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Post by pattydear on Mar 18, 2012 23:18:08 GMT -5
(Dedicated to Sarah, a soul who is close to mine.)
“I wish you weren’t my son!” Damian’s father punched him across the face with a mighty blow. “I hate you!” Damian just stood there and cried. He had been silent this whole past hour as his father berated him. His father stormed off just then, into the other room. Damian ran to his own bedroom, closed and locked the door, and got on his bed. Tears flowed onto his pillow, and his fists pounded against the mattress. “Well,” he muttered wrathfully to himself, “I hate him back! I hate, hate, hate his very existence, if he’s gonna hate mine!” As far back as he could recall, his father had never loved him. Only in the past year, though, had there been violence. Everyday, now, Damian would receive an unnecessary beating, and an unnecessary reprimand. He would be cursed at daily. He had only a thin sheet to cover him during the winter nights, and he was fed only two small, snackish meals each day. By reading some of his mother’s story books, Damian realized that the life he was living was not a good one at all, and that he wasn’t being treated well at all. At the time, such an idea was revolutionary. Now, though, it nagged at his mind, and it spoke to him with mockery. He had been brought low, and would never experience happiness. He was now depressed, and the two options he had were either suicide or running off to live on the streets. Of course, the former was better than the latter, for he wouldn’t have survived whichever path he chose. He hadn’t been out of the house, literally, for over four years. He couldn’t remember what the town he lived in was like- he couldn’t even remember whether it was a town and not a city or village. Oh, poor Damian! Poor, poor Damian!
“Damian,” his father said the next day. He was eating some beef, and he’d left a few dried-up or moldy bits for his son. “Damian, Damian, Damian. How would you like to live with your godfather?” “I have a godfather?” Damian was surprised, and confused. (He had no idea what a godfather even was). “Yes, idiot, you have one. His name is George. He’s a baldy. You remember him- he was here for your sixth birthday. Your mother invited him over.” “No… I don’t remember him, at all.” “Well, I sent a letter to him, asking him to take you in. I’m sick and tired of having to take care of you.” “You sent the letter today?” “No… I sent it yesterday, before you provoked me to lightly slapping your face.” “Oh…” Damian knew the real reason why his father was sending him away. The police must have noticed some of the sounds coming from inside of the house, which would cause most people to be “extra cautious”. Send the child away, and there would be no “provocation” to hit it, which would cause no provocation for it to scream.
The next days were terrible. Soon, though, a carriage came in front of the house Damian lived in. Out of it came a bald man in a top hat and a black coat. The man went up to the door, and knocked. Damian’s father answered the door. “Well, hi, George! Long time, no see!” His father laughed “cheerfully”. “Yes,” the man, George, answered. “No see. Anyway, you mentioned Damian?” “Of course, of course. You thought you’d love taking care of him?” “I thought, especially after I talked with Officer McFarland.” Had Damian’s idea about the police been correct? George saw Damian, and looked him up and down. “Seriously,” he said, a look of concern on his face, “you dress in those?” “These are my only clothes,” Damian answered. “He ruined them,” Damian’s father said. “He’s always getting into messes. That’s why his apparel is always ratty.” “Right,” George answered, with obvious sarcasm in his voice. “Well, have you got all of your stuff, Damian? The carriage driver is waiting.” “Yes, sir,” Damian answered. He held up his pillow case, which had in it his extra shirt, his pocket-knife, his pet rock, and the crucifix off of his mother’s rosary. “And… that’s all you have to bring?” “That’s all I have in general, sir.” “Don’t lie,” his father told him, which was a silly thing to say, as Damian was a terrible liar. “Good day,” George said to Damian’s father. He grabbed the boy’s hand, and the two of them left the house and went into the carriage. “We’re ready,” he said to the driver. “Sit still, Damian, and we’ll be at my house soon.” The carriage went through the town. Damian felt anxious about living somewhere else, and he worried that that somewhere else would be just as bad as the one he was from. Still, he felt curiosity. “Are we there yet?” he asked George. “Patience, Damian, is a virtue.” The man smiled kindly at the boy. Damian sighed. And, since he didn’t have patience at all at the moment, he got bored and fell asleep.
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Post by HburgEagle44 on Mar 18, 2012 23:42:26 GMT -5
Oh my word... poor Damian I'm glad George came to the rescue though!! Update!!
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Post by Deleted on Mar 19, 2012 19:34:51 GMT -5
Geoge can see right through Mr. McGinty's lies. I am so glad Damian is with George. Poor damian may have some problems all of his life from the abuse. I almost cried becasue damian was being abused. please update soon.
