#everybody say thank you to Drew and Andrea | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ddixons-angel · 5 years ago

Text

Fated: Season 2

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff)

A/N: This is the last chapter of Season 2!!! Hope you all like how things turn out~ Also, happy Easter weekend to everyone! And for those of you who don’t celebrate it, have a wonderful weekend!

Chapter 9

In the morning, the group had buried Dale’s body and gave him a proper funeral. Rick had given a speech, saying that the group must stick together in order to honor Dale as he had believed the group was broken. In order to properly honor him after death, they must un-break it. The group dispersed once the funeral was over. Gloria had limped to Dale’s RV, she climbed inside and sat down at the table. She sighed as she looked around, reminiscing the old man.

"Hey.” Daryl calls to her as he climbs into the RV with her, “I saw yer crutches outside, ya ain’ usin’ ‘em no more?”

Gloria looks up at him and forces a smile on her face, “I am... it’s just a hassle getting in here with those things.”

“Ya should keep usin’ ‘em, keep ya off that foot.” Daryl says, leaning on the wall facing her, “ya okay?”

“I’m fine,” she sighs, “better off than Glenn, anyway. I haven’t seen him like this since our grandpa died.”

Gloria looks up at Daryl who’s quiet, waiting for her to continue talking.

“You know, my grandpa would always tell these stories, these really elaborate stories of when he went on road trips. Some of them I thought he just made up, and I didn’t really care for them, but Glenn? Glenn loved them.” she chuckles softly at the memory, “he’d always look forward to the weekends and ask ‘when’s gramps coming over? When’s gramps coming over?!’ and every single time, he’d be telling him a story, even if it was one he’s heard a million times, and he’d always love it. They were really close.”

She wipes a tear from her cheek as she continues, “so, when he passed away from a heart condition, Glenn was devastated... and I think... I think he saw a bit of our grandpa in Dale. He’ll pull through it... but it’ll take some time.”

“Ya know I asked ya ‘bout you, not Glenn.” Daryl says straight-forwardly.

Gloria chuckles bitterly, “I couldn’t get away with that, could I...” she sighs, “I feel like shit, Daryl...”

“For what?” Daryl questions her.

“I... I made Dale look like such an idiot in front of everyone. I should have just... just not have said anything and took his side, the damn execution was gonna happen anyway, I should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut.” she confesses, wiping away the tears that fell from her eyes.

“Ya shouldn’ feel that way. Dale wouldn’ blame ya, even if ya did make him look like an idiot, he knows it’s for the safety of our group, not in spite o’ him.” Daryl reasons with her inner demons.

When he sees that Gloria starts to cry, he pulls her up from her seat and into his arms. Daryl leans back on the wall, holding her and rocking her as she cries. She cries into his chest, her hand grabbing onto his shirt. They stay that way for a little while as Daryl lets Gloria let out her feelings, he rubs small circles on her back, comforting her.

Once she finishes crying, she sniffles and looks up at Daryl, “how are you feeling?”

He shrugs, “‘M fine.”

She snuggles into his chest, “I’m sorry you had to be the one to put him down... wish you didn’t have to...”

“Well I had to, can’t let Rick do everythin’ hard ‘round here.” Daryl says softly.

---

Later that day, Hershel had offered the group room to stay inside the house. He told them that he should have let them move in a long time ago, regretful that Dale’s death was what had to remind him to do so. As they all begin to pack their things, Rick is discussing with Shane and Daryl his plan on how to deal with Randall. He’d decided that he and Daryl would do originally as planned before Dale had died, drive the teenager out and leave him there far from the farm. Gloria had gathered her things and was looking for a spot in the house to claim as her place to sleep.

“You can move your things into my room.” she overhears Maggie talking to Glenn.

Glenn hesitates, “I’m just... gonna put my stuff over there.” he gestures to a corner of the room and heads to said spot.

Maggie’s face drops as she watches him go then Gloria goes up to her, “hey, don’t take that to heart, he’s just having a rough time because of Dale. He still cares a lot about you but he’s hurting right now, just give him some time and space, it’ll be okay.” she smiles reassuringly to her.

Maggie smiles sadly and nods, “I know... thank you.” she looks at Gloria apologetically, “you know it should be me trying to comfort you, yet here you are comforting me over your brother.”

Gloria chuckles at this, “well, things are rough for everyone, we should all be comforting each other, have each other’s backs.”

“Definitely.” Maggie smiles warmly.

Gloria heads back outside to gather the rest of the group’s things, Maggie following her to help. They head over to the trucks, Gloria hands Maggie a box to carry then grabs another box herself and they start to make their way back to the house.

“Guys!” they stop in their tracks as they hear T-Dog calling out, “Randall’s missing!”

Maggie and Gloria look at each other, put the boxes on the ground then head over to T-Dog where Rick and Daryl had already dashed towards. Seeing that those two are still on the farm, Gloria’s worry grows as she knows it wasn’t them who had taken him away as planned.

“What do you mean missing?” Rick says, concern all over his face.

“I was at the barn checking up on him and it looks like he slipped the cuffs, but the locks were still locked from the outside.” T-Dog explains.

“He jumped me!” Shane shouts, emerging from the woods, his face looking bloody, “he took my gun!”

“Everybody, back in the house now!” Rick shouts, ushering everyone back into the house.

He takes Daryl, Glenn, and Shane out on a search to look for Randall. The rest of the group are huddled in the living room, waiting for the four to return. Hours pass and soon it is dark out, suddenly a gunshot rings out from outside, causing Lori to panic.

“Hey, hey, calm down, it’s okay, they probably found Randall and had to shoot him, I’m sure they’re fine.” Gloria says, ushering Lori to sit back down, a hand on her back to soothe her.

Lori tries to calm her breath when the door opens and Glenn and Daryl step in.

“Hey, everyone okay?” Glenn asks, looking mainly at Maggie and Gloria.

“Yeah, we’re okay.” Maggie responds.

