I.


Her name was Abigail. She stood four feet four inches tall. Her hair was tawny and, kind of messy.
It slickly reflected the light and was bunched together here and there. The fringe was unevenly cut.
Too deeply cut on one side and perhaps a little too high to towards the crown. To the middle too, some
strands had been cut to high, giving it the appearance of sharps and flats on a keyboard.

It was a disjointed appearance, yet, despite it she was often praised for her loveliness. Even her
wide grin, revealing a missing front tooth did not perturb those gentle adulations.

At present she was rubbing her knee. It was red and angry, with flakes of black from the concrete,
which resisted her brushing. It was just a small graze and it had not been enough to make her cry out.
Although, she did give her overturned bike a look filled with petulance.

It was an old thing. Likely a hand-me-down or a recovered piece from flea markets. She sighed at
the memory of her mother presenting it to her. It was a disappointment but she put it upon herself to
hide that fact and instead had eagerly thanked her. Alas, it wasn't in her to completely hide her jealously
at the kids with the more expensive kind.

When her mother told her she had gotten her a bike, like she had asked for; Her dreams became full
of sleekly designed bicycles with eighteen gears and dazzling finishes. Perhaps even the kind with
upturned handle bars, she dared to imagine. The one before her now had but five gears, which to Abbey
was the first sign of an inferior model. Along the frame orange-brown rust interrupted the bold red finish.
How far it was from the black and silver she had fantasized of.

The pedalling was not easy. Forcing the bike into motion was difficult as the resistance from the gear
was too great for her small legs. Often, she had to zig-zag up and across hills to lessen the inclination,
effectively doubling the distance. What a cursed place to ride such a bike, where hill was the norm and
flats the exception.

Downhill was even more trouble. As the brakes were worn so thin that the rubber no longer contacted
with the tire. Instead she used her foot to decelerate, but could only do it slowly or else the heat from the
friction would become too great. The bike's momentum would quickly gather on really steep hills and it
scared the life out of her.

The friction too had already seperated the fibres which kept her last pair of trainers together. The sole
of which almost completely fell off. Making a slapping sound as she walked for the weeks she had to wait
before they were replaced.

Despite all that; and despite the embarrassment she had initially felt when she rode her bike in front of
the other kids, she was happier with it than without. It allowed her to go much farther in a day than she could
before. Most of her days outside of school were spent riding across the countryside, finding new lakes and
fields and other secret places to enjoy in the sunlight.

She picked it up, after first checking her other limbs for marks. Looking back at the dip in the pavement
which had dislodged her, she considered bringing some chalk to circle it in warning, but gave up the idea.

I'll just be more careful next time.


The older girl with the braided hair watched as Abbey rode off down the street, eventually disappearing
around a corner. She looked down at the hole the small girl had been been glaring at with a serious
expression. From the pocket of her leaf green skirt she pulled out a sharp stone and with it squatted down.
Grasping it with both hands tightly she scratched a perimeter in the concrete.

Surveying her work caused her to frown. Then an idea occured to her and she took a squirming object
out of her other pocket. It was a worm and she deposited it in the depressed concrete and with those
measures her consternation had vanished.


II.


It was several hours later. The sun was receeding and outside the window the sky had turned
a soft red and the clouds a delicate pink. Inside was darker, a little too dark to make out all the details.
The lightbulb had expired weeks ago and now the room was only lit by the dancing flashes from the television.

Abigail looked at her mother, who was staring fixedly at the screen. On her knee rested her hand,
clasped around a glass. It had been filled from a bottle that stood now at the foot of the chair. It was
three quarters empty but, to Abbey, still too much of that bitter brown remained, which, when she
had secretly tried it had caused her face to wrinkle up and her throat to unpleasantly burn.

'I'm hungry.' Abbey said watching her mothers reaction. She didn't stir, her vision remained fixed on
the screen. Jim Davidson was making fun at John Virgo whilst a nervous contestant stood aside cradling
a snooker cue.

'I'm hungry, I said-'

'I 'eard you, look in the fridge.' Her mother didn't break her attention from the screen whilst saying so.

'I did. The milk is off.'

'What about the bread?'

'Again?... What with?'

'There's some beans, isn't there?'

'No, the last tin went this morning.' This gave her mother pause and she thought for a moment, her
fingernails tapping against the glass in her hand.

'Well, toast then.'

There was a certain air of dissatisfaction left by that suggestion. Abbey's mother wasn't insensitive to
the spirit of discontent in her daughter.