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Post by onyxfyrefly on Mar 19, 2012 20:07:09 GMT -5
Poor Damian! I hope George can give him the home he deserves!
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Post by celticbear on Mar 19, 2012 20:31:55 GMT -5
Patty! You do love to to shock us! I'm glad George came to rescue Damo! George will make a kind,generous,fun loving Irishman out of Damian! AND YES NOTHING GETS PAST GEORGE'S KNOWING EYES!
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Post by pattydear on Mar 21, 2012 11:59:24 GMT -5
“I live in this house,” George said, pointing in the direction of a lovely mansion. Damian’s eyes opened wide. “Holy cow!” he said. “You live there? That’s practically a castle!” George laughed jovially. “It’s not a castle,” he replied. “Come on in. You’ll like… I think.” George rubbed his feet on the welcome mat. Damian did the same, observing how well the mat took mud, dirt, grime, and feces off of his godfather’s shoes. When he saw the inside of the house, he was certainly glad he had used the mat! It was the cleanest, most beautiful place he had ever seen! There was a beautiful wood floor, a beautiful, big chandelier on a beautiful, white ceiling, a beautiful wall with beautiful wallpaper on it, a beautiful winding staircase, and beautiful doors on the walls which most likely led to plenty of beautiful rooms. “Before you get shown around,” George said, “I suggest you get shown to your room and take a bath. After your bath, you’ll find plenty of clothes in the wardrobe. I hope they’re your size.” “Where’s my room?” Damian asked. He was gazing all about, his eyes still wide open. “I don’t know,” George answered. “The housekeeper should have been here by now to show you to it. Oh, blast it! Where is she? Zara!” He reached into his pocket and took out a bell. He rang it. Nothing happened. He rang it again. A young man rushed down the staircase. He was tall and skinny, with long blonde hair. He was dressed in a green suit, and he carried in his hands a broom and dustpan. “Keith!” George said. “Where is Zara?” “Probably in the parlor,” the young man, Keith, answered. “She’s most likely looking at the newspaper, betting on horses.” George breathed heavily, as if he was angry. He was indeed in a rage at that woman. Still, he could never get another housekeeper, for he was so fond of Zara. He was fond of all of his maids and servants. “Take Damian here up to his room, if you know where it is,” he told Keith. “Will you be alright, Damian?” “I’ll be fine,” Damian answered. But, as he was led up the staircase by Keith, he knew he wouldn’t be fine. Of course, he couldn’t have asked George to go up with him, because he didn’t quite trust George yet. So, he had to face un-fineness on his own. Upstairs was a long hallway with many, many doors along the walls. It was as beautiful up there as it was downstairs. Keith started conversing with Damian just then. “How old are you?” he asked. “I’m fourteen,” Damian answered. “Still, I could be thirteen. I don’t know. My birthday is sometime this month, but I haven’t celebrated my birthday for so long that I’ve forgotten all about it.” “I’m twenty-one years old,” Keith said. “George still treats me like a boy sometimes, though.” “Are you George’s son?” “Oh, no! I’m one of his servants.” “Like Mrs. Fairfax from *Jane Eyre*!” “No… Zara would be more analogous to Mrs. Fairfax. I have more of the job of Grace Poole, minus having to run after a knife-toting maniac.” “Don’t be so mean about Bertha- she wasn’t a maniac, because she couldn’t help being that way. It was all her… Well, I don’t remember which parent’s fault it was. I remember that one of them was a drunk or something like that. But, anyway, you cannot blame someone for something that his or her father or mother did.” Damian seemed so serious (and was being so serious) that Keith instantly said, “I’m so sorry! Are you angry?” “I don’t know,” Damian answered. “It’s still not right for you to talk about an innocent lady like that.” “I won’t, then. Oh, look! This here is your room!” Keith opened one of the beautiful doors. Inside, was the most beautiful room Damian had ever seen! Damian instantly ran to the beautiful, huge bed and started jumping on it. He then ran over to the beautiful, huge oriel window and looked out at the street. “Look how far down everything is!” he said. Keith smiled and laughed. He opened the door leading into the bathroom, which was right across from the bed. “Into here, Damian!” he said. “Time for you to take your bath!” Damian instantly looked shocked. “No,” he said. “I think I shall not take a bath, as it wouldn’t be very much to my liking.” “When is the last time you took one?” Keith asked, smiling mischievously. “I don’t remember.” Damian’s face went a little green, and his hands started shaking nervously. Keith went into the bathroom. Instantly, Damian heard the sound of running water, so he