Daryl looks around, “Rick and Shane ain’ back yet?” and Lori shakes her head, “We heard a shot.”

“They might have found Randall.” Gloria assumes, crossing her arms.

“Nah, we found him. He was a walker.” Daryl sighs, “checked his body for bites and found nothin’, died by a broken neck.”

“That... doesn’t make any sense.” Gloria voices out everyone’s thoughts.

Lori stands up and goes to Daryl, “can you please go out and find Rick and Shane so we can figure out what’s going on?”

Daryl nods, “you got it.” he starts to head out followed by Andrea and Glenn.

The three of them are on the porch when they freeze as they see a herd of walkers all making their way to the house. Glenn is the first one to react, running back into the house and telling Hershel the situation, he follows him out along with the rest of the group. They all watch in horror as a large herd of walkers has the entire farm surrounded, heading straight for them.

Lori rushes back into the house to get Carl but comes back out in a panic as she isn’t able to find him. Carol reassures that he has to be in the house somewhere and that they’ll find him. The two women along with Beth and Patricia follow them into the house to try to locate the boy. The others are watching the herd.

“What do we do...” Gloria says, expressing everyone’s thoughts.

“Maybe we can hide in the basement, wait them out?” Glenn suggests, looking about, panicked.

Daryl shakes his head, “Nah, a herd that big’ll rip this house apart.”

Maggie comes out of the house with a large duffle bag of guns, she hands one to Hershel who starts to load it up. She then hands one to Glenn and Andrea.

“What are ya, insane? We won’t even be able to make a dent in ‘em!” Daryl says as he watches everyone get loaded up.

“You can all leave if you want to, but this is my farm, I’ll die here.” Hershel says confidently then heads off to fight off the herd.

Daryl sighs then looks around at the others, catching Gloria’s eyes, “what’s your plan?” she asks.

“We kill as many of 'em as possible then lead the rest off the farm, it’s our only play.” Daryl instructs.

Gloria nods, looking around to make sure the others know the plan. She reaches down to the bag and grabs herself a handgun, loading it. She’s about to go off, not caring about using her crutches since she has bigger problems to worry about, when Daryl grabs her arm.

“Do ya even know how to use that?” he asks for the second time since they met, frowning.

“I’m about to learn.” she says then rushes off to the fight.

Jimmy, Andrea, Glenn, Maggie, T-Dog and Daryl went off to retrieve their vehicles, going with Daryl’s plan. Gloria had stayed closer to the house with Hershel as Carol and the other women were inside. She gets frustrated with herself as she attempts to shoot the walkers, only to miss her targets. She curses herself for not being able to take those lessons from Shane and Rick before. The sound from her shots only drew the walkers to her more. Gloria sighs, frustrated, and puts the gun away in her belt, knowing that she’s much better at hand to hand combat. Pulling out her dual daggers, she goes at it with the walkers, stabbing and killing each one that comes near her. A bright light catches her attention as she sees that the barn is now lit on fire, the walkers around her are distracted by the sight. She hears more gunfire, assuming that it’s Daryl and the others shooting from their vehicles.

Lori, Carol, Beth, and Patricia are watching the fight from the inside of the house and figured that it was too dangerous to stay and they need to leave. The women run out of the house, Lori in the lead with Carol following closely behind. Beth and Patricia run out together but Patricia gets grabbed by a walker and screams as it takes a bite from her neck. Gloria dashes over at the sound of the scream towards Beth and stabs the walker that bit Patricia.

“Lori! Take Beth!” Gloria yells out as she turns around to fight off the rest of the walkers who made their way to the sound as well.

Lori grabs the young girl and they run. Gloria soon gets surrounded by walkers circling her. Quickly, she surveys the herd and finds the side with the least amount of walkers. Taking a risk, she rushes over to that side and kills each walker blocking her way, clearing her path and runs away from the pack into the woods. Once free from the walkers, she hides behind a tree and looks back at the now walker infested farm. Gloria sighs as she sees what she recognises as Maggie’s car driving away from the wreckage.

“Glenn better be in that car too.” Gloria whispers to herself.

She starts to walk away from the farm, deciding to head to the highway where the group had originally lost Sophia and her. It’s the only landmark she had that the others knew of that’s somewhat closeby. Gloria had been walking for hours and her sprained ankle started to become sore as she continued to walk. She sighs, it was healing so well too. After another while, she finally spots the road to the highway, smiling in relief to herself as she reaches it. Gloria starts limping up the road to find her group.

---

Rick, Carl, and Hershel watch as the vehicles speed down the highway and stop right next to them. Lori gets out of the car and runs over to Rick and Carl, holding them close. Beth runs out and tackles Hershel in a tight hug and are soon joined by Maggie who had gotten out of her car. Hershel looks around and asks about Patricia and Jimmy, and to his disappointment, they hadn’t made it out. Glenn slowly gets out of the car, he scans the area for Gloria. Tears well up in his eyes when he doesn’t see her and he hits the car in frustration, anger, and sadness. The others look to him in sympathy as they realize as well that Gloria isn’t with the group.

“She’s alive.” Daryl pipes up, causing Glenn to look at him, “we jus’ gotta wait for her to come back to us. Ya can’t just give up on her jus’ ‘cause she ain’ here! She’s tough, and ya know that!” he wasn’t even sure if he was trying to convince Glenn or himself.

He huffs in frustration then heads back to his bike, muttering that he’s going to go back and find her but before he mounts his bike, a figure down the road catches his eye. Daryl bursts into a dash down the road when he sees that it’s Gloria. She breaks into a tired smile when she sees him and yelps when he wraps his arms around her. Emotions take over him as Daryl presses his lips on hers, kissing her hard, making both of them breathless when they pull apart.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Gloria says softly to him.

He nods and starts walking her back to the group but when he realizes that she’s still limping, he picks her up bridal style, “let’s get ya back to yer brother.”

