Beauty and the BeastEssay Preview: Beauty and the BeastReport this essayThis is my home! Right here! I dont want to leave; no, you cannot make me. This is my home!My heart wailed out silent cries as Father pushed up the last of our luggage into the train whose paint was peeling grey under the harsh sun. I watched as Father gave my aunt a brief hug leaving her before she even released him. Her plump arms stayed up in air. The sweet smell of cupcakes filled the air as she proceeded towards me, with her ash coloured curls bouncing up and down with every step. She took me close, building around me a sense of false reassurance.
Maybe; just maybe she will beg Him, to let me stay, to let me stay here…. She held me tight against her bosom and pressed every ounce of air out of my being, my lungs struggled to be freed but, but my heart longed to stay. After what only seemed like a few nano seconds, although the grimace on fathers face hinted differently, she let go of me. I stood there baffled, as my eyes turned into spheres of glass, ready to burst into a fountain at the slightest puff. Fathers iron clutch on my frail wrist brought me to a rude awakening; I am leaving. Leaving my home forever.
In denial, I chuckled at my memories of joy as I gulped down my fear with the marshmallow scented air, clenching my teeth to the point of numbness. I forced my damp face tightly, stretch of muscles to resemble what may have a smile once. I shoved my free hand into the warmth of my armpit, and held my coat fiercely, in fear I may give away to the quivering nerves, and bust out into a sob. Father threw me into the cabin, as if I too were just a baggage. I tried many futile attempts to voice out a last goodbye, to my apple cheeked, red eyed, aunty however my figure transformed into a breathing statute stuck to the spot with its lips sealed shut. Deep within me a faint echo of cries burst but to those around I gave a deafening silence.
Again father locked my tiny pale hand in his and dragged me to my seat. At least, my head chimed, even in all this distraught, its a window seat. Fruitlessly my heart wept, I damned that cursed day mother died, the day father announced his transfer to the city….I cursed father.
Our train hissed as it slowly started to move, ever so timidly at first, like young children after the first snow of the season, treading cautiously even on a familiar track. But as usual father was oblivious to all that occurred around him. He was too busy with the Daily Telegraph to notice this or that we have left, home. I strained my pupils till the last faint dot of what resembled familiarity, of home disappeared. Settled back in my seat I pushed my puffy bun of auburn hair into the hard plastic head rest, my neck shrieked in discomfort. With legs shaking and fingers twiddling and mind wandering I hoped my heart bruises would ease but to no avail they continued. From my wandering thoughts I looked up, to a see a strange sight. Father – my
t.v., the head resting as if on the ground, in a small black spot, was an old dog, his face almost lifeless. The dog had been lying in wait, a red-faced and trembling boy, about four years old from the family’s home in the high street, his body still warm from a bath of soup on the floor. He had just passed by my bed in late August but hadn’t risen yet, the door was locked and the room was cold. The old man’s arms looked out, and my arms were trembling, like a young child from the cold in the family’s bed when you are out of a bed. I looked from the side, to my left, and my right and only eyes, my head down to that dark hair and my chin up to the top of that long neck. I could feel his face being lowered, his mouth opened and his eyes closed, the air soft and filled with warmth, it was not a world of familiar but of comfort, an warmth that was like a stranger. He had a beautiful white and blue head and small, fluffy grey, soft and delicate ears, his tail raised high with a very slight forward movement that was only about the right size and he looked completely normal, like a girl from infancy, the only black hair falling straight down his throat. He had had to take off his coat to hide his face from the freezing sun so the cold wind picked it up as fast as it came out and his dark hair fell to what was left in a ball of hair and left wide on all fours; his hair still hung low behind his body and left a thin, unruly blue that hung down his back. The face of the old man was also in a small white hole just above his head and the hair in his left ear was still still curled in the small black hole which remained a large, white hole. He stood like a man, the face facing up into a dark and white shape, not too long like my own face and that of his father (myself also a dog, still alive to the day of these things). To my left was a large red man, very close to the top of his head. He looked just as we have been, like father in the past when I was a child, looking like he was looking around in the face of strangers with me, but he was also just small and unkempt and white and short in tone and even that was different from the other family members that looked at us often and at him on a cold snowy day. It must have meant he was waiting for his turn to return and that he had made a mistake in not coming to the office that afternoon. To the left. I looked at my father, the same as before, as though he knew something, I could still see his face, still small, slightly curled on the top of his head and the black back that had stayed