hid under the bed. Keith came out again. “Oh, so you wanna do this the hard way?” he said. “Are you hiding in the wardrobe?” He checked in there. “What about behind the curtains?” He checked there. “What about… UNDER THE BED! BOO! HAHA!” Damian screamed like a schoolgirl, and rushed out from under the bed. He was holding a ball of dust he had found under there. He threw it at Keith’s face. Keith coughed and gagged a little. “You’re a little jerk, now, aren’t you?” he managed to wheeze out. “Come into the bathroom, Damian. What’s so bad with baths?” “I don’t want one!” Damian said. “But you’ll be all clean when you get out.” “I don’t wanna be clean!” “Is that because you’re so comfortable with your own filth?” Damian blushed. “All right,” he said. “I guess that’s kinda gross. Still, I’m not gonna take a bath, because of the water.” “But the water is nice and warm,” Keith replied. “You’d like that.” “There’s actually such a thing as warm water?” Damian asked. His eyes opened wide. “And, it makes bathing comfortable and wonderful?” “Yes,” Keith answered, smiling. Now, as they were talking, the water was bit by bit filling to the top of the tub. Pretty soon, it overflowed over the top, and was flowing out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Damian was the first to notice the stray water. “Look!” he said. Keith didn’t seem upset at all, though. “Cowabunga!” he said with the largest smile imaginable. “Let me go quick get my surfboard!” Just then, a knock came at the door. “Uh, oh,” Keith said, the smile immediately coming off of his face. “If someone sees all of this water, he or she will tell George, and my paycheck will be lowered… again.” Keith crept to the door. He opened it a wee bit. “Oh, thank goodness!” he said. “It’s only you, Zara!” Zara walked in. Damian was awestruck, for he thought she was so very gorgeous! She had a lovely brown complexion, with straight black hair, and she wore a black dress with an apron. She looked completely perfect, except for a soot stain that was on the apron. “Only me, only me!” Zara said. “You think I’m worthless enough to be an only?” “No,” Keith said defensively. “I was just expecting a goody-two-shoes to be at the door.” “I’m no goody-two-shoes,” Zara said, “but I’m good!” She did piece signs with both of her hands and did a little dance. She then looked at Damian. “Well, hi, there!” she said. “You must be that kid George was gonna pick up!” “Yeah,” Damian said. Impulsively, he asked, “Are you a princess?” “Nah,” Zara answered. “I deserve to be one, though. I’m just that awesome.” More and more water came into the bedroom. It traveled all over the floor, and some of it traveled out of the room under the doorway. Damian said to Zara, “I’m sorry you aren’t a princess. That makes me wonder, how do you deserve to be one?” “Like I said,” Zara answered. “I’m just that awesome.” “I’m awesome, too!” Keith said. “Except, I can’t be a princess, so I guess I’ll be a king.” “Kings are old,” Zara said, “so they aren’t handsome.” “I’ll forever be handsome,” Keith said. “That’s because I’m all that and more!” Water was starting to trickle down the spiral staircase. A man caught notice of that. That man was the butler, and he knew that it was his duty to track down the source of this peculiar occurrence. Like a detective, he followed the trail until he got to Damian’s room. He knocked on the door. “Wuh-oh!” Keith and Zara both said at once. They stood still in their tracks. Damian decided to open the door, knowing that there was no way of avoiding anything. Right in front of him, in the doorway, was a tall man in a suit. “Hello,” the man said. “I’m the butler, Paul. You must be Damian.” Damian stared timidly at the man, Paul, and nodded his head. He then said, “It’s not my fault! Keith did it!” “Keith,” Paul said, “remember what happened the last time you left water running?” “It was an awesome surfing moment,” Keith answered, with nostalgia in his face. “It was,” Paul said. “It all ended in tears, though… because of that wipeout.” Damian was shocked. Both the housekeeper and the butler were taking everything so lightly! Oh, dear, oh, dear… Just then, yet another knock came at the door. And, this time, there was a voice behind the door. That voice belonged to George.
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Post by HburgEagle44 on Mar 21, 2012 13:16:06 GMT -5
Love the Jane Eyre talk... and wow, this will be... interesting. They all have interesting attitudes lol
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Post by celticbear on Mar 21, 2012 21:04:59 GMT -5
Patty! This story is getting better and better! Love Keith at 21 in a Green Suit and still crazy about surfing. Paul as the easy going Butler is a hoot! And Zara as the fiesty housekeeper perfecto! Poor Damo thinks he's going to get into trouble! But I have a feeling George is going to take the whole scene in and laugh his Scottish Bald Head Off!