'If toast isn't good enough then obviously you aren't that hungry. Are you?'

Abigail didn't respond. She knew that arguing wouldn't make the menu anymore enticing. Instead, she
made the toast, scraping the last of the margerine from the crevices in the tub. Eating both slices eased her
hunger but she knew that she could easily have more.

It cannot be helped, no point fretting. It will only make my stomache noisier.

She watched more television with her mother but they didn't speak anymore than that. Her mother would
sometimes talk at the t.v. and as the evening wore on her speech became slurred. Abbey excused herself about
an hour later and retired to her room.

It was a small, neat room. Her bed was in the corner and beside it, at the headboard, was a stand with a lamp.
Two books rested slightly on top of the base of the lamp, fighting with it for the space on the walnut brown
stand.

It was completely dark outside now, so Abigail turned on the lamp and a soft orange glow fell across the
room. She liked the dim light of the lamp much more than the ceiling light. When reading in her bed, she would
become lost in stories of long forgotten far away places. Her imagination helped along by the quiet
unintrusiveness of the soft light.

Before changing into her pyjamas she selected a book from the shelf at the wall toward the bottom of her bed.
The Drowned World, the title read. Then settled herself to read for several hours before her eyelids became
heavy and she set her head down. She never turned off the lamp, but knew that by morning when she woke, it
would be turned off nonetheless; and a subtle smell of alcohol would linger at her cheek.


The night passed and Abigail dreamed. She was a water vole on a noiseless lake and swam freely amidst the calm
waters. A fox watched jealously from the bank, absently licking it's whiskers, but she paid it no mind. The angry
gnashing of the foxes teeth could not disturb her peaceful reverie and she drifted into thoughtless slumber.


III.


The pale blue light on the opposite wall signalled it was dawn. Abigail sleepily wiped her eyes and stretched.
Reaching her arms upwards and yawning heavily.

She lazily slipped out of bed and gingerly inspected the clothes she had discarded yesterday. Sniffing at them she found
them still fresh enough and donned them anew. First the violet cotton shirt with a ladybird across the chest. The cloth was
light, so even in the recent hot weather the long sleeves didn't feel uncomfortable. She followed with the denim shorts she
had worn, which reached just above the knees and showed the scab that had formed from her fall. Naturally, she elected for
a fresh pair of underwear from the dresser.

Quietly she descended the stairs. A perverse hopefulness tempted her to check the fridge and cupboards one more time.
However, as she had known it would be, no new food was there to be discovered. Her expectation had been thoroughly
fulfilled but it did not allay a certain deflated feeling. How silly of me! She thought.

From outside she heard the noise of a motor and the chiming of glass bottles knocking against each other. This improved
her mood and she rushed to the front door where her bike remained parked. Taking it, she wheeled it outside with her.

She waited until the workmen in their blue overalls had made their deliveries and then returned to their cart. It was still
just first light and the street had not yet awakened. When she was sure the milk truck had gone far enough on its way she
dashed into a neighbours yard and seized one of the three milk bottles standing on the step there. Afterwards quickly
running back and crouching behind the shelter of the hedge which fenced the garden.

Abigail listened intently to the sounds of the street. Apart from the barking of a dog from a garden further down the terrace
no other sounds of alarm were raised. She fingered the foil cap of the bottle, teasing herself to break the seal right away and
gorge upon the plunder. With a little regret she restrained herself.

No, I'll open it later and then I won't have to drink it in a hurry, she told herself. And so, with no little effort, she forced the
pint bottle into her left pocket. It became lodged in there only halfway and restricted her movement. She thought if she was
careful when pedalling and went slowly it would be okay. Although was nervous at the prospect of the bottle falling and
smashing and depriving her, her daring act's reward.

Thus it was she slowly pedalled, often directing the course of the bicycle with just one hand to steady the bottle in her pocket.
She knew a place where she could be alone and that was where she now headed. It was a small copse in a wooded area just outside
the village. It was a place she treasured highly because unlike the other secret holes she had unearthed this one had never been
tread upon by another person's feet. It was untainted[i] and her's alone. For that reason it became to her imagination the most
wonderful place and she often wondered at the unrecorded histories that might have been enacted there.

It took her almost twice as long as usual to reach her secret space. The pilfered prize had been safely protected however and
now she could drink it slowly and savour its thick taste. She looked around. Everything seemed in order, the fallen log which
dissected the copse was in it's customary position. The large stone which she used as a perch was still hunched in the shade.
The trickling of the nearby stream could still be heard. And yet... there was a definite sense of something [i]different.

