kitty!
06-07-2008, 03:30 AM
First post;;;
I was looking through my files to see if I had anything that could possibly be worth reading and posting here, when I stumble across this abandoned and neglected attempt at a story that I apparently started July 30th 2006.
LOOK AT IT!!
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“Come now Miranda. You have to hurry! You need to make a good impression on the judge.” said Gerard. Gerard was a tired looking young man, adding ten years to his prime thirty. His blue eyes and dish-washer blonde hair would normally look youthful on any other man, especially combined with his athletic build, but his work in family court had run him haggard, from cases just like Miranda’s.
“I’m almost ready, okay? I just need to tie my hair back and brush my teeth. I don’t see why we have to be there three hours early, I mean, an hour would be okay, I guess, but three? That’s too much.” Miranda’s delicate-looking hands quickly pulled a hair tie from her wrist to put her hair in a sloppy half-loop, which combined with her conservative dress, made her look like a farmer’s daughter, a girl unfamiliar with the ways of formality. Miranda was anything but new to formal occasions, but she was, however, unfamiliar with conservative ones. Her court case was to decide on her guilt in the deaths of her parents, and younger sister. This was an insult to Miranda, while her relationship with her family was rocky and tearful, had loved them with such a passion that when she saw their murders, she nearly put herself at danger.
“I’m ready now Gerard.” Miranda said absent-mindedly, thinking of that horrible night where her family was murdered shortly after she ran out of the house, by a group of teenagers who she thought to be her friends.
She sat in the shot-gun of Gerard’s car, her feet propped up on the dash, her head resting on the window. “Now Miranda, you can’t be looking like that going up to the courthouse, so when I tell you, look like you’ve been sitting up straight the whole ride there.” Miranda nodded an agreement, and went back to her thoughts, thoughts that would soon be laid out in front of a judge and a small jury, because this was no family court, despite the fact that Gerard was an attorney for family court. He was her representative solely because he was passing friends with Miranda’s mother, and knew simply for the sake of Ashley, he would have to represent the teenage youth. Miranda was being charged for first degree murder, which meant that she could possibly be put in jail for the rest of her life, for the suspicion of plotting the deaths of her family.
“I can’t believe to court date came so soon. It only happened a month ago…” Miranda muttered, running her knuckles across the smooth glass, trying to remember the times where she would draw faces on the foggy windows of the old blue Honda with her younger sister, making them stick out tongues, and trying to write messages to other motorists backwards in her awkward way. Tears filled her eyes, and Miranda closed her eyes to blink them away. “Let’s listen to Broadway tunes, or Jazz. Mom, Dad and Joy loved listening to those.”
“Do you?” Asked Gerard, in such a fatherly way that Miranda started to cry, missing her own father, and his silly games.
“I guess. Yes, I do. But I want to think of the good times. This stuff was always on when we weren’t arguing.” Miranda slipped a CD into the player, and leaned back, remembering past Christmas’, Thanksgivings, birthdays and spring-cleaning days, where the loud, happy, obnoxious songs would get Miranda, her mother and her sister singing, while her father would smile and hug them all.
“Miranda, we are going to be there in five minutes, sort yourself out, because the media is going to be here on the streets leading up to the courthouse, trying to get a look at you.”
“More people to decide my guilt? To decide if my clothing is mocking my family’s memory, to see if my eyes hold enough sorrow, enough grief? To see if I look nervous or scared? Fuck the media!” Miranda gesticulated while she slid into an proper sitting position regardless.
“Come now Miranda, I told you this would happen.” Miranda merely rolled her eyes, and breathed deeply and put on a dead-pan expression, a proper mix of grief and calm.
“We’re here.”
I was looking through my files to see if I had anything that could possibly be worth reading and posting here, when I stumble across this abandoned and neglected attempt at a story that I apparently started July 30th 2006.
LOOK AT IT!!
---------------------
“Come now Miranda. You have to hurry! You need to make a good impression on the judge.” said Gerard. Gerard was a tired looking young man, adding ten years to his prime thirty. His blue eyes and dish-washer blonde hair would normally look youthful on any other man, especially combined with his athletic build, but his work in family court had run him haggard, from cases just like Miranda’s.
“I’m almost ready, okay? I just need to tie my hair back and brush my teeth. I don’t see why we have to be there three hours early, I mean, an hour would be okay, I guess, but three? That’s too much.” Miranda’s delicate-looking hands quickly pulled a hair tie from her wrist to put her hair in a sloppy half-loop, which combined with her conservative dress, made her look like a farmer’s daughter, a girl unfamiliar with the ways of formality. Miranda was anything but new to formal occasions, but she was, however, unfamiliar with conservative ones. Her court case was to decide on her guilt in the deaths of her parents, and younger sister. This was an insult to Miranda, while her relationship with her family was rocky and tearful, had loved them with such a passion that when she saw their murders, she nearly put herself at danger.
“I’m ready now Gerard.” Miranda said absent-mindedly, thinking of that horrible night where her family was murdered shortly after she ran out of the house, by a group of teenagers who she thought to be her friends.
She sat in the shot-gun of Gerard’s car, her feet propped up on the dash, her head resting on the window. “Now Miranda, you can’t be looking like that going up to the courthouse, so when I tell you, look like you’ve been sitting up straight the whole ride there.” Miranda nodded an agreement, and went back to her thoughts, thoughts that would soon be laid out in front of a judge and a small jury, because this was no family court, despite the fact that Gerard was an attorney for family court. He was her representative solely because he was passing friends with Miranda’s mother, and knew simply for the sake of Ashley, he would have to represent the teenage youth. Miranda was being charged for first degree murder, which meant that she could possibly be put in jail for the rest of her life, for the suspicion of plotting the deaths of her family.
“I can’t believe to court date came so soon. It only happened a month ago…” Miranda muttered, running her knuckles across the smooth glass, trying to remember the times where she would draw faces on the foggy windows of the old blue Honda with her younger sister, making them stick out tongues, and trying to write messages to other motorists backwards in her awkward way. Tears filled her eyes, and Miranda closed her eyes to blink them away. “Let’s listen to Broadway tunes, or Jazz. Mom, Dad and Joy loved listening to those.”
“Do you?” Asked Gerard, in such a fatherly way that Miranda started to cry, missing her own father, and his silly games.
“I guess. Yes, I do. But I want to think of the good times. This stuff was always on when we weren’t arguing.” Miranda slipped a CD into the player, and leaned back, remembering past Christmas’, Thanksgivings, birthdays and spring-cleaning days, where the loud, happy, obnoxious songs would get Miranda, her mother and her sister singing, while her father would smile and hug them all.
“Miranda, we are going to be there in five minutes, sort yourself out, because the media is going to be here on the streets leading up to the courthouse, trying to get a look at you.”
“More people to decide my guilt? To decide if my clothing is mocking my family’s memory, to see if my eyes hold enough sorrow, enough grief? To see if I look nervous or scared? Fuck the media!” Miranda gesticulated while she slid into an proper sitting position regardless.
“Come now Miranda, I told you this would happen.” Miranda merely rolled her eyes, and breathed deeply and put on a dead-pan expression, a proper mix of grief and calm.
“We’re here.”