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Post by pattydear on Mar 22, 2012 0:38:40 GMT -5
“Damian!” George’s voice said. “Did you turn off the water when you went into the tub?” How afraid Damian was! His teeth chattered, and butterflies flew about in his paunch. But, like a good and honest person, one who had learned to live by submissiveness, he went over to the door again and opened it. George looked surprised. “I don’t think you’ve taken your bath yet,” he said. “Right, laddie?” “No,” Damian said, looking down at his dirty shoes. “I haven’t.” He waited to be hit harshly, but all he heard was George gently say, “Go to the bathtub, turn off the water, let it drain a little, then take your bath.” Zara started to go out of the room, when George said, “Stop right where you are, madam!” Zara stopped, put her hands on her hips, and said, “What do you want, hippie?” “Why call me a hippie?” George asked. “I don’t have the hair for it.” “You would if you used my secret head-rubbing cream.” “That’s beside the point. I halted you in your tracks so I could ask you to get towels to clean up the water. It’s getting all over the place.” “Hahahahahahhahahahahahha!” Keith said. “You gotta clean up the water!” “And Keith,” George said, “I would like you to rub my aching feet.” “Please, Zara!” Keith said. “Let’s trade each other jobs!” “And Paul,” George said, “Damian must be very hungry. Go tell the cook to prepare something, as it’s almost teatime.” “I am hungry,” Damian said. “I would gladly eat anything.” “Then I shall tell the cook to prepare some liver,” Paul said. He winked and briskly left the room. Zara left behind him. Keith helped Damian drain the bathwater, then he went downstairs to rub George’s aching feet. The bath wasn’t one tenth as bad as Damian expected it would be at first. After giving himself a good scrub (behind the ears included), he dried himself off and put on an outfit from the wardrobe that he thought was absolutely wonderful in appearance. It consisted of a large, button-up shirt which he left untucked, a pair of pants which required a belt or else they’d fall down and show his underpants, and a pair of shoes with extraordinarily large laces and white tips. Damian heard a knock at the door. He walked over and answered it. At the other end were George and a very friendly looking woman who was holding a tray full of scones… plus a teapot, though that wasn’t enchanting for the dear boy’s appetite, I shouldn’t wonder. “Damian,” George said, “this is the cook, Deirdre.” He walked in and sat on the bed. Deirdre put the tray right next to George. She pulled two cups out of her apron pocket. Following his godfather’s cue, Damian sat on the other side of the tray. “Thank you, Deirdre,” George said. Deirdre smiled. She was about to leave, when Paul came into the room. He looked at her and lifted one of his eyebrows. She chuckled, then left. “Here’s a letter for you, George,” Paul said, holding out a note. George took the note and read it. “Another bill!” he said. “How am I to pay for this food with all of this money going to other places? I guess we should skip teatime today.” Damian gasped and looked very sad. “I was just joking,” George said, laughing. Damian would have been happier, if George didn’t just then lift his hand. But, strange as it may seem, no slaps on the cranium were given. George just rubbed Damian’s hair, and that’s all. It was actually affectionate, of all things. Paul also lifted his hand towards Damian, and also rubbed Damian’s hair. He then left the room. The boy felt in a daze over the new experiences he’d had within the past hour or two. He shook his head and came back to terms with his existence. He reached for a scone and was about to bite into it when George said, “Damian, aren’t you going to pray first?” “Pray?” Damian asked. “Yes,” George answered. “Aren’t you going to thank God for giving you this food?” “I thought Deirdre gave it to me.” “Well, she did, but it was by Divine Providence that she was able to.” “Oh.” Damian didn’t quite understand. George closed his eyes and folded his hands together. He said, “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.” He made the sign of the cross. “You can eat now, Damian,” he said. Damian ate the scone he had been holding. He then ate another scone. And then, he ate another. And then another one. Finally, he was full. “Are you done, Damian?” “Yes.” George closed his eyes and folded his hand again. He said, “We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for all Thy benefits, Who livest and reignest, world without end. Amen. Vouchsafe, O Lord, to reward with eternal life, all those who do us good for Thy Name’s sake. Amen. Let us bless the Lord. Thanks be to God. