Peter stayed at the house with Sophie for a while. He felt tired, also felt as if he aged ten or more years. He slept for most of the day and night. Sophie left the house and came back with food. She would prepare it, and then cook it for him. Peter would tell her she didn’t need to but she refused to listen to him. One day he started to yell at her for her to stop. She, of course, didn’t. She kept serving him hand and foot.
She still slept in her room and the forth floor. She fought for her stool even though he offered the chair. She would prepare his bath. Serve him large portions of food and gave her self very little. Wash his clothes. The cycle never stopped.
Peter locked himself in the room he was sleeping in. He didn’t want a slave. He wanted a friend. Someone who wouldn’t beat him. Someone who wouldn’t bully him. Someone who wouldn’t tell him what to do. Someone who wouldn’t put down his dreams. Not like I have any, thought Peter as he was locked in the room. He sat on the floor. Soon he heard knocks on the door.
“What,” snapped Peter.
“Can I do anything for you,” asked Sophie.
“NO!”
“I can get you a snack or something.”
“NO!”
“Why won’t you let me serve you?”
“I don’t want I servant! I’ve already told you!”
“Why? Everyone else wants one. Why not you?”
“Because I want someone to talk to, to have fun with. All I want…All I want…”
“I can get you one if you want.”
“It’s not an item that I want.”
The sound of feet shuffling away was heard from the other side of the door. Peter sat on the floor, furious that Sophie wouldn’t listen to him. He stood from the floor and walked over to the door. He turned the knob and opened it. It was silent in the house. He walked to the living room and sat on the big chair. He stared at the fire that was dancing in the fireplace. He could hear it crackling. The wood had turned white, the coals were burning red. He remembered how his father tried to teach him how to light a fire. His father was proud of him that day when Peter lit the wood.
Peter’s thoughts returned to the present and heard sounds of someone crying. He ran to the third floor and saw that the door to the forth was closed. He walked up the steps and to the door. He tried to open it but it was locked. I hurt her feelings didn’t I, he thought. Peter slumped to the floor and leaned against the door. He looked down but didn’t concentrate on anything.
“Sophie I’m sorry,” he whispered sadly.
She didn’t say anything. Peter got up. He turned to go down the stairs when a blunt object hit his head. He then, went unconscious.
 Rosalinda Plaisance · Wed Oct 08, 2008 @ 09:52pm · 0 Comments |