Daryl puts her back down on her feet when they get back to the group where she limps over to Glenn.

“Oh my god.” Glenn sighs in relief as he rushes over to Gloria, hugging her tightly, “when I didn’t see you I thought...”

Gloria chuckles, “you aren’t getting rid of me that easily, older brother.”

Rick smiles at the siblings reunion but then turns serious as he clears his throat, “we should get going, we don’t want to be here if another herd passes through.”

With that, the group decide to head off. Glenn ushers Gloria into Maggie’s car where she takes the back seat, jokingly threatening anyone who tries to stop her from sleeping. Through their journey, Rick’s car had run out of gas, causing the group to stop. They were now huddled together between some stone structures to the side of the road. Carol and Maggie were growing wary of Rick as he had revealed what Dr. Jenner had told him right before the C.D.C. blew up: you become a walker no matter how you die. The group was upset that Rick hadn’t told them that important information before and they only became even more afraid of him when he had revealed that he killed Shane. Rick was on top of the structures, keeping watch for the group.

Carol leaned in to Gloria who had her arm around her for warmth, “I don’t think I can trust Rick... after keeping that from us...” she says with a hushed voice.

Gloria shakes her head, “I... I don’t know what to think.”

“I trust him.” Daryl, who’s sitting on the other side of Carol informs, “he hasn’t done anythin’ wrong by me.”

A sudden rustle in the woods startles everyone in the group. Carol stands up in panic, looking at Rick.

“Do something!” she calls out, clearly freaked out.

“I am doing something! I’m keeping this group safe! That’s the only thing I’ve been trying to do this entire time!” he snarls, “maybe, maybe you don’t need me, maybe you can all try your chances out there, alone, without me, but that isn’t happening. You’re all staying. This is not a democracy.”

The group stays silent, no one daring to oppose the now self-appointed leader. Rick continues on patrolling the structures, keeping watch. The entire group, including Rick, knows that they can’t survive without each other. They’re just going to have to live with how things are now, try to find a place to build up their group, possibly start something new for this terrifying world.

---

Next Chapter

And there you have it! Season 2 has come to an end and next week we’ll be on to Season 3! Yayyy we’re close to our favorite Prison Era! What did you guys think of this ending though? What did you think about that kiss?? :D Let me know~

I hope everyone stays safe and healthy, please don’t panic, we will get through this!

And as always, I would really appreciate any comments left for me! I’ll be replying to any comments in a new post because this is a sideblog!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d list to be added/removed!):

#Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon Fanfic #Daryl Dixon Fanfiction #Daryl Dixon Imagine #TWD Fanfic #TWD Fanfiction #TWD Imagine #The Walking Dead Fanfic #The Walking Dead Fanfiction #The Walking Dead Imagine #Glenn Sister!OC #Glenn Sister!Original Character #Glenn Rhee #Fated: Season 2 #Fated: S2: Chapter 9

99 notes · View notes

elisabettacormac · 4 years ago

Text

Alecia McKenzie: Natasha

Alecia McKenzie

Natasha

She had forgotten why she signed up to be a tutor. Mostly it had been impulse. The notice in the lobby of her dormitory talked about 'disadvantaged' children, children who were poor but bright and needed someone to look up to. Tutors in English and math were needed. Two hours a week were all you had to give.

Andrea had never done any volunteer work before but the notice appealed to her: she imagined a little-sister or -brother kind of child, shy and lovable, who would ask her strange questions to which she would give funny, grown-up answers. She signed the volunteer form and they assigned her Natasha, eight years old.

Natasha was big for her age, looking at least ten. She was a beautiful child, the same light brown colour as Andrea, with big, black untrusting eyes. The arrangement was that her mother would bring her to the university each Saturday at eleven, and Andrea would help her with any school problems she had. If she had homework for the weekend, they would to it together.

The first time she came, Andrea brought some biscuits, made some lemonade and they sat at her desk in the dorm room and talked. Natasha was very intelligent, almost unchildlike, and Andrea felt at a loss. She didn't know how to talk to children who didn't particularly act like children, didn't know what tone to adopt, what subject might be good.

Andrea asked: 'Do you like dolls?' and Natasha said:

'When I grow up I'm going to be an astronaut.'

Andrea hadn't heard that one before. Doctor, teacher, nurse and policeman she was used to, but not astronaut. Especially not from a child who'd probably never been further than Kingston. She felt herself pitying the child for being so ambitious, knowing her ambitions would never be fulfilled.

She said: 'That's a good profession. Why do you want to do that?'

'So I can float around. My teacher says that there's no gravity in space, so you have to float. They showed a movie at school about it. And I know that's what I want to do.'

Andrea burst out laughing. How many people were there who wanted to float? Natasha was staring at her and she tried to stop laughing, swallowed hard.

Natasha asked: 'What are you going to be? A doctor?'

'No.' Andrea replied. 'I'm studying languages. You know, French and Spanish. I'l probably teach when I graduate.'

'Oh!'

Natasha was unimpressed, and Andrea felt belittled. 'I have another year to go. It's very difficult.'

Natasha looked at her without replying and the image of a nice, timid child who spoke with downcast eyes passed across Andrea's mind. Perhaps next time she could choose.

Natasha spoke good English, which was strange because he rmother knew only dialect. When Mrs Jackson brought Natasha, she had tried to speak 'properly', but Andrea knew it was beyond her. She herself spoke Creole to the woman, to put her at ease, but Mrs Jackson had been insulted. She left quickly, telling Natasha she'd be back for her at one o'clock.

Andrea asked to see Natasha's math book, and they talked about what she found hardest. Natasha had problems with multiplication so they worked on a few sums. When Andrea showed her an easy way to do several problems, she child smiled for the first time, her two front teeth slightly overlapping. She got most of the sums right after that. When her mother came to get her, Andrea walked with them to the university gates. It hadn't been such a bad two hours after all.