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.” He made the sign of the cross again. “Why do you say all of that?” Damian asked. “It seems like a waste of time.” “Oh, but it isn’t!” George said, smiling. “It’s wonderful to be able to communicate with our Creator and Savior.” “Creator and Savior?” Damian asked. “Who’s that?” “God, of course.” “Who and what exactly is God, anyway? In *Jane Eyre*, God sounds like someone who picks favorites and wants folks to do everything he asks them to. And in *The Arabian Nights*, he sounds like a person everyone thanks and flatters for no good reason at all.” “God is the One Who made the world and the One Who saves us from being in heck. He is not a person, but He has feelings and wants us to love Him like He loves us.” “What is heck?” “That’s where you go if you don’t follow, believe in, and love God. The opposite of heck is Heaven. Earth and Purgatory are spots between Heaven and heck.” “Is Purgatory like a different world, like in the Narnia books?” “Uh, no… If you are bad in this life, you have to go through Purgatory before you die.” “Bad? But what if you’re mostly good?” “You’ll still have to go through Purgatory, because ‘mostly good’ means you did at least a few bad things.” “But that’s not fair.” “It’s fair, for it is your choice if you want to do something bad, even if it’s only a little bad thing.” Damian looked down at his feet. “I still don’t see how it’s fair,” he said. “Maybe you’ll see one day,” George answered. “Now, shall we take this tray down to Deirdre?” That night, after supper, Damian was up in his room. He was snuggled under the bed-covers. How warm those blankets were compared to those sheets his father would have him use! A knock came at the door. Damian was beginning to be irritated by the constant knocking, but he decided to go with the flow for today. “Come in!” he said. Paul came in. “Hey there, Damo,” he said. “My name’s Damian, not Damo.” “I know. It’s a nickname.” “A nickname?” “Yes. I give all the people I like nicknames. For example, I sometimes call Keith by the nickname Dandruff Head. I’ll also call Zara by the nickname Squiggles.” “What’s your nickname for Deirdre?” “Ummm…” Paul instantly looked uncomfortable. “When no one’s listening, I call her Bonnie.” “Bonnie?” “Yes, Bonnie. It’s a word meaning… pretty.” Damian burst out laughing. “Is it all right if I…” Paul started to say. He pointed at the bed, walked over to it, and sat on it. “Are you and Deirdre going to get married?” Damian asked. It was now Paul’s turn to laugh. “No, no, my boy!” Paul said. “At least, not for a while.” “When I get married,” Damian said, “I want to be happy- like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy from *Pride and Prejudice*. Those two were born for each other. Too bad it took the whole boring book for them to figure that out, though.” “You read *Pride and Prejudice*? I hate that book. *The Time Machine* is more my type of literature. It’s much more… imaginative.” “Not imaginative- realistic.” “How could little blonde creatures and hairy, white monsters be realistic?” “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Sometimes… it’s almost like there’s a whole world that only I can see. I know that only I can see it, because my father never could, and neither could my mother when she was still alive.” Paul simply stared at Damian a long time, with a look of… concern? Who knows? Finally, he said, “Good night, Damian.” He smiled. “See you in the morning. Please, do me a favor- have pleasant dreams and a good sleep.” Damian smiled back at Paul. “Good night,” he said. A few minutes after Paul left, he had already drifted off and was snoring softly.
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Post by HburgEagle44 on Mar 22, 2012 15:34:56 GMT -5
Haha, Damian is certainly well-read... goodness! All those classics... Sounds like this will be a good home for him. Update soon!
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Post by pattydear on Mar 22, 2012 17:47:29 GMT -5
Damian opened his pretty blue eyes and blinked as the morning sunlight came through an opening in the window’s curtains. He sat up quickly. “So it wasn’t a dream!” he said. He held his mouth open in awe. Then, he muttered to himself, “I had a good sleep, but not pleasant dreams. I didn’t have any dreams at all. I’ll have to tell that to… Oh, what’s his name? Paul. Yes. I’ll have to tell that to Paul. I hope it doesn’t worry him at all.” A knock came at the door. Damian got out of his bed, and still in his PJs, opened up the door. “Hi, Deirdre!” he said. “Hello, Damian,” she answered. “I brought you some breakfast.” She was holding a tray with a lid on it, which she put onto Damian’s bed. She was about to leave, when Damian asked her, “Is it true that Paul calls you Bonnie?” Deirdre blushed, and just left. Damian lifted the