The Phoenix (thepheenixeyri) wrote in eriofthephoenix,
The Phoenix

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short story attempt

OK so it's been forever, but I just decided to post my short story attempt here.

He watched her face as she turned on her mother. He was her pipe teacher, he knew what would happen if he was forced to leave. She would run, run to him, he would have to tell the police. Brendin didn't like Mirinda's interfering mother. He detested the woman who tried to break the fifteen-year-old's spirit.
"He leaves now! All he is is an Irish bastard who is teaching you a man's instrument. He's teaching you something that isn't your place!"
He's teaching me music, my music, mother. There are lady pipers, just because most pipers are men doesn't mean they all are. I love the pipes, and they were a present from my older sister. If you can't respect her judgments, then you aren't our mother!"

I can't respect her wishes because she's a stupid cow of a woman who makes her living off colors!"
Mirinda snapped, then and nearly ended up going to jail as it was. Brendin saw the rage in the child's eyes. The bond between the sisters was close, nearly as close as twins. He knew what would happen if she would complete the reach, the mother would die for insulting Krisa in front of Mirinda.
"No, Mirinda, student, mine. Dinna let temper rule ye. No' a good thing, wee one." Some had often said his accent was closer to Scottish, but he wasn't too sure of that. Of course it could be said because he was Irish and Scottish both, so to him it didn't matter.
She took one look at Brendin and restrained her hands. She wouldn't lose the lessons for jail, though she would dearly love to strangle the woman for calling her artsy sister a stupid cow of a woman. She remembered the day that Kirisa had come in with the pipes. It was yesterday and Mirinda's fifteenth birthday. They had been the best birthday present ever.
Handsome wooden things with two drones, a fur covered leather bag and two pipes, one with holes in a round wooden base attached to the bag at one end. the wood simply glowed. She could just hear them now. She knew what she would play, knew she could find a teacher. She had found one, but now it was her job to make sure he stayed. "He stays, mother, and even if I have to go to his place, I will learn my pipes. I will not let you take this from me, you have taken too much of my freedom already."
It was the mother's turn to nearly lose control. She didn't lose her restraint like her daughter did, the fury flashed in her eyes. It covered her face.
"It's true, mother. You wouldn't let me learn guitar, I tryed to take piano lessons and you dragged me out by my hair. The only thing you have ever let me do that I remotely enjoy is singing, and that, only because it is 'a proper lady's passtime.' well guess what, mother dear, I am going to learn the bagpipes whether you like it or not. my father, whom you so conveniently divorced has a bank account that only he and I can touch, and he gave me access to it. Kirisa and I made another account where I put my paper route money. I will use those sources to learn the pipes. So whether or not Brendin comes here, or I go there, I am going to learn my music."
The mother knew when she had lost, but she didn't have to like it. Her daughter and her good-for-nothing ex-husband had outsmarted her, and her daughter had once again defied her. She sincerely wished that CPS weren't keeping an eye on her, for now would be the perfect opertunity to beat some sense into the stupid whelp that was her daughter.

I seem to have a sense for writing in abusive types, though I am still trying to figure outwhy this is. My child series deals heavily with this subject, as does Shelaida to some extent. THe child series consists of the following works in progress, cat Child, Prison Child and Forest Child. There are other stories such as Jenalia who deal lightly with it, but it is more in the master/servant context. Not that that makes it any better, but I guess it's more to be expected in a way than in most other things. I can't say that *all* my stories deal with it, because they don't, but a good half, or more than half, too. So yeah. I've had dreams about ... um ... suxual assult, but not so much the physical side of abuse such as whippings, beatings and things, which is what my stories seem to focus in on. I'm sorry I've not been keeping regular tabs on this thing. It's not easy with other brojects and school and things.

The Phoenix/Rowan
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