Post by puellile on Jul 25, 2009 2:01:42 GMT
TITLE: Concrete Angel
AUTHOR: Jack Rudd
EMAIL: jackkelshallrudd@aol.com
RATING: Some implied violence
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, just ask!
FEEDBACK: Yes please!
CHARACTERS: I'll be mysterious and not identify who the narrator of this story is, but I suspect most neighboursfans.com readers will already have guessed.
DISCLAIMER: These characters are the property of Neighbours, and will remain so no matter how much I twist them to suit my own purposes. Or, for that matter, how much they twist them to suit theirs.
YEAR: 2006
DATE: 9 March 2007
NOTES: This story is dedicated to the late Jessie Gilbert. It was inspired by the Martina McBride song of the same name, which is available here.
Was it really six years that I'd been making this journey? Waiting, on the evening of December 23, for everyone else to go to sleep, and then making my way to the local graveyard? It certainly didn't feel like it; the events of that December had been printed so hard on my memory that they felt like they'd only just happened. But there it was, clear to see on the gravestone:
"Angela Rhiannon Carter
1992-2000
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate"
The world may have forgotten you, Angela, but I hadn't. Just as in previous years, I'd picked a rose from our garden and taken it with me to your grave. And, just as in previous years, I was overwhelmed by all the memories flooding back, and burst into tears. Normally, this would have gone unseen, and I'd have snuck back without anyone's being the wiser. This year, however, events unfolded slightly differently. As I finished crying, I became aware that someone else was nearby, and doing much the same thing as I was doing. I don't know why, but I felt compelled to talk to her.
"Hello?" I said.
My fellow mourner turned towards me with a vague look of surprise on her face. As she did, it slowly tumbled to me where I'd seen her before.
"You're Professor Kinski's daughter, aren't you?" I asked. "I'd have thought you'd visit his grave at a more congenial time."
"We'll do that later as a family," she replied, "but I wanted to visit his grave on my own as well. It's..."
"...the first anniversary of his death. I know; I remember reading his obituary." I shrugged my shoulders and carried on, "You know, I've read his book. He had some interesting theories going."
"Really?" asked Rachel, her eyebrows going up at this. "I wouldn't have had you down as being interested in macro-economics."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," I said.
"True," she agreed, "like what you're doing here." She wandered over to the tree under which Angela's grave stood. "Who was Angela Carter?", she asked.
I still don't know what it was that made me answer her question. My first instinct would normally have been to tell the questioner to rack off and mind their own business. But something inside me overruled that impulse, telling me that Rachel was the listener I'd needed for the past six years.
"I'll tell you," I said, "but I'd better warn you; it's not a pleasant tale by any means. You OK with that?"
Rachel nodded her head, and I related the events of six years earlier.
~~~
"Angela Carter," I began, "was my best friend and next-door neighbour. She and I used to walk to school together every day. We used to do everything together. You know the sort of thing?"
"Pretty much."
"For a long time," I continued, "I really envied her. She seemed to have what everyone would think of as a nice comfortable middle-class existence." Rachel recoiled somewhat at the last five words, which I had spat out with considerable venom. "Two working parents, bringing in lots of money. Rather more than we had, with mum bringing two of us up on our own. At least, that's what it was like when I first knew her."
Rachel said nothing, but leaned forward, as if prompting me to carry on with the story.
"Things started to change late in 2000. Peter Carter's company did some 'restructuring', and he was one of the unlucky ones to lose his job. You know how some men have their identities really wrapped up in their jobs? Well, Mr Carter was one of those. Losing his job shattered him, and he was never quite the same again."
"A vicious circle, I take it," commented Rachel. "The longer he was out of work, the more depressed he got, and so the less employable he became."
"Exacly," I said. "It was somewhere in the vicious circle that he started drinking heavily. Which, of course, made matters worse. And it also unleashed a very nasty part of his personality. When he was sober, he was still the same pleasant guy he was before, but when he was drunk..." I shook my head before continuing, "let's just say the atmosphere was not a pleasant one."
A lump came to my throat at this point. I had to breathe deeply and compose myself before carrying on with the narrative.
"It was at about this time," I said eventually, "that I started to notice the changes in Angela. A few months earlier, she'd been a happy, outgoing, confident girl. As time passed, she became... not cold, exactly - she was still very friendly to me - but sort of distant and withdrawn. Kind of like she was wearing a mask or something." I sighed. "Looking back, all the signs were there - she stopped talking about things at home, she would wince when I hugged her, she never wanted to go swimming any more. Little things like that - at the time, I didn't know what to make of them, but now, I'd have spotted the conclusion immediately."
The look on Rachel's face had become one of horror, mixed with intense interest.
"Shall I go on?" I asked. "It's hard to listen to, I know."
Curiosity won out, and Rachel nodded.
"The night of December 23rd," I said, "I hadn't been sleeping all that well anyway, when I was woken by a scream. I thought it might be coming from next door, and woke mum up to tell her." I shook my head at the recollection. "She insisted that it wouldn't be anything to worry about, and told me to go back to bed. I had my misgivings, but I did as she said. And... I never saw Angela again. Why didn't I listen to my instincts?"
"That was the night she died?"
"Yes. And I can't shake the feeling that if I'd gone over there, I could have done something to help. I might have been able to save my best friend's life. And even if I couldn't, I'd have had the knowledge that I did what I could. Whereas now..."
"Whereas now you feel guilty for not doing so?" asked Rachel. "For not intervening then, based on what you know now?"
I nodded and, for the second time that night, burst into tears. Rachel came to sit next to me and hugged me tightly. She didn't say anything further.