lid off of the tray. Out came fumes of the loveliest smelling food he could have ever imagined. The tray contained bacon, eggs, toast, and this long yellow thing with a peel on it. Deirdre came back in with a glass of orange juice. She set it on the night table next to Damian’s bed. “What’s this?” Damian asked, pointing at the long yellow thing. “That’s called a banana,” Deirdre answered. She smiled, said something in French, which sounded to Damo like “bone-apple-tea”, and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Of all the other things on the tray, Damian decided to try eating the banana first. There were two ends to it- one end had a black dot, and the other end had a jabby, stick thing. He decided to start eating the end with the black dot. As soon as he started chewing on it, though, he started to gag. He thumped the banana down onto the tray and flapped his hands in disgust. He picked up a piece of bacon. He bit into it. The taste was okay- just a bit sharp in a surprising manner for his tongue. But Damian got used to it and ate all of the bacon strips. He then decided to eat the eggs, which he had a hard time with keeping into his mouth, for they were as slippery as raw fish. He eventually was able to swallow them all. The toast was delicious, though it clogged up his throat so fast that he couldn’t get it all down. “I’ll need something to drink,” he said to himself. He noticed the orange juice on the night table. He gulped down half the glass. “Yummy!” he said. “Aw!” He got out of the bed and went to the wardrobe. He put on an outfit that was similar to the one he’d put on yesterday- except that it consisted of different colors (ones which clashed, I must inform you). He opened the door to his room and skipped out. He tried skipping down the spiral staircase, but ended up tripping and falling on his bum. He walked the rest of the way down. When finally downstairs, he saw Keith, who was using a feather duster to get those migraine-causing specks off of furniture, picture frames, and out of the air. (The latter area was impossible to fix, but Keith was ambitious and willing to try). “Hello, Damian,” he said, taking his mind off of his work. “How are you doing?” “Okay, I guess,” Damian answered. “Did you have your breakfast?” “Yeah….. Oops. I left the tray upstairs. Should I go get it so I can return it to Deirdre?” “I don’t know. How should I know, when no one ever gives me breakfast?” George walked out of one of the many doors that was along the walls. “Good morning, Damian,” he said. “I see you’re already up.” “Good morning, George,” Damian answered. He stood there respectfully. “I shall be going to work, now,” George said. “I’ll be back by tea-time, Damian.” He smiled, went to the front door, and left. Damian sighed. He watched Keith do dusting. “Would you like me to show you around the place?” Damian nodded his head. So, Keith gave Damian a tour of the mansion. He showed Damo the many things there were to do in such a large house. Because of that tour, Damian was able to know what to do with his spare time in the next few days. My, he had a good time, endlessly wandering about. His two favorite places in the house, other than his bedroom, were the library and the room that had all of those heads of the dead animals in it. (George had told Damian that he himself wasn’t much into hunting, and that his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were mainly the ones who had shot the animals; he, personally, felt less guilty about the deaths of animals if he himself wasn’t the one to kill them).
Eventually, George told Damian one evening during supper, “I have decided, my boy, that you should start going to school. I am quite certain that there is a great deal of education you are lacking and must catch up on.” “But I don’t want to go to school,” Damian answered. “In books, schools are always awful places.” “What books say that?” “Well, *Jane Eyre* is a good example.” “That seems to be your favorite book.” “No, it isn’t… My favorite is *A Study in Scarlet & The Sign of Four*. And, the funny thing is, one of the main characters in that book, Sherlock, never had a regular education and most likely never went to school, yet he was still the cleverest guy around.” “That’s no excuse, Damian. You have to go to school- that’s just how the world works.” “I don’t see why it has to work that way.” “Well, I’m telling you all of this, because I enrolled you in Dwidlington’s Parish School before I got home from work today.” Damian frowned. “Don’t be afraid,” George told him. “Everything will turn out fine. Also, think of this as a wonderful opportunity. With the knowledge you’ll acquire, you’ll be able to pick any job you want in the future.” Damian sighed, and said, “All right. I’ll go to school tomorrow.”