The next Saturday she slept late after a dorm party the night before. Errol was with her. She didn't remember about Natasha until the intercom shrilled in her room: 'Andrea, you have a visitor in the lobby. Would you please come down?'

She jumped up, washed her face, dressed, got Errol out, and was down in just under ten minutes.

'Sorry to keep you waiting. I overslept.'

Natasha looked at her, eyes condemning. Andrea looked away. When they reached the room, Natasha glanced around quickly, not hiding her disappointment at the lack of lemonade and biscuits this time.

'Why don't we do a few sums, then you ca come down with me and have lunch in the cafeteria.' Andrea said. 'I'll tell everyone that you're my sister.'

The child showed no pleasure at the suggestion, and Andrea was annoyed. A little gratitude wouldn't have been amiss.

But she forgot her irritation when they walked int othe cafeteria and her friends said: 'What a cute little girl. How come you didn't tell us you had a little sister?'

Natasha talked all through lunch, about wanting to be an astronaut and wanting to float. 'I'll float above Earth and wave down to all of you.'

She charmed Andrea's friends, but Andrea felt burdened by tyhe child's talk, but her obsession. She felt even ore pressed upon when Mrs Jackson invited her later that day to come to dinner the next Saturday.

They lived in a tenement yard in August Town. An L-shaped row of rooms housed several families, each family occupying one room, and all sharing a long, red-tiled verandah that ran along the building. There was one toilet in the yard.

Mrs Jackson and Natasha's room was at the end of the long part of the L. It was very clean. Along one wall was a double bed over which hung a picture - torn from a calendar - of Jesus, blond-haired and unnaturally blue-eyed, on the cross. A round dining-table with four chairs sat in one corner and nearest the door was a rocking-chair, its straw seat in need of repair.

Mrs Jackson had cooked rice and peas and fried chicken, a real Sunday meal made a day too early. Carrot juice sweetened with condensed milk was already in a plastic jug on the table.

'Sit down, sit down, please.' Mrs Jackson said. 'Sorry the place not bigger.'

'It's nice, it's nice.' Andrea assured her. 'And what a lovely bedspread.'

'Yes, is real linen, you know. My sister in England send it for me.'

'It's lovely.'

They ate. The food was spicy and delicious. Andrea chewed slowly; she didn't want to offend by not eating enough but she also wanted them to have some food left for tomorrow.

'Heat up, heat up.' Mrs Jackson encouraged her. 'I don't have no fridge, so if we don't heat everything, it gwine spoil.'

'The word is "eat", mama, not "heat".' Natasha corrected her mother sternly. Mrs Jackson looked at her with pride.

'You know, Natasha always come first or second in her class. The only thing her teacher say is that she talk too much.'

The child tightened, her face scornful and angry as she looked at her mother. Mrs Jackson smiled gently and several emotions went across Natasha's face. Andrea watcher her, knowing she loved her mother but was ashamed of her. She, too, had felt that way, until her mother died when she was sixteen, three years ago. But her reasons had been different. Mrs Jackson didn't seem the type who could drink white rum like a man and go to bars where she was the only woman. Andrea closed her eyes briefly.

'You've decorated your home so nicely, Mrs Jackson.' Andrea said. 'Have you lived here long?'

'Thank you, love. I been living here since Natasha born. Her father abroad, you know. Her working so he can send for the two of us.' Natasha had heard this since she was old enough to ask where her father was.

'Yes? He's in England.'

'No,' Mrs Jackson said. 'He in America, New York.'

'Oh. My father is in the States too, but Miami. You know it takes a long time to file for someone over there. They're cracking down on everybody. But you're probably better off here. America is no paradise...' She stopped. Mrs Jackson wouldn't appreciate student left-wing rhetoric, even if it were the truth.

But the woman smiled. 'At least in America if you have money, you can buy anything you want. They don't marry saltfish with flour in America.'

She had a point. When things were scarce on the island, the shopkeepers started "marrying" goods. So if you wanted something that was hard to get, as saltfish was at one point, you have to buy something else to deserve it. Two pounds of lour, for instance. And they married other things as well. You could get rice only if you bought the badly made coconut oil, which smoked and stank when you heated it.

'But things are plentiful now.' Andrea said. 'Since Mr. Swagga got into power, the shelves are filled with cornflakes, foreign cheeses and American apples.'

Mr Swagga had only got into power by promising to bring back these things after the unpleasant years of Socialist belt-tightening. "Cornflakes-and-corned-beef politics", Errol called it. They had both joined the SCP, the Student Communist Party after their first year on campus. But Andrea had to be careful what she said. People like Mrs Jackson didn't want to hear about Communism. Only America offered deliverance.

When she left, Mrs Jackson and Natasha accompanied her part fo the way. All along the street, young men leaned against walls, or sat in groups on the sidewalk. There had been more women and children in the street when Andrea had walked by earlier, but now it was getting dark and the lessening light sent in the women even as it drew out these bored and trouble-seeking boys who had broken the bulbs of the street lights so they could feel more at home.

One called out: 'Hey, Mrs Jackson. you not introducing we to your visitor?'

And another said: 'I like your sexy jeans, baby.'

The third boy shouted a warning. 'Hey, brown-skin girl, next time you come here, don't wear no green blouse because green in Labourite colour, you hear me? This is strictly PNP territory.' He pronounced it "Pay-N-Pee."

Andrea wanted to say "Go to hell", but she found it easy to restrain herself when the boy raised a gun and fired two shots into the air to emphasize his worlds. At the shots Mrs Jackson, who had been ignoring the boys, looked over and said mildly: 'Yappy, stop the foolishness.'

Yappy put the gun away and grinned at her. 'Just practicing, Mrs Jackson. You know elections soon come. How you do, Natasha? You growin' big, eh?'

'Keep your eyes to yourself, you hear me, Yappy?' Mrs Jackson said sharply.

Yappy said: 'me eyes is me market, ma'am...' and he laughed. His shots had been less threatening, and less frightening.

