Moonlit_Angel
Blue Crack Addict
I wrote this last summer-hope everyone likes it.
Entitled: A Day In The Life Of Lydia Montmorency:
Saturday, October 20th, 2001
Dear journal:
Well, today's my dad's funeral. I don't want to go, but I know my mom and sister will make me go. Why should I have to pay my respects to a guy who treated me like crap for years? I hate him, I hate my life. Nobody cares about me, nobody gives a hoot. Everyone's just too wrapped up in their own petty issues. Money is the thing on everyone's mind now.
Like a sign I saw on a show once said, "Money is the root of all evil".
How true that is.
Well, gotta go.
L.K.M.
****************************************************
15-year old Lydia Montmorency stared out the window of her mother's beat up old station wagon. A light rain fell as Lydia, her mother, and her snobby, self-centered 19-year old sister Alyssa drove to the cemetery.
Lydia's father had just died five days ago. He was working on a power line and somehow got electrocuted.
Lydia wondered if his grave would say, "Here lies Bartholomew Montmorency. He died while working on a power line".
Lydia's family reacted as she had expected they would-her mother, Natalie, asking about what she would get from his will, her sister crying her head off (even though her father would have never admitted it, Alyssa was always his favorite daughter).
And Lydia? She just thought, "Good riddance, jerk".
She wondered if her dad was in heaven. Ha, HIM, in heaven, with the life HE had lived?
Yeah, right. He was probably burning in-
"Lydia, why is it you wear black every other day, but to a funeral, you wear bright colors?" Alyssa asked, sneering, interrupting Lydia's train of thought.
Lydia looked at the bright Hawaiian shirt and lime green pants she wore. She hated that outfit, she just wore it because she knew it'd tick her family off.
"That is SO tacky, Lydia," Alyssa said, disgusted. "You should be put in jail for commiting a fashion crime."
"Who died and made you the chief of the fashion police?" Lydia muttered under her breath.
Lydia looked over at Alyssa, who was applying mascara to her face. A LOT of mascara.
"You do know that if you start crying at the funeral, Alyssa, that that mascara is gonna run all over the place, don't you?" Lydia asked.
"Yes, but at least Daddy will know that I have been crying my little eyes out because I miss him," Alyssa replied. Her long, light brown hair was tied in a bun, and she wore a black Pilgrim-like outfit.
Lydia wasn't paying much attention during the funeral. She was looking around at the trees in the cemetery. They were starting to lose their leaves. Almost winter. And this year, Maine was expected to get a lot of snow, according to those people who claim they can predict the weather for the coming season.
Lydia also looked around at her aunts and uncles and cousins. Some were crying, some were busy whispering about things, probably about who was gonna get what from Lydia's dad. A lot of her relatives had a greedy look in their eyes.
Money. That's what they were after. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie.
Boy, these vultures can't wait to get after him, can they, Lydia thought in disgust. As much as she hated her father, she didn't like the idea that all her family cared about was money.
The funny thing was that Lydia's relatives would also glare at Lydia, as if her outfit was showing outright disrespect to her dad.
Like these people would know ANYTHING about respect, Lydia thought.
Lydia glanced at her mother, who stood there tapping her foot impatiently and glancing at her watch, letting out the occasional sigh of boredom. Lydia's mother's hair, which was also light brown and short, was pulled back with a headband. She wore a black sweater and a long black skirt.
Just as Lydia had predicted, eventually Alyssa's mascara was running down her face. Her bright green eyes were brimming with tears.
Lydia's mother's green eyes were cold, almost hazel-like, and showed no emotion whatsoever.
Lydia wondered how she had ever fit into this family. Her father, mother, and sister all had light brown hair and green eyes, and they had some color in their cheeks.
Lydia, on the other hand, had long, black hair, dark brown eyes, and skin so pale she looked like a ghost.
Her father was a big man, but he liked to drink a lot and emotionally was cruel to Lydia. He treated Alyssa like gold, and made Lydia feel like a dog.
He and Lydia's mother never got along. They fought for as long as Lydia could remember, and about everything. The only reason Natalie had married Bartholomew in the first place was because he had a lot of money, thanks to an inheritance from his parents. She never loved him. And he never loved her.
And nobody ever loved Lydia. Her mother was always on her case about her clothes, her decorating ideas, her lack of friends, stuff like that. Alyssa was always acting like she was Queen of the Fashion Police and criticized Lydia for "lack of color". Or, if Lydia did wear anything colorful, it was too tacky for Alyssa. And, as I mentioned, Lydia's father just emotionally hurt her, telling her she was worthless, she'd never amount to a thing, she was not fit to be a Montmorency. Crap like that.
Lydia didn't have any friends, either. Her "lack of color" had made her seem weird to her classmates, and all the kids at school made fun of her, calling her a freak, Marilyn Manson's girlfriend, some kids even thought she was a lesbian (she wasn't, but even so, so what if she was?) because she didn't go for all the preppy, popular guys and all the celebrities that most girls her age fell for.
After the funeral, and after her family had gone home, Lydia crawled into her bed at the end of the day. She looked around at her dark purple walls and black carpet. She hugged her stuffed teddy bear, Ron McDon, and that bear had gotten its name due to the fact that when Lydia was little, she was learning how to say Ronald McDonald, and she used to call her bear that all the time. Lydia didn't know where she got the idea to name her bear after a clown-it didn't even closely resemble a clown. But the name stuck.
She heard a distant rumble of thunder. Lydia lay there, listening to the sound of rain hitting the roof, and the occasional quiet rumble of thunder, until both sounds lulled her to sleep...
____________________________________________________
So there's my story...comments welcome.