The next day, George took Damian to Dwidlington’s Parish School, where they met up with Fr. Snozzthroat in a small, white-walled office. “Hello, Damian,” Fr. Snozzthroat said. “I am very happy to have you here at this school. It is one of the best in town.” “I’m glad you’re happy I’m here,” Damian said. Noticing Fr. Snozzthroat’s collar, he asked, “Are you a priest? George takes me to Mass sometimes, and the priest there dresses just like you. You might know him, since you’re apart of the same profession. His name is Fr. Porkbreath.” “Sorry, my child,” Fr. Snozzthroat said. “I’m afraid I’ve never even heard of such a person as Fr. Porkbreath.” “You’re lucky, then, because it’s really boring having to listen to him.” “Damian!” George said. “Please try to be polite.” “Don’t worry, Mr. Donaldson,” Fr. Snozzthroat said to George. “I understand how hard it is for young people to enjoy the Masses. Actually, I understand how hard it is for anyone to enjoy the Masses, when their hearts and minds aren’t set on the Lord. Now, Damian, I shall take you to your classroom.” “Goodbye, Damian,” George said. “I’ll be here to pick you up after school is out.” George left, and Fr. Snozzthroat led Damian to one of the many classrooms down the long hallway. He blessed the boy, then went back to his office. When Damian entered the classroom, he was met by a scary lady dressed in a black dress and head covering. “Hello,” she said. “You must be the new student. I am Sister Blandina- I’m the teacher of this bunch of shenanigan-doers.” Damian would have said a hello back if the lady, Sister Blandina, would have smiled at him instead of act like she was towering about. “Sit down in that chair,” she said to him, pointing at a seat in the front of the classroom. Damian sat down quickly. He recognized some of the vocal tones in Sister Blandina as being like those of his father, so he decided to do absolutely everything she told him, no matter how awful it would seem. Everyone in the classroom was learning about math which Damian understood almost nothing about. He observed how whenever one of his classmates had something to ask, they would raise one of their hands. Sister Blandina would state that specific classmate’s name, then he or she would ask their question. Damian ended up raising his hand a lot. And, eventually, all of that hand-raising made him tired, so he fell asleep right in the middle of a lecture. “Damian!” he heard a voice shout. He then felt something long and pointy slap him across the head. He woke up quickly to see that Sister Blandina was exactly in front of him, holding a yardstick. “Open those eyes!” she hollered at him. “How can a lazy brat like you ever make it to Heaven? Shall you be expelled right now, on your first day at this school?” She hit him right on the head with the yardstick, with one of the pointy parts digging into his scalp. “I’m sorry!” was all Damian could say. He rubbed his head, and tears, not out of pain but out of shame, formed in his eyes. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything!” Sister Blandina grabbed him by the ear and yanked him out of his seat. She dragged him to a chair in the corner of the classroom, and put a woman’s feathered hat on his head. Damian couldn’t see much past the feathers, but he could hear some of his classmate’s laughing. Now the tears were falling out of his eyes, and they were streaming down his face. He took off the hat and threw it on the floor. He quickly ran out of the classroom. Down the hall he rushed. He had a plan: he was going to get out of the school and try to remember the way back to George’s house. His plan was ruined, though, because he ran into a man who was dressed rather grubbily and wielding a mop. “What are you doing outside of class?” the man asked. “She… um, Sister Blandina? Yeah, her,” Damian said. “She is evil, evil, evil!” “What did she do?” the man looked concerned. “She hit me on the head with a stick, and she made me feel ashamed in front of everyone.” “Come. I’ve gotta talk to Blandina… again.” The man beckoned for Damian to follow him, so Damian did. They got to the classroom which Damo had run out of. “I’ll go in first,” the man said. He opened the door, and said, “Hey, Sis Bland! Yeah, you! Just wait till I tell Fr. Snozzthroat how you’ve been treating you’ve been treating your students. You wanna get busted again?” “Shut up, Ryan!” Sister Blandina shouted. “Go back to cleaning toilets, and let me teach how I want to.” “If that’s how you’re gonna roll.” The man, Ryan, gently touched Damian on the shoulder and led him to Fr. Snozzthroat’s office. The priest looked so surprised to see Damian again. Ryan told Damian, “Say exactly what Sister Blandina did to you.” So Damian recounted everything that had happened. “The nerve of her,” was all Fr. Snozzthroat could say at first. He then said, “Stay in here, my child. You can go back to your classroom when we bring in Sister Martha, who we’ve been planning on replacing Sister Blandina with for months by now.” The priest and Ryan left. Fifteen minutes later, they came back. “It’s safe now,” Fr. Snozzthroat said to Damo. Despite suddenly feeling tired, he still put on a smile. Ryan and Damian left together. “I guess I must be off, now!” Damian said. “One quick thing, though. Do you really clean toilets?” “I’m a janitor and fix-it guy,” Ryan answered. “Oh… Okay. Bye!” Damian cautiously went back into his classroom. A lady dressed like Sister Blandina was in there. It was, quite obviously, Sister Martha. “Oh, you poor thing!” Sister Martha said. “Are you okay?” She felt his head. “It has a large bump. Will you need ice for that?” “I’m okay,” Damian answered. “And I don’t think I’ll need ice.” “If it makes you feel better, would you like a different seat than the one you-know-who gave you?” “I guess.” So Sister Martha gave him a spot to sit in nearer to the middle of the classroom. Despite Damian’s unsettled feelings, he couldn’t help but notice that in the seat next to his was a very pretty girl. He gazed at one of her notebooks. It said on the front in ink the name of the pretty girl: Cathleen Cunningham. Conveniently, a few minutes later was lunch. Damian opened up the cookie tin Deirdre had given him earlier on that day and marveled at all of the food inside. As convenient as the time itself, Damian noticed that the sandwich had been cut into two pieces. He walked over to Cathleen. “Would you like half of my sandwich?” he asked her. “Um…” Cathleen started to say. “No thank you.” Damian frowned. “Okay,” he said. He ate by himself. Little did he realize that Cathleen was watching him the whole time that lunch was in session.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2012 18:51:25 GMT -5
hmmmm i wonder if Cathleen dosesnt get enough food to eat and is told not to complane about it. Update soon.