Abbey considered, with some dread, that perhaps some foreign person had entered her island. There was no one here now
and no obvious signs that she could tell that anyone had. Yet, there remained that doubt...

'Ladybug!'

The shout, from not inches behind her, affected her like a gun shot. With uncontrollable fright the bottle of milk dropped from
her hands and she half ran in terror but, she couldn't. A strong hand, clasped around her wrist, prevented her from getting away.


(Cont.)

IV.


'Stop, don't struggle! I didn't mean to frighten you. Look, you dropped your milk.'

'Let go of me!' Abbey angrily shouted, her frustration at being suprised and held captive
clearly evident.

'Alright... alright, I'll let go. Just don't run.'

As Abbey had stopped stuggling the other girl let go of her wrist and gave her a wry smile.
She was taller and clearly older than Abigail. She wore thick, square rimmed glasses but at
this distance Abbey could tell that they had no lenses. Her hair was black and tidy, gathered
into two seperate braids which trailed down her back. Abbey thought she was beautiful but
wondered at the dense spectacles. She was clothed simply. A dark green skirt with a brown t-shirt
with no logo or frills. Over her shoulder hung a small sized backpack, the contents bulging out
here and there.

'Scared you didn't I? I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You looked so distant I couldn't restrain
myself. My name is Eloise, what's yours?'

Abigail started to regain her composure and strangely felt reassured by the friendly face of
Eloise. Her mind wanted desperately for her to rebel against this trespasser onto her turf.
Her heart was of a different feeling and when she balanced the two she found that anger had dissipated.

'Abbey.' She said, still a little warily.

'Abbey? Short for Abigail? Well, in that case call me Elle. Only mother calls me Eloise when
she has lost her temper. She can be truly frightful.'

Eloise walked over to the stone and seated herself, leaving the backpack at her feet. Abigail
remembered the fallen milk bottle and picked it up, carefully inspecting it's exterior. None of the
milk had spilled and no cracks had appeared in the glass. Fortunately it had dropped on a soft
piece of earth. She wiped the dirt which clung to the condensation on the bottle's exterior and
then held it close to her chest.

'What are you doing here?' There was ill-concealed suspicion in Abigail's voice, 'I thought no
one knew this spot.'

Elle looked around, seemingly surveying the area. Her eyes alighted on the fallen trunk and
they lit up with delight. 'That!' She pronounced.

'The tree?'

'Yes, the tree. Do you not know? It's such a fabulous place to find insects and bugs. I bet if I
turned it over a whole bunch of the little fellows would come scuttering out.'

Abigail found this interest a little perculiar but before she could say so Eloise had dived into the
backpack and pulled out several jars, lining them up in formation up on the rockface. Abbey
uncapped the milk and took slow sips whilst watching her work.

'Do you collect them?'

'Bugs? Oh yes. All sorts of the blighters. Don't you just find them fascinating? Did you know the
millipede does not, in fact, have a thousand legs? Well, that one is common knowledge. How about
the woodlouse which has gills and can only breath through water?'

'I didn't,' Abigail admitted.

'You only find them in moist, dark places. Like underneath that fallen trunk where the rain water gathers.
Of course, we all return to bugs one day.' This last remark was uttered in a more sombre tone and it had the
effect of causing the hairs on the back of Abbey's neck to stand. The mood was soon cleared by Eloise looking
up and smiling at her. 'Let's have a peek shall we?'

Abbey wanted to refuse; She strongly objected to the disarranging of the furniture as she had become
accustomed to it. Her objection caught in her throat and was never voiced. Instead she put down the milk bottle,
now drained of a quarter, and walked over to the tree with Elle.

'Here, you get that side and heave when I tell you to. It's rotted out all through the inside but still heavy.'

Abbey did as she was instructed and braced herself.

'Heave!' She lifted with all her might and after the difficult first pull the trunk toppled over, revealing the bare, grassless
earth underneath.

As Eloise had said, a good variety of disgusting creatures suddenly bolted, each in different directions. Here was a worm
who wriggled himself deeper into the earth. Here a large brown spider who's octopedal movement hastily carried her to
fresh concealment. Three armoured woodlice dashed about confusedly, their antennae frantically seeking.

Elle worked quickly, scooping one of each insect into a jar with some of the dirt from the earth and closed each sample
with a perforated lid. In the woodlice's case she made sure to add extra dirt and bark. From her pack she pulled labels
and a pen and neatly wrote the name, location and date on each one.