Angela
Entitled: A Day In The Life Of Lydia Montmorency:
Saturday, October 20th, 2001
Dear journal:
Well, today's my dad's funeral. I don't want to go, but I know my mom and sister will make me go. Why should I have to pay my respects to a guy who treated me like crap for years? I hate him, I hate my life. Nobody cares about me, nobody gives a hoot. Everyone's just too wrapped up in their own petty issues. Money is the thing on everyone's mind now.
Like a sign I saw on a show once said, "Money is the root of all evil".
How true that is.
Well, gotta go.
L.K.M.
****************************************************
15-year old Lydia Montmorency stared out the window of her mother's beat up old station wagon. A light rain fell as Lydia, her mother, and her snobby, self-centered 19-year old sister Alyssa drove to the cemetery.
Lydia's father had just died five days ago. He was working on a power line and somehow got electrocuted.
Lydia wondered if his grave would say, "Here lies Bartholomew Montmorency. He died while working on a power line".
Lydia's family reacted as she had expected they would-her mother, Natalie, asking about what she would get from his will, her sister crying her head off (even though her father would have never admitted it, Alyssa was always his favorite daughter).
And Lydia? She just thought, "Good riddance, jerk".
She wondered if her dad was in heaven. Ha, HIM, in heaven, with the life HE had lived?
Yeah, right. He was probably burning in-
"Lydia, why is it you wear black every other day, but to a funeral, you wear bright colors?" Alyssa asked, sneering, interrupting Lydia's train of thought.
Lydia looked at the bright Hawaiian shirt and lime green pants she wore. She hated that outfit, she just wore it because she knew it'd tick her family off.
"That is SO tacky, Lydia," Alyssa said, disgusted. "You should be put in jail for commiting a fashion crime."
"Who died and made you the chief of the fashion police?" Lydia muttered under her breath.
Lydia looked over at Alyssa, who was applying mascara to her face. A LOT of mascara.
"You do know that if you start crying at the funeral, Alyssa, that that mascara is gonna run all over the place, don't you?" Lydia asked.
"Yes, but at least Daddy will know that I have been crying my little eyes out because I miss him," Alyssa replied. Her long, light brown hair was tied in a bun, and she wore a black Pilgrim-like outfit.
Lydia wasn't paying much attention during the funeral. She was looking around at the trees in the cemetery. They were starting to lose their leaves. Almost winter. And this year, Maine was expected to get a lot of snow, according to those people who claim they can predict the weather for the coming season.
Lydia also looked around at her aunts and uncles and cousins. Some were crying, some were busy whispering about things, probably about who was gonna get what from Lydia's dad. A lot of her relatives had a greedy look in their eyes.
Money. That's what they were after. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie.
Boy, these vultures can't wait to get after him, can they, Lydia thought in disgust. As much as she hated her father, she didn't like the idea that all her family cared about was money.
The funny thing was that Lydia's relatives would also glare at Lydia, as if her outfit was showing outright disrespect to her dad.
Like these people would know ANYTHING about respect, Lydia thought.
Lydia glanced at her mother, who stood there tapping her foot impatiently and glancing at her watch, letting out the occasional sigh of boredom. Lydia's mother's hair, which was also light brown and short, was pulled back with a headband. She wore a black sweater and a long black skirt.
Just as Lydia had predicted, eventually Alyssa's mascara was running down her face. Her bright green eyes were brimming with tears.
Lydia's mother's green eyes were cold, almost hazel-like, and showed no emotion whatsoever.
Lydia wondered how she had ever fit into this family. Her father, mother, and sister all had light brown hair and green eyes, and they had some color in their cheeks.
Lydia, on the other hand, had long, black hair, dark brown eyes, and skin so pale she looked like a ghost.
Her father was a big man, but he liked to drink a lot and emotionally was cruel to Lydia. He treated Alyssa like gold, and made Lydia feel like a dog.
He and Lydia's mother never got along. They fought for as long as Lydia could remember, and about everything. The only reason Natalie had married Bartholomew in the first place was because he had a lot of money, thanks to an inheritance from his parents. She never loved him. And he never loved her.
And nobody ever loved Lydia. Her mother was always on her case about her clothes, her decorating ideas, her lack of friends, stuff like that. Alyssa was always acting like she was Queen of the Fashion Police and criticized Lydia for "lack of color". Or, if Lydia did wear anything colorful, it was too tacky for Alyssa. And, as I mentioned, Lydia's father just emotionally hurt her, telling her she was worthless, she'd never amount to a thing, she was not fit to be a Montmorency. Crap like that.
Lydia didn't have any friends, either. Her "lack of color" had made her seem weird to her classmates, and all the kids at school made fun of her, calling her a freak, Marilyn Manson's girlfriend, some kids even thought she was a lesbian (she wasn't, but even so, so what if she was?) because she didn't go for all the preppy, popular guys and all the celebrities that most girls her age fell for.
After the funeral, and after her family had gone home, Lydia crawled into her bed at the end of the day. She looked around at her dark purple walls and black carpet. She hugged her stuffed teddy bear, Ron McDon, and that bear had gotten its name due to the fact that when Lydia was little, she was learning how to say Ronald McDonald, and she used to call her bear that all the time. Lydia didn't know where she got the idea to name her bear after a clown-it didn't even closely resemble a clown. But the name stuck.
She heard a distant rumble of thunder. Lydia lay there, listening to the sound of rain hitting the roof, and the occasional quiet rumble of thunder, until both sounds lulled her to sleep...
____________________________________________________
So there's my story...comments welcome.
Angela
The combination of journal and commentary style I think helped the emotional detatchment of Lydia and the whole day as it unfolded.
