Rainy Day
The gray clouds pooled in the sky, forming a thick mass that shielded any light from penetrating. It was a perfect day in her opinion. A day of slowness and solitude. She smiled and heard her older sister wail in her room, cursing the sky.
She gathered the hem of her nightgown and tiptoed to gather all her books. She slowly opened the door, not to alarm anyone of her escape. The kitchen was fully stocked, as the maids had been working hard all morning. She raided the kitchen and, with her spoils, hid herself in the family greenhouse.
She would spend all day reading, and only dress when dinner was served. The door gradually opened, and she watched her little brother sneak in. He had his haul with him. He took his position next to her and snuggled really tightly beside her. He had his grand adventures to experience, and she had hers.
—
I was meant to write about friendship and cooperation, but loneliness and solitude tried to sneak in. Luckily, there was a brother to disturb the peace, and he was welcomed in. Again, the story took over, not letting me write what I was supposed to write. The initial thought I had when I saw historical fiction was that I wanted to write about colonialism and draw parallels to modern-day media, but that didn’t come. It was supposed to be voice-driven, but I think that didn’t come through as strongly as it normally does. There was a quest to be had. That happened: the raided kitchen and a day spent reading. But what didn’t happen at all was the first-person point of view. The first sentence set the tone, and third-person became the default. It is so weird to rebel against the rules you have set.
Thank you for reading! Have an eloquent day ❤
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