She seemed delighted with the result and eyed each insect closely in it's new prison, lifting her unnecessary frames to
get a better look.

'Remarkable, aren't they?' But, to Abbey, they just seemed like ordinary insects. Her backyard was full of them, it seemed
so pointless to be interested in something so common.

'I lived in Tangiers for a time, you know.' Eloise continued, heedless to the lack of enthusiasm from her listener, 'they just
don't have the insects there that we do here. Nothing to me, says home like the woodlouse.'

Satisfied that her involvement was over, Abbey returned to her milk and resumed her gentle sipping. It was now warm,
but she still basked in the sweetness and the way the milk clung to the sides of her throat as it seeped into her innards.
She closely observed her guest who had finished packing her things safely back into her pack, leaving just a few jars out on
the pedestal. Abigail noted that after she had finished she didn't make move to leave. So she took this chance to bring up
something that had been bothering her.

'Those glasses you are wearing... they don't have lenses.'

'Oh, these old things?' Elle took them off and looked them over, 'You noticed did you?'

'Are you trying to trick people by wearing fake glasses?'

'Not one bit. I wear them because they remind me of someone. I wear them because, when I do, people say how much
I look like her.' A certain thoughtful sadness clouded Eloise's complexion and the next words she spoke quietly, 'I can almost
feel like I'm looking through her eyes when I wear them.'

'I didn't mean-'

'No, that's quite alright. Here, why don't you try them on.' Eloise held them out to her and nodded her encouragement.
Abbey for her own part had wished to try them on.

'Okay,' Abbey agreed, but before she could take them, the offering hand retreated. Elle approached her and leant in closely
to fit them herself. Abigail could smell the hints of perfume at her neck as she leaned forward. A mix of jasmine and lavender.
The sweet fragrances of spring without the heady spice of strong scents. It made her aware of her own smell and she now
keenly regretted not changing clothes earlier. But then Eloise had said, you smell like the morning grass, and that had reassured her.

'There. Now, let's see how you look.' Eloise had finished tucking the frames behind her ears and took a few steps back in
appraisal. 'How lovely.' She assured and then followed, under her breath, 'yet, not quite right.'

Abigail felt she wasn't supposed to have heard this last part. Her hearing was sharp and she had often been chided for overhearing
whispered words. Eavesdropper and nosey-parker they had called her.

'What was that?' She asked, hoping for a further explaination.

'What?... Oh, nothing... Say, I was wondering. What were you doing here this early in the morning? I suppose it wasn't for the bugs...
Ah! Please keep the glasses on. They ever so suit you.'

Abbey halted herself lifting away the lenseless frames, instead keeping them on as requested. The bridge of her nose felt slightly
queer, although it didn't overly bother her. Meanwhile she considered the question. More accurately, she considered how to
answer the question whilst skirting the truth. She felt she couldn't say that she was here to avoid her mother's morning
ill-tempers, when she complained of headaches and any movement of Abbey's was cruelly scrutinised. She hesitated.

'It isn't bad is it? You can tell me, I swear I'll keep it to myself. Plus, I shan't think badly of you whatever the reason. If it helps
I'll tell you a secret first.' Eloise waited a moment and after seeing Abbey's nodding agreement continued, 'Those glasses you're
wearing, they were my sister's.' There was a strong emphasis on were.

Abigail felt the chill of the grave along her spine and a strong urge to throw the glasses down overtook her. She managed to
repress the urge however, and felt it would have been the barest insult she could have given, had she indulged it. Now, bound
to her honesty she found the courage for truthfulness.

'I come to places like this alot. 'specially in the morning, where I won't be under my mom's feet. Her drinking makes her
cranky when she wakes up.'

'How I can sympathise with that. I sometimes feel I could not tip-toe softly enough around mother. She is so taken with acting
proper. Is it not proper, I ask, to just act ones self? Of course, I don't ask when she's in range of hearing, else she would have
more than a few words to say on what is proper and what is not.' A thought seemed to occur to her mid sentence,

'Why don't we live together, just you and I? We could be sisters! Far away from beastly mothers. With the insects and each
other for company.' She lifted a jar in which a spider had scaled the walls and tapped it twice for emphasis. The unfortunate
creature became dislodged and fell.

To abandon herself to wild adventure appealed to Abigail and she almost believed Elle was serious in her suggestion. She had
longed to become the heros and heroines from her beloved fiction. Yet, there was a pragmatism which made her pause, and in
that pause her confidence evaporated. Already she felt the bite of hunger, though she ignored it's echoes. She had confidence
that, when she returned home, her mother would have gotten something for her to eat. Even if it took humbling herself before
neighbours she knew didn't like her. As well, she knew the misery of the rain with no available shelter. How it soaks and clings to
the skin with an icy hold. And further, she knew of the grief her sudden disappearance would cause her mother, who, despite her
faults loved her dearly.