Natasha looked at her mother. 'Mama, when are we going to move? I hate Yappy.'

And Mrs Jackson said: 'We don't have money now to move, but as soon as we get some...'

They would've accompanied Andrea all the way back to the university but she said she could go on alone, it was better if they went back.

Errol was waiting for her at the dorm. 'What's going on? I thought we were going to take in a movie tonight.'

'Oh, sorry, I forgot. Damn!' She told him where she'd been and about the boy with the gun.

Errol shrugged: 'That's the ghetto, baby.'

Errol was sincere most of the time, but frequently she hated him. From his tone of voice nobody would guess that his parents, still together after twenty-six years of marriage, were hot-shot lawyers with one of the biggest houses on Jack's Hill. No, you'd think he was born and raised in Renk Town, waking and going to bed with the sound of gunshots. The closest he probably got to nay ghetto was listening to his father's radio show every Wednesday morning at ten o'clock. It was one of those call-in shows. A listener would call in and say "Hello Mr Bates, you know that all politicians are turning poor people onto fools?" And Lawyer Bates would say: "Good morning, Sah. What do you mean by that, Sah?" The question, always the same and always unexpected, would prompt the man into saying something stupid. Instant entertainment for the masses. And the callers never learned. They called about everything, but mostly about politics and religion: "You know, Mr Bates, if the people on this island don't turn to God and stop the thieving and killing, God goin' really send something to lick some sense into them." "Thank you for your comment, ma'am, what you mean by that, Ma'am?"

Still, it wasn't Errol's fault. They were sitting on the bed and she reached over and pulled off his tam. His dreadlocks were just starting to grow and she knew he would wear his tam until the locks were long and thick, at which time he could go hatless with pride. The dreadlocks were another thing about him that she disliked. They looked ridiculous on him because he was so light-skinned, much fairer than her. They made her feel that he was trying to prove something, made her think that he wasn't man enough about his convictions, that he needed the dreadlocks to show everybody where he stood. Sometimes she thought he was the kind of man to marry the blackest woman he could find, just to dispel all doubts to himself. She wondered when he would leave her.

She leaned over and kissed him. He smiled and lay back on the bed taking her with him. He pulled the blouse from her jeans and stroked her back.

'I have an idea.' Errol said.

'Yes?' Andrea smiled at him, eyes slightly narrowed.

'Let's take your "tutee" to the beach next Saturday. It's okay for you? You don't mind?'

'No, I don't mind. It's only the first year that I couldn't stand going. But I don't know if Natasha can swim. Anyway, I'll ask her mother. It's a really nice idea.'

She kissed his chest. She kissed his neck, remembering why she liked him. He laughed, his chest shaking under her. He stayed the night.

The next Saturday they borrowed his father's car and the three of them drove to Hellshire Beach. Anybody looking at them would think they were a family, Andrea thought. Natasha talked non-stop the whole way but it didn't bother Andrea today. The child didn't own a swimsuit and she looked vulnerable in her pink shorts and polka-dots sleeveless blouse. It was the first time Natasha had ever been to the sea and she was afraid of the water, until Errol and Andrea taught her how to float on the waves. When they would have left the water, she said, 'Please, can we float some more?' So the three of them spent hours on the water, screaming whenever a big wave came in and washed down the beach, picking up shells and crazily shaped stones. Andrea had never seen her so happy.

On the way home she said: 'Andrea, can we come back again and you teach me some more how to float?'

And because Andrea couldn't answer, Errol said: 'Yes, we'll come again. Any time you like.'

Before he took her home, Errol stopped by a sidewalk vendor a brought a bag of fruits. When they saw Mrs Jackson, he gave her the bag and she took it, smiled brightly and said thanks. Andrea knew she wouldn't have got the same response.

The lessons continued until just before the Christmas holidays. Natasha seemed to be getting brighter all the time and she never missed a Saturday. She was usually upset when her mother came to get her because she wanted to stay longer. And Andrea, took, looked forward to the lessons, but she couldn't decide whether she truly liked Natasha or not. The child's eyes were too unsettling, demanding everything and expecting nothing. And she still talked about floating, always floating. But Andrea knew she wouldn't float, she wouldn't escape. In eight or nine years she knew she would run into Natasha somewhere and the child would have two children hanging on to her and a third in her belly, or something like that, firmly anchored to her circumstances like everyone else. She couldn't believe in Natasha's dreams and Natasha knew it. The child seemed to like her but kept her feelings in check. They tended to be very polite with each other, both afraid of disappointment.

Only once did Natasha say that she wished she lived at the university with Andrea because people were always fighting around their neighbourhood. And somebody on their street had killed a policeman.

'They're always firing shots...' she said. 'I wish Mama would move.'

And Andrea tried to tell her that her mother was doing her best, would move, change her life, do anything, just for her, if she could. But the words didn't mean anything to Natasha and Andrea knew that, in a way, she was talking to herself.

Natasha's end-of-term report said she had come first in her class. She showed the card to Andrea. Her teacher had written: "Natasha has improved in all her subjects. Now if she could only learn to talk less and stop disrupting the class."

Andrea didn't know if they would continue with the lessons when school resumed. Tutoring Natasha was painful because they had too much in common. But on the last Saturday before the university closed, Natasha said: 'See you in January.' And she found she couldn't say "No, you won't." Andrea smiled, kissed the child and gave her her Christmas present. It was a bathing suit she and Errol had picked out together.

Andrea went to Miami for the holidays, to spend Christmastime with her father and half-Chinese stepmother. She'd been doing it since her mother died. Davy had wanted her to come and live in Miami, but she had said she preferred to stay in the island boarding with friends, then living on campus.

