Description (short story, part one)

she sits on the same chair her mother sat on, her hair, thin and damp, her skin, slowly being pulled to the ground, the room smells of rust, nothing but rust.

time has defiantly taken its tole on her, its taken its tole on the house as well.

she has lost hope, she still tries, but has lost hope, you see, when one fails more than repeatedly, hope tends to fly out the window.

she use to hold all that is dear to her heart in the smallest of boxes, and now, the box couldn't possibly be any smaller, those things slowly sees to exist.

she pulls her body slowly off the chair, throws the burning match on the rotten carpet and runs to the door, she runs a few feet more, away from the house, she stares, as it lights in flames, built in 1902, burned in 2005, it ends in fire.

that little girl she was 50 years ago, was a girl living in obliviousness to her surrounding, to her states, playing with hand made toys and enjoying the daylight, her mother envying the simple life ,the simple joy her own daughter can feel.

while she, the mother, the beautiful mother, living in a prison of her own thoughts, inside a prison of a man ugly from the inside out , and her ugly children , inheriting his smile, she only found comfort in the glass of whine which came out of the cabinet a few times too soon.

Martina Hernandez , Hispanic, mother of three , was this mother of ours, possessing the most charming set of eyes , the most colorful, envied closet, was absolutely, and utterly miserable.

she got up that day moved her pixie short hair to the side, threw on her most spectacular polka dot dress and kissed her children goodbye , that day she said she was going to git some milk, and that day she went to the golden gate bridge, and that day she stood upon the cliff, that day she took a breath, and in her most beautiful polka dot dress, she jumped.

Samantha stood in front of the burning house in which she use to play, and for a moment she doubted the righteousness of her decision ,her action ..

she put her feet down. of coerce it is! she thought, she believed that flames was the only possible way a house as powerful as this carrying memories as unendurable as those is to disappear.

she did laugh a whole lot in this house ,but the tears created within its walls triumphed laughter by a great deal.

it must burn.

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her father, mark stanford, wealthy enough, but as cheap as a man could be.

short, a bit chubby, and much too little of a man for his greedy wife, who only married him for the reason of escaping her family, her close minded, catholic family who wouldnt let there beautiful daughter live the life she desired.

at first he gave his wife all the dresses she wanted, then he gave her all the dresses she needed, then very little, then non.

his also crafty wife, started making dresses of her own, from left overs, table cloths, and all she could possibly find, hanging on to whatever image of a beautiful past was stuck in her mind, one thing she loved was dresses, she loved them to the bone.

one thing HE loved was, her.

and he loved her like nothing els, while she started slowly slowly losing her respect for him.

as he saw the respect melting in his wife`s eyes, a layer of anger coated layers of love in his heart, blinding him, he became a bitter jealous man.

all in all he became as ugly on the inside as he was on the outside.

the day the police discovered his fair wife`s cold drowned body,the day they called it suicide is the day all the rage, the bitterness turned into pure , rotten, guilt.

his children, his three ugly children inheriting his smile, were to be the victims of his wifes selfishness, and his rotten guilt.

author note:

I am editing part two, its coming this afternoon.