Albeit, she smiled at the thought of acting so recklessly. Which Eloise mistook for agreement.

'So you'll do it? We'll be sisters?' she excitedly ejaculated.

'I... didn't think you were serious,' replied Abbey, her smile fading. 'We can be sisters, but... I have a home and my mom,
I can't just give up and leave.'

'Then, I'll live with you.'

'We can't,' she protested, thinking how strained her circumstances were, even now. 'And, what about your family?'

'That old witch? I hate her!'

'Surely you don't. You're just angry.'

'No, it's not like that. She's the nastiest type of person and I can't stand her.'

Abigail was left without retort and was taken aback at the violence of her friends words. It can't be that bad, she thought.
Absent mindedly she picked up the milk but was disappointed to find it already emptied. Eloise sat against the rock,
looking down and kicking her feet in her agitation.

'You don't know how she's been... mother, since daddy left. She tries to make me into her, though she knows I can't do it.
I wish I could; I wish I could look into the mirror and see her face. But it's just me, I'm all that's left and I'm not good enough.'

'Your sister, wasn't it?'

'Yes... Oh, but she's not dead. Daddy took her, one day. He just took her and left. It was years ago. Mother has been
looking for them ever since, but after the first year she stopped hoping. I always knew Julie was the one she loved best,
though I never thought she would ever hate me for not being her.'

Through her explanation she had become less animated and now seemed perfectly resigned.

'Why didn't he take me, was I really not good enough?... Why not me too...?'

Abbey didn't have the words to comfort her. She desperately sought them, yet they remained phantasms in the reaches
of her mind. She wasn't wise enough, she knew. Could never be wise enough to know what to say to ease another's pain.
After what seemed like a lengthy silence, she began,

'I never knew my dad and my mom is an alcoholic-'

'That's why we should go away, together. It doesn't even matter if we're miserable and starve within a week. We could be happy,
away from it all.'

'That isn't it. My mom is an alcoholic and we barely have enough food, but... for all the problems we have I can name ten,
twenty things that makes me happy for each one that makes me sad. It's hard, some days it's so hard. And my mom can be
unreasonable and we can both be selfish but still she loves me. And I know she does because of the pain in her eyes when I say
that I'm hungry, and how she tries to stop drinking though it makes her hurt so much and she shakes and she sweats. There must
be something which shows you that your mother still cares.'

'There isn't, I'm sure of it.' Eloise stood and packed the remaining jars into her pack dejectedly. 'Look, I'm sorry. You were right
to refuse and I feel foolish now for the things I've said. Forget all that rot about running away, I would have just used you anyway.'

With those words she lifted the backpack and slung it once more over her shoulders. Abigail remembered the glasses on her
face and offered them back to her.

'No, it's alright, keep those. You know, when I saw you from behind you looked like her. She would be about your height now
too. I'm not so different from mother am I? I would take you and make you the image of her and how rudely I would have
treated you, could you not ape her mannerisms.' She sighed and slowly picked her way to the edge of the clearing. Abigail
was still searching for words when she disappeared into the trees.

'Goodbye,' she called out, but there was no final reply. She looked around slowly and felt that the copse was quieter than she
remembered. There was a hush, as though the spirit of the place had departed. It's was maddeningly contrary to the defiled air
which had descended on her other retreats, when intruded upon.

She remained for mere minutes more before picking herself up, brushing the dirt off her person and finally departing. As she
was leaving she noticed in the corner of her eye the flash of light caught in glass. She turned back. It wasn't the bottle of milk,
which she still held and wouldn't think to mar the countryside with its discarding. It was one of the jars, left by Eloise.
Inside a woodlouse still tested the certainty of it's cage. Abigail walked over and picked the jar up, and looked closely at the insect inside.

Here's one thing your sister wasn't interested in, I'd wager. She unscrewed the lid and deposited the critter back on the damp
earth, where it could breathe and devour as it would. Then retired from the clearing to where she had left the old worn bicycle.
She considered it more fondly now. It wasn't everything she had hoped for. Still, it was hers. For that she was glad.


Fin.

That's longer than I thought it was. :|

If you do read that, then thank you. Although I don't expect anyone to. Please be honest with your comments. Criticism is welcome.