Every year that she came to Miami, she wished she had spent Christmas on the beaches at home with her friends. It started at immigration. She always hoped that the Americas would be rude so she could tell them what the thought of their country and be refused entry. But they were ever polite. When they asked her reason for coming to the States and she said "Tourism", they accepted her reply without question. But she knew it wasn't always like that. She remembered reading in the papers at home that they had turned back one woman, saying that they didn't want any whores in their country. The article had caused several gunshots to be fired at the American embassy, and they had stopped giving out visas for a while.

Davy and Ann-Marie met her at the airport. Her father always looked the same, Harry Belafonte-handsome and well fed. He had his own supermarket in Miami and Ann-Marie worked in a bank. Andrea was Davy's only child, or the only one he would acknowledge, and that was just because she looked like him, he said bluntly. The others didn't resemble him in the least and could’ve been fathered by anyone. He wasn't going to waste his money taking care of them.

They took her everywhere when she came. And after a few days, she forgot to hate them and America, getting caught up in the shopping spree and the crass happiness of the people around her. Everyone was busy making money in Miami and loving every minute of it. Only the Haitians, driving taxis, opening doors and being washed up on beaches on too-small boats, seemed slightly sad. But they didn't see many Haitians because her father lived in a Cuban neighbourhood. He'd even picked up some Spanish. He was always shouting to people, "Hey man, ¿qué pasa?" And he was very proud that Andrea's Spanish was fluent. He told his neighbours, 'My daughter is studying Spanish at university. She talks it real good.' In the nine years he'd been in Miami, his accent had got more and more American, but Andrea respected Ann-Marie for clinging to her Caribbean accent, even if she was half-Chinese.

Her father gave her money and she spent it frenziedly and without compunction. That was what America was for, buying things. She bought a watch and good quality wool for Errol, who knitted his own tams. She bought a school-bag for Natasha, a scarf and sweet-smelling American bars of soap for Mrs Jackson, a gold necklace and jeans for herself and t-shirts for all her friends at the university. When she didn't shop, she watched TV, while Davy and Ann-Marie worked. Every five minutes there was a Christmas message from advertisers. MacDonald’s wishing everybody Happy Holidays. Burger King giving away Christmas hamburgers. Piggly Wiggly screaming what items they had on sale. Buy, buy, buy, it's Christmas.

She went back to the island in January loaded down and tired. Errol came to pick her up to the airport in his father's car, and she held on to him for a long time. After two weeks in America the island always seemed unreal in its beauty, everything too bright, too colourful, too natural to be appreciated fully. She wished that, instead of the sea and the mountains on the way from the airport, there would be a few high-rise blocks of concrete to help cushion the shock of contrast.

Her classes started the next day, but she couldn't concentrate. She felt everything around her was moving too slowly. She was really looking forward to the weekend. Perhaps when Natasha came, they could skip the lessons and go to the beach. The child wouldn't say no to floating.

Saturday morning, she wrapped the gifts she had bought and waited for Natasha and Mrs Jackson. When they hadn't come by two o'clock, she and Errol went to Hellshire Beach with Marlene and Tony, two of their friends in the SCP. Things were tense in the party these days because general elections were very near now, only a month away. The violence on the island was heating up, and already one of the students of the SCP had been shot at. It was ironic, because the communist Party wasn't even contesting the elections. Leave it to the Labourites and the Pay-N-Pees. Driving to the beach in Tony's car, they laughed at some graffiti they passed. "AIDS= Any Idiot Deserves Swagga".

'These people getting wittier and wittier!' Tony laughed.

'And poorer and poorer.' Errol said.

At Hellshire they ordered Festivals and fried fish, cooked on the beach by people who made their living that way. Most of the food-sellers on the beach were women. The men went out in small boats to catch the fish, and the women made the Festivals, kneading the flour mixed with cornmeal, sugar, butter and water, and forming them into small balls which they fried until brown. When the men came in, they dumped their catch into water-filled iron drums beside the women, and beach-goers went over to choose their meal among the trapped, weakly-swimming fish. Errol always pointed to the biggest fish and the woman laughed, plucked it out of the water and put it in a basin until it flapped to stillness. in a few minutes she would scale it and fry it on the spot. Andrea wondered what the women did during the week when the beach was deserted. But perhaps they made enough on the weekend to see them through.

Before eating, they fooled around in the water, tossing a ball to one another. Later Andrea floated away alone, lying on her back with her arms out and her eyes closed against the sun. The waves rocked her, she lost sense of time and other people in the water disappeared. Floating like this, she could understand Natasha's dreams. Although she hadn't traveled very far from the shore, she felt she had drifted miles out to sea and was alone. The rocking of the water was peaceful; perhaps that was how her mother had felt. Then she remembered the fish-eaten face and quickly swan back to join the others.

'Don't go off alone again.' Errol said. 'The food is ready.'

Afterwards, stretched out on the beach, Andrea thought of her mother. She was perhaps four years older than Natasha when her mother started drinking, when she started being ashamed to take school friends because of what her mother might do or say. Usually, though, her mother wasn't even at home and Andrea had to fix dinner for herself, straighten the place... and wait. If her mother didn't come home by ten o'clock or so, she went looking for her, walking from bar to bar, a target from the drunks who noticed only that she was beginning to grow breasts. They got to know her and made jokes about the plums in her blouse pocket getting riper and riper. And when she finally found her mother, sitting with some man, his hand on her leg or her hip, there was so much contempt in her eyes, her mother couldn't look at her. And she'd walk home ahead of the unsteady woman, not offering support.

Sunday was the only day her mother didn't drink, and together they'd go to the beach and she'd see the gentle, relaxed person her mother had once been. Her mother hadn't known how to swim and wasn't interested in learning. But she knew how to float and would lie on her back in the water, being rocked to and fro. Sometimes, after such a Sunday, her mother would have a dry spell for a week, and would go back to her dressmaking business, making clothes for the people in the neighbourhood. Then, instead of buying rum, she would buy Andrea a present, saying: "Here now, your father's money didn't buy this." (Davy continued sending three hundred American dollars every month even after she'd written her mother saying he'd found someone over there and didn't think he'd be coming back to the island. Her mother had read the letter, laughing and saying, "After all these years, imagine that, eh?" They had laughed together, loudly.)