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Post by celticbear on Mar 22, 2012 21:20:47 GMT -5
Loved Damo's first night in George's house! Got a good laugh out of Ryan being fix-it Man! Did not like Sister B! I like Sister Martha much better! And it looks like Damo may have a sweetheart in his future by the name of Cathleen!
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Post by pattydear on Mar 24, 2012 0:04:28 GMT -5
“She did what?!” George asked at supper that night. “Don’t worry!” Damian answered. “Sister Martha is now teaching in her place.” “Thank goodness! My boy, I am so, so sorry that that had to happen to you- especially on your first day of school.” “Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything bad to me.” “I’m not that kind of sorry. I’m just saying that it makes me sad that you went through that, because I care for you.” “Oh… You care for me?” “Yes, Damian.” “Is it because you’re now starting to like me, because you’re getting to know me?” “I cared for you even before I knew you. That’s why I leapt at the chance of being your godfather when your mother was pregnant with you, and that’s why I leapt at the chance of taking you in when your father wanted me to.” “Oh…” Silence. “So, Damian,” George said, changing the subject, “did you meet anyone today whom you liked?” “I met a janitor and fix-it guy named Ryan. He yelled at Sister Blandina for me.” “Ah, yes… Ryan. Very friendly guy. Loves a good chat. Once, he just said, ‘Hey!’ to me, and we ended up talking for one hour.” “I also met a girl named Cathleen. We didn’t say much to each other.” “What does she look like?” Damian instantly blushed, and he remained absolutely silent. “Uh-huh,” George said, with one of his eyebrows going up. “Why couldn’t you have asked about her personality, or something?” Damian asked irritably. “Because you obviously don’t know her well,” George answered. “Therefore, the only thing I could ask without getting an ‘I dunno’ was the question concerning her appearance.” Damian started to stutter. “You find her attractive, my boy, don’t you?” Damian looked down at his plate and nodded, blushing even more. “Don’t worry. I understand perfectly.” George gazed at his godson with gentle eyes. They were so gentle and kind that Damo thought twice before speaking. But, he said it anyway: “No, you don’t! How could you understand?” “I was a boy once, too.” “That must have been a looooong time ago, then, so you must have forgotten a little bit.” “Ouch. I look that old?” “Yeah. You must be old, since you’re bald.” George just laughed. “Oh, well,” he said. “Remember, Damian, that if you need to talk to me, you can.”
That night, Damian had a hard time trying to fall asleep. He kept hearing voices and noises in his head. “Stop,” he said to the voices. “I don’t want you here! Go!” He shut his eyes tight. He rolled over and over and over. When he opened his eyes, he saw his mother standing right next to his bed. “Hush, Damian,” she said. “Go to sleep. When you wake up, this nightmare will be all over.” “What nightmare, Mummy?” Damian asked. “The nightmare called life,” his mother answered. Damian started to cry. His mother kneeled by the beside and wrapped her arms around him. “In this nightmare,” he said, “you aren’t with me. It makes me feel all alone.” “You aren’t alone, though, my precious child. I looked down at you from Up Above, and I saw what your father was putting you through. So I asked your patron saints, St. Damian and St. Joseph, to intercede for you. They went to God and asked Him to save you from this mess I had to leave you in. “The Good Lord sent an angel down. That angel latently whispered into your father’s ear (your father thought that it was he himself who was thinking this), ‘Damian must leave… Where shall he leave to? He shall go to live with George’. That is why you are now here. That is why you aren’t alone.” “But Mummy!” Damian said. “I don’t want to be here! I want to be where you are, wherever that really is.” “You can’t,” his mother said. “Your time here is not up yet. Don’t rush yourself. Now, close your eyes, my dear angel.” Damian instantly fell into a deep sleep. All through the night, though, he felt a wonderful, loving presence. That presence shooed away all bad dreams, and it replaced his present gloominess with happiness for the time being. When he woke up in the morning, he was rejuvenated enough to take on what possible terrors his second day at school might provide.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 24, 2012 12:24:33 GMT -5
that was a nice update. I realy liked the funny part it made me laugh alot “I was a boy once, too.” “That must have been a looooong time ago, then, so you must have forgotten a little bit.” “Ouch. I look that old?” “Yeah. You must be old, since you’re bald.” George just laughed.
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