Miss Taylor: Part VII

Blurry. Then dark. Then blurry. Then dark again.

She lay there for another moment, then let her eyes roll open again, this time resting them halfway as things began to focus.

Her stomach hurt – but it always did. She’d been to every doctor in the country expecting to find out she had cancer or an ulcer or appendicitis…but nothing.

She rose emotionless from her bed, pulling her stringy brown hair behind her head and avoiding the mirror as she walked proudly to the bathroom.

No thoughts.

She shut her eyes as she stepped into the warm shower, achieving cleanliness by completing each required task one by one in robotic fashion. She stepped out onto the plain black floor mat, her grimace remaining taut while the walls of the cold room held still in fear of an accidental touch from her on her way to the closet.

The closet doors opened swiftly, almost as if in anticipation of a scolding.

The icy black eyes focused in. Beautiful Colors danced across her pupils showing just the slightest hint of something one might call satisfaction. She stared at the beautiful dresses in her closet – the pinks, the Reds, the blues, the yellows. The sparkles, the silk, the shine. She basked in the colorful landscape, terrified to continue forward to the first mistake she would make for the day – the same one every day. She reached out to touch the deep red chiffon dress. Maybe…she thought as she pretended to stroke the dress, her hand suspended fearfully inches away.

Her head jolted. Her eyes froze. Her muscles jumped into place and slowly guided her hand towards the long blue dress. It has to be the long blue one.


She stilled in exasperation, her breath becoming ragged. Her thoughts halted as her hand grasped the dress and pulled it violently from the hanger. In anger she slammed the dress to the floor and tore her clothes off, scratching and cursing her skin along the way. The dress went on, the grimace returned. she glared in the mirror.

That’s right. That’s how it should be, she thought.

She stared in the mirror for ten full minutes, never peeling her eyes from their own sated reflection. Almost as if daring herself to feel something. Satisfied, she continued out the bedroom door and downstairs for breakfast.

After her very light breakfast, while the maid was cleaning up the table, she decided to forego her usual perch on the couch by the front window and instead wandered upstairs to the window seat on the landing.

Her little sister passed by on her way up the stairs, carrying her morning cereal and milk. She never spoke anymore. So Miss Taylor ceased to try. But she was a bit jealous of how beautiful and perfect she looked every morning in her little girls’ nightgown.

“Just wait ’till you grow up little girl” she thought to herself…

Her servants were hard at work, mowing, cleaning, and trimming. She smirked to herself as the new gardener caught her eye. He was a trite young fellow, far too innocent for her taste, and altogether unaware of the slow and violent departure of his predecessor.

Ah, that’s right. Her late Gardener. What a charming fellow. So charming, in fact, that she felt responsible to take him down a peg or two. Of course, as usual, after torturing him for a few weeks she could stand it no longer and pulled him into the woods behind the meadow to taste that charm for herself. It was delightful. So incredibly delightful. A tinge of regret still chiseled its way down her spine when she recalled his mangled body floating down the river. He was so beautiful.

But there were things no longer worth ruminating over.

She sashayed back downstairs and opened the door to introduce the poor new gardener to the “fucked up hell-fire mistress” as she’d begun to be known among the help. She paused on the front porch, allowing her dress to catch the gleaming sun for a moment, then turned to awaken the poor little puppy.

But she didn’t have much chance. He was already watching her from afar. He had made a rather speedy move from one end of the yard to the other whilst she had been preparing her entrance. He stared heartily, his fingers wiping sweat from his brow, and his posture giving nothing away – Certainly not revealing any concern for her returned look of surprise and confusion. She stood stock still for a moment, in a bit of shock, both tilted and angered at being thwarted.  She attempted to return his vague stare. But all she received in return was a irreparably irritating smile.

A smile!! She rebuked. How dare he!

She turned on her heel and, well, stumbled back inside the house. She scolded her new shoes, ripping them off and flinging them across the sitting room into the kitchen. With a scowl to deliver the final insult to the shoes, she felt her retribution had been satisfied and sauntered towards the hall closet for another pair.


One thought on “Miss Taylor: Part VII

  1. Pingback: Miss Taylor: Part VI | Writers of the Rain

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