grunted. He should have gone to get another woman to help her, since the town didn’t have a doctor. Instead, he rubbed his long knife on the whet stone again, then tested it with a hair he plucked from his beard. Satisfied, he lifted the bucket of hot water and walked back to the bed where she lay.

“You know, they’re not the only ones who can form alliances,” I say. 199 For a moment, no response. Then one of Rue’s eyes edges around the trunk. “You want me for an ally?”

I woke slowly, eyelashes fluttering gently as I blinked my way into reality-- gently rising from the slumber I had plunged into the night before. Sunlight was just barely sneaking through the bamboo blinds of my light pink room, leaving my bed in a shadow of deep purple as if it was afraid to pull me from my dreaming too soon. The room was still chilly and the floorboards a frigid slate of ice as I pulled on the slipper-socks that my mother had set beside my bed, and sleepily padded over to the window.

Thus the days had come and passed, after the sister's visit, with Jeanne refusing to speak to nanny, refusing any nourishment, unless it was vegetables and bread only, and staying away from the other children, and that included her friends Mado, Dédé, and Violette, who were terribly unhappy about the whole thing. Even though sister Marie-Benoîte believed Jeanne would fare better in the family environment of Me. Echailh, for she thought the child already too reclusive, and possessing an unusual view on most subjects, she equally understood that this little girl was incredibly obstinate, with an unwavering set of values, which would make it impossible for anyone to convince her otherwise. In conclusion, the sister had given in to Jeanne's demand

Claudia expresses again and again how marginalized she and her sister perceived themselves to be, "Adults do not talk to us - they give us directions" (10). When Claudia thinks back to a childhood illness she suffered, she remembers her mother's irritation at finding her sick in bed. Claudia questions the reliability of her perceptions of pain and confusion, "But was it really like that? As painful as I remember? Only mildly. Love...eased up into that cracked window" (12). Claudia's mother's irritation is tempered with compassion; she coats Claudia's phlegmy chest with salve and "hands repinned the flannel, readjusted the

Camille started her online school. She had seven classes and lunch, which was cooked by her mom. Grandma would come and visit her in her room regularly. Trying to help and talking about the new house. When it was lunch time Camille went downstairs and devoured her instant noodles her mom made. It was really salty and soggy, but it was better than nothing.

As I would listen to the echoes of the doorbell sounding throughout the white-painted house before me, I patiently awaited yet another day’s welcome into the humble home of my great-aunt. Even now I can still recall the numerous times I’d anticipate her warm smile to gesture me inside as she opened the door to her towering, expansive entryway. Doris, who could almost always be found donning vibrant colors and a spunky pair of porcelain white tennis shoes, never ceased to compliment my long locks of hair that flowed down beyond my waist. She didn’t even make myself feel guilty for devouring a small ice cream sandwich before departing to go to dinner. From losing myself in the ceaseless labyrinth of decorative Snow White merchandise that accommodated nearly every expanse of her living room, to indulging myself in her rich, homemade, one-of-a-kind strawberry jam, one could say I was an extremely lucky child to behold such wondrous delicacies; but the greatest delight of them all was to be in the company of such a remarkably loving individual.

Upon arrival at her home, Nora had introduced Phillip to the old woman, and the short, frail, ghostly white haired grandmother at first took him as being just another ordinary youth. Yet, another new friend of her granddaughter’s like all the others. Nothing more than a purely random boy with brown hair and matching eyes, who like Nora and her other ordinary friends, shared similar interests. And, with that first glance, Grandma Helen didn’t seem to pay much mind to Phillip, just merely saying hello in her cordial, old-timer way. Her fragile voice wavering in her dotage as she welcomed him to her home. She then scurried off to the kitchen like a mouse to do what grandmothers and great grandmothers do best, in preparing some hot chocolate

I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead as a sliver of sunlight peeked through the drawn blinds, drawing a bright line across the dark living room. My computer chair lay on its side a few feet away—I must have fallen asleep at my desk last night. The wooden floorboards creaked as I