She didn't have to.
AUTHOR: Jack Rudd
EMAIL: jackkelshallrudd@aol.com
RATING: Some implied violence
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, just ask!
FEEDBACK: Yes please!
CHARACTERS: I'll be mysterious and not identify who the narrator of this story is, but I suspect most neighboursfans.com readers will already have guessed.
DISCLAIMER: These characters are the property of Neighbours, and will remain so no matter how much I twist them to suit my own purposes. Or, for that matter, how much they twist them to suit theirs.
YEAR: 2006
DATE: 9 March 2007
NOTES: This story is dedicated to the late Jessie Gilbert. It was inspired by the Martina McBride song of the same name, which is available here.
Was it really six years that I'd been making this journey? Waiting, on the evening of December 23, for everyone else to go to sleep, and then making my way to the local graveyard? It certainly didn't feel like it; the events of that December had been printed so hard on my memory that they felt like they'd only just happened. But there it was, clear to see on the gravestone:
"Angela Rhiannon Carter
1992-2000
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate"
The world may have forgotten you, Angela, but I hadn't. Just as in previous years, I'd picked a rose from our garden and taken it with me to your grave. And, just as in previous years, I was overwhelmed by all the memories flooding back, and burst into tears. Normally, this would have gone unseen, and I'd have snuck back without anyone's being the wiser. This year, however, events unfolded slightly differently. As I finished crying, I became aware that someone else was nearby, and doing much the same thing as I was doing. I don't know why, but I felt compelled to talk to her.
"Hello?" I said.
My fellow mourner turned towards me with a vague look of surprise on her face. As she did, it slowly tumbled to me where I'd seen her before.
"You're Professor Kinski's daughter, aren't you?" I asked. "I'd have thought you'd visit his grave at a more congenial time."
"We'll do that later as a family," she replied, "but I wanted to visit his grave on my own as well. It's..."
"...the first anniversary of his death. I know; I remember reading his obituary." I shrugged my shoulders and carried on, "You know, I've read his book. He had some interesting theories going."
"Really?" asked Rachel, her eyebrows going up at this. "I wouldn't have had you down as being interested in macro-economics."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," I said.
"True," she agreed, "like what you're doing here." She wandered over to the tree under which Angela's grave stood. "Who was Angela Carter?", she asked.
I still don't know what it was that made me answer her question. My first instinct would normally have been to tell the questioner to rack off and mind their own business. But something inside me overruled that impulse, telling me that Rachel was the listener I'd needed for the past six years.
"I'll tell you," I said, "but I'd better warn you; it's not a pleasant tale by any means. You OK with that?"
Rachel nodded her head, and I related the events of six years earlier.
~~~
"Angela Carter," I began, "was my best friend and next-door neighbour. She and I used to walk to school together every day. We used to do everything together. You know the sort of thing?"
"Pretty much."
"For a long time," I continued, "I really envied her. She seemed to have what everyone would think of as a nice comfortable middle-class existence." Rachel recoiled somewhat at the last five words, which I had spat out with considerable venom. "Two working parents, bringing in lots of money. Rather more than we had, with mum bringing two of us up on our own. At least, that's what it was like when I first knew her."
Rachel said nothing, but leaned forward, as if prompting me to carry on with the story.
"Things started to change late in 2000. Peter Carter's company did some 'restructuring', and he was one of the unlucky ones to lose his job. You know how some men have their identities really wrapped up in their jobs? Well, Mr Carter was one of those. Losing his job shattered him, and he was never quite the same again."
"A vicious circle, I take it," commented Rachel. "The longer he was out of work, the more depressed he got, and so the less employable he became."
"Exacly," I said. "It was somewhere in the vicious circle that he started drinking heavily. Which, of course, made matters worse. And it also unleashed a very nasty part of his personality. When he was sober, he was still the same pleasant guy he was before, but when he was drunk..." I shook my head before continuing, "let's just say the atmosphere was not a pleasant one."
A lump came to my throat at this point. I had to breathe deeply and compose myself before carrying on with the narrative.
"It was at about this time," I said eventually, "that I started to notice the changes in Angela. A few months earlier, she'd been a happy, outgoing, confident girl. As time passed, she became... not cold, exactly - she was still very friendly to me - but sort of distant and withdrawn. Kind of like she was wearing a mask or something." I sighed. "Looking back, all the signs were there - she stopped talking about things at home, she would wince when I hugged her, she never wanted to go swimming any more. Little things like that - at the time, I didn't know what to make of them, but now, I'd have spotted the conclusion immediately."
The look on Rachel's face had become one of horror, mixed with intense interest.
"Shall I go on?" I asked. "It's hard to listen to, I know."
Curiosity won out, and Rachel nodded.
"The night of December 23rd," I said, "I hadn't been sleeping all that well anyway, when I was woken by a scream. I thought it might be coming from next door, and woke mum up to tell her." I shook my head at the recollection. "She insisted that it wouldn't be anything to worry about, and told me to go back to bed. I had my misgivings, but I did as she said. And... I never saw Angela again. Why didn't I listen to my instincts?"
"That was the night she died?"
"Yes. And I can't shake the feeling that if I'd gone over there, I could have done something to help. I might have been able to save my best friend's life. And even if I couldn't, I'd have had the knowledge that I did what I could. Whereas now..."
"Whereas now you feel guilty for not doing so?" asked Rachel. "For not intervening then, based on what you know now?"
I nodded and, for the second time that night, burst into tears. Rachel came to sit next to me and hugged me tightly. She didn't say anything further.
She didn't have to.