clara langley {eight} wip
Jun 20, 2017 15:07:01 GMT -5
Post by solo on Jun 20, 2017 15:07:01 GMT -5
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
My fingers work across the clothe, careful and diligent, needle pulling a black thread over and under.
One, two, three.
The clock ticks steadily behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the other workers, bent over their material, needles flashing in a steady rhythm. I can here Irene's heavy shoes, click-clacking against the tiled floor behind me.
"Those stitches are too big, Clara."
I pause my work. She's leaning over my shoulder, dark eyes narrowing at my work, aging hands clasped behind her back. I can see the wrinkles next to her eyes and the silver hairs peaking out from her wiry black bun. Even when I was little, I thought she was too young for my father.
My gaze turns to my stitches, squinting to see them. I struggle to make them smaller, movements now minuscule, pulling the needle back and forth.
Irene makes a clicking sound with her tongue, shakes her head, and moves on to the next worker.
One, two, three.
Silently, I run through the list of things that need to get done when I come home. Dinner, the bedrooms, the windows, the gardens...too many things to keep track of. My heart sinks for a moment, but it's lifted when I remember I have other things to look forward to tonight.
One, two, three.
"Clara? Clara, my dress is torn!"
The door of my bedroom swings open. A frizzy head of ginger hair burst through, pink dress in hand, lower lip quivering ever so slightly. I take the material from the young girl and look it over, fingers brushing lightly over the loosened threads. I glance up at her.
"You know Josie, this wouldn't happen if you stopped running near the rosebushes."
Josie takes in a gasp of air, clearly offended, and stamps her foot. Sometimes I forget that she's fourteen.