Andrea didn't know why her parents hadn't married when she was born, but now she couldn't ask. She only knew that when the first bad wave of political violence started her father had gone to Miami, saying that he would send for them and that the and her mother would get married then. But things changed quickly. And her mother started drinking.

When Andrea turned sixteen, she stopped going to the bars to look for her mother. But she always left the lights on in the front room and stayed awake until her mother came in, usually in the early morning. it was on such a morning that they had their last fright, a Thursday morning. Her mother had lately started reeking of alcohol and the smell hung around the house. It couldn't be gotten rid of. Andrea had been watching her grow thinner, watching her face get more ravaged, like the face of a woman whose husband constantly battered her. She had long stopped begging her not to drink. Now she only hated her. And especially this morning. Although she had school the next day, she was still awake when ehr mother came in and she went into the front room to meet her.

'Still up?' her mother asked, swaying and reaching out to steady herself. Andrea stepped back and they looked for a moment into each other's eyes. Her mother seemed to grow sober, briefly.

She said: 'You hate me.'

And Andrea said: 'Yes, you're just a drunken rass. I wish you weren't my mother!' and went back to her bedroom slamming the door.

The next day, when she was at school, her mother floated away. Days before they found her body, a fisherman said he had seen a woman in a green dress bobbing far out at sea. He had wanted t ogo after her, he said, but he was very low on fuel and she just drifted further and further away. And when the polie went out to search for her, she eluded them, for five days. After she had identified it, she threw up and couldn't stop imagining all those fish surrounding her mothe rnad pecking away greedily. It didn't help to know she'd drowned before the fish-feast started.

NATASHA didn't come the following Saturday, and Andrea asked Errol to go with her to August Town. Mrs Jackson's neighborhood was the kind of place that upset affluent people on the island when they saw pictures of it in foreign newspapers. When the BBC or The New York Times did stories about political violence on the island, this was the sort of place they liked to show. It looked like a war zone. Slogans were scrawled on every wall and, if anybody paid attention to laws in this country, all the houses would've long been condemned.

The streets were full of life, as if people couldn't bear to be in their homes. Women combed their children's hair on the sidewalk and shouted laughing abuse at the young men hanging about. Most of the women were pregnant. One, her belly hanging between her tights, sat wide-legged on a stool, making roast corn on a coal stove to sell to others on the street. They all stared at Andrea and Errol, but Errol's dreadlocked status prevented any comments.

Mrs Jackson's room was locked. They peered in through the window and the room looked empty, no furniture.

'Looks like she moved...' Errol said.

An old man, sitting and pickign his toe-nails further doewn the verandah, looked at the, looked away and shouted back to them: 'She gawn abroad. De man send fe har after the pickney dead.'

'Which pickney? What you mean?' Andrea asked him.

She grabbed Errol's arm to steady herself. She was trembling.

'You no read Gleaner? You no listen to radio? Dem shoot de pickney. Right after Christmas. Dem bwoy on de road was fooling round wid gun,shoot after one anodder, and two bullet ketch de pickney, kill har pon de spot. But 'ow come yo uno 'ear 'bout dat? It cause such a rage dat even de politician dem come roun fe try quiet de people. Is riot we almost 'ave ya.'

He continued picking at his toes.

Andrea looked at Errol.

'You didn't hear about it, Errol?' She was still squeezing his arm hard, her nails cutting into him.

But he was just as shocked as he was.

'Yeah, I heard something about it. A lot of people called in to Daddy's programme. But I didn't know it was... Natasha?'

'Did they arrest anybody?' Andrea asked the old man.

'Arrest? Who dey goin' arrest? Everybody wid gun dese days 'ave protection from politician. Is where you live, Miss? You no know dat?'

'How about the boy names Yappy? Was he involved?'

'Yappy? Is Yappy dat try shield her when he see she get shop. Is him try calm down Miz Jackson when she start run up and down de street like a madwoman. Ah never hear anybody scream like dat in al mi born days!'

Andrea didn't want to her any more. She dropped the bag of presents she'd brought in front of Mrs Jackson's door and walked quickly out of the yard. She and Errol hadn't reached the gate when the old man went to look in the bag.

He sucked his teeth and flung a dirty look after them. He would sulk all day because there wasn't anything there in the bag that he needed.

0 notes

mycasandstarrs · 7 years ago

Text

SPN 01x03: “Dead in the Water”

The third episode of the tv shows that I love tend to be favorites of mine: Community’s “Intro to Film”, Chuck’s “Chuck vs the Tango”, Crazy Ex Grilfriend’s “I Hope Josh Comes to My Party!”, and now Supernatural’s “Dead in the Water”.

Whoa, the title card had a sound effect!

Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin

“Guys don’t like buff girls.” Dude, shut up.

Living in a lake house like that must be so nice.

Damn, this is making me wish I knew how to swim.

OH OH NEVERMIND.

RIP Sophie Carlton. Drowned in the lake.

Oh, is this the pen in the mouth scene?

IT IS! HOLY SHIT, instant butterflies in stomach.

Sam the blocker.

Oh, the bro arguments.

Agent Ford, Agent Hamill. U.S Wildlife Service

Sheriff Jake Devins.

I have Sera Gamble and Raelle Tucker to thank for this episode.

And Kim Manners as well

lmao Dean.

Enter Andrea Barr and her son Lucas. Daughter and grandson of the Sheriff.

OH my goodness Dean.

“Must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” OOOHHHH SLAM FUCKING DUNK.

“’Kids are the best?’ You don’t even like kids.”

“I love kids.”

“Name three children that you even know.”

Well he knew you as a kid, would that count?

Christopher Barr, Lucas’ father, drowned earlier in the year and Lucas was a witness to the event.

“Watching one of your parents die isn’t something you get over.” :(

The plastic soldiers.

It is always endearing to see Dean interact with kids. He’s so sweet, caring, and careful with them.

Dean drew his family. :’) (Would an updated version of that drawing now include Jack and Cas?)

“Kids are strong. You’d be surprised with what they could deal with.”

Lucas drew something for Dean. :’) Kids’ drawings are such a great gift to receive, believe me I know.

Ugh, the dirty water.

nonononononononono

Oh dear god, it’s happening.

RIP Will Carlton. Drowned in the sink.

A water wraith? That sounds so cool. Now I wanna see an episode featuring a water wraith. (Would this also mean that there’s a fire wraith, an air wraith, and maybe even an earth wraith or something? I’m getting carried away.)

Bill Carlton.

“My children are gone. It’s worse than dying.”

Lucas’ drawing is of the Carlton house. (dun dun DUN)

Now they need to talk to Lucas again.

The red bike.

(Off topic, but I miss Dean’s jewelry: the ring, the bracelets, etc...)

“You’re scared. It’s okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared too. I didn’t feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom- I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day and I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.”

Another drawing/clue.

“There are cases-going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies.” A foreshadowing of Sam’s powers??

“You know, what you said about mom, you never told me that before.”

“It’s no big deal.”

Yeah dude, it kinda is.

Peter Sweeney.

The toy soldiers again.

“Losing him, it’s worse than dying.”

Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, 1970. Whoomp, there it is.

“You’ve taken everything, everyone. I’ve got nothing left. I didn’t understand. I didn’t believe. Now I think I do. I think I finally know what you want.” Last words of Bill Carlton.

The boys are figuring this out.

MOTE: vengeful spirit (Peter Sweeney)

The shot of Sam and Dean running just reminds me of that one gif.

And now I’m being reminded of the gag reel of Jensen jumping into Jared’s arms, lmao.

Oh, but anyways: RIP Bill Carlton.

Poor Lucas.

Again with the sonar sweep. Stop trying to make sonar sweep happen, it’s not going to happen.

And busted.

Jesus, Sheriff, chill out.

“Door number two sounds good.” lmao Sammy.

Did Sam really think that Dean would just leave the case unresolved??

Ah ok, I see where he’s coming from.

Dean’s instincts are spot on: because Lucas was so freaked out earlier, Dean was convinced something wasn’t right and now feels the need to go back to check on him and make sure he’s ok.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” I’m surprised Sam is surprised by this. Sam really doesn’t know Dean all that well.

I wish I had an old timey bathtub like that.

Ugh, the dirty water really disgusts me.

It’s happening, oh god.

HELP HIM DEAN.

Oh no, Sam’s got it. Thank god.

“Come play with me.”

Lucas leads them to the red bike, Peter’s bike.

“You can’t bury the truth, Jake. Nothing stays buried.” *flashforwards to Dean’s resurrection in s4*

Damn it Lucas, you were supposed to stay in your room!!

The truth comes out.

Wow, Dean’s jump into the water tho. 10/10.

“Let it be over!” Last words of Sheriff Devins.

That shot of Dean emerging with Lucas still gets me teary eyed. It’s so well done, so impacting, and on first viewing, it had me absolutely terrified that Lucas was dead.

“Look, we’re not gonna save everybody.” The first rule of hunting.

RIP Sheriff Jake Devins

“Sam! Dean!” There’s Lucas, saying his first words! I breathed out the greatest sigh of relief when I saw him.

You know what? I like Andrea.

“Zeppelin rules!” Dean teaching a young generation (aka me with my future kids).

Dean’s kiss from the girl of the week. :’)

There go the boys.

I absolutely love this episode (and apparently, so does Jensen!). This was the episode that convinced me to keep watching the show and it goes without saying, but I’m really glad that I did.

#spn summer rewatch #spn liveblog #spn 1x03 #this was my ''hook; line; sinker'' episode #just...so so good

1 note · View note

trendingnewsb · 7 years ago

Text

5 Huge Celebrity Scandals The Entire Planet Got Wrong

The media has the amazing ability to shed light on terrible situations and stand by victims when no one else will. That or, you know, just point and laugh at them. Usually, the rest of us are too busy laughing along to notice this is happening, but if you look back, it’s painfully obvious. Here are five times the media came across someone who clearly needed help and said, “Yeah, but wouldn’t it be more helpful if we mocked the shit out of them?”

We Were All Obsessed With Diagnosing Charlie Sheen’s Exact Mental Illness (For Some Reason)

Back in 2011, people, websites, and media outlets of all political inclinations united for what seemed like a worthy cause at the time: making fun of Charlie Sheen. It got to the point where some lowly dick joke sites had to specifically ask their writers to avoid “Charlie Sheen is insane” zingers — it was far too easy. It all started when Sheen was canned from Two And A Half Men due to his erratic behavior, which led to a series of high-profile interviews wherein he attempted to explain that he was totally clean and sane. They, uh, didn’t go that way.

Hell, there’s still a weird corner of YouTube solely devoted to “Worst of Charlie Sheen” compilations. This auto-tuned one has over 60 million views:

youtube

One particularly notable line from Sheen’s interview with ABC News’ Andrea Canning (which is also highlighted heavily in the memes and songs) involved his mental state. Canning suggests that perhaps Sheen is bipolar, to which the star of Hot Shots! Part Deux replies that he’s simply “bi-winning.” And that’s where this starts to fall apart.

See, there’s a bad habit in the media to try to get mental health professionals to “diagnose” a famous person they’ve never met, which is very much against that field’s entire code of ethics. In a stunning display of sticking to their guns, psychiatrists are even refusing to diagnose President Trump from afar. So why was the media so hellbent on getting a diagnosis on the guy from some crappy sitcom? Time got specialists to analyze his speech to determine whether he was crazy or merely a drug addict. To this day, Dr. Drew is remarkably hung up on Sheen:

GoogleYou’d think someone with two “Dr”s in his name would know better.