As I mentioned, we've been steering clear of the church scene for about half a decade now, and looking back, it's been nothing but a swirl of shadows. We, a solid family of six, planted ourselves in Arcadia, a slice of Greece in the heart of the central and Southern Peloponnese. This place was a canvas painted with memories that stuck like glue. An Everly green forest embraced the land, alongside humans hustling in the dirt, trying to squeeze the meaning of life out of the soil- planting and ploughing.
In this quaint town, where the air carried the scent of trimmed trees and vintage homes, life unfolded like chapters in a community scrapbook. Streets echoed with the gratitude of folks celebrating bountiful harvests, a place where the simple act of giving a daisy meant something. It was about practicing one's presence and cherishing the small joys that didn't demand a king's ransom.
Yet, beneath this serene existence lurked the shadows of strained relationships. The neighborly vibe came with a caveat, a bitter cocktail of negativity, backhanded compliments, and the sort of hatred that flared up when folks tried to put food on the table. Did you ever notice how people only wanted to showcase the good stuff, even if the reality was far from perfect? I kept my distance, reserved and observant, soaking it all in from a safe spot.
Our story began in a quaint town, where fate conspired to bring my parents together. Rumor has it that their journey started at my father and mother's wedding, setting the stage for them to build a life in this charming place. The whispers say they first crossed paths at Borough Market in London, a magical encounter that blossomed amidst the bustling stalls.
Picture this: my father, a skilled blacksmith working for a local company supplied by the Adlong mine, and my mother, a clerk offering administrative support in the very mine. The chances of their eyes meeting amid the mining operation were as rare as finding a needle in a haystack. Let's keep it real—how could a blacksmith dream of capturing the heart of a woman in a position of authority? Call it 'overconfidence,' if you will.
Now, my mother, Mary, was a vision. She possessed captivating siren eyes and a face that radiated with a constant glow. Her features, like thin heart-shaped matte pink lips, were perfectly balanced. A body sculpted like a princess; she was a highness in her own right. Despite appearances, she wasn't high maintenance; rather, she bubbled with laughter, jokes, and a merry personality.
On the flip side, my father, Philip, was the epitome of nonchalant charm. His words commanded attention, and if you were on the softer side, you might have thought him a bit too controlling. But honestly, he was just fine—tall, dark-skinned, the ideal package, or so society believed. Mary, like many women, wanted a man who could provide, turn their home into a sanctuary, and take charge. Philip fit the bill with his thoughtful gestures, like saying, 'Get dressed, today we're going for wine tasting', now you see- a man who initiates thoughtful gestures even if they were not worth more pennies from his pocket. But the idea that he thought of something would sell a woman out!
As fate would have it, during the Christmas eve week, the two found themselves at Borough Market, surrounded by the festive spirit. Philip couldn't help but reminisce about Mary as he spotted her near the shelves stocked with wines and beverages. In that moment, he seized the opportunity to weave a pickup line outside the confines of the workplace. And guess what? It worked like magic. The words he chose not only charmed her but left her wanting more. Men, it seems, have a knack for saying just the right things. And so, their love story unfolded—a tale of chance encounters, shared laughter, and thoughtful gestures that set the stage for a love that would stand the test of time...
After their enchanting wedding at Westminster Abbey, a renowned old church in London, the newlyweds decided to embark on a thrilling adventure in Arcadia for a fresh start. The notion that love makes people do crazy things wasn't just a myth; it was their reality. Despite having secure, well-paying jobs and established homes, not necessarily the most extravagant in town, the couple chose to uproot their lives for a place unknown – a decision that seemed senseless and absurd to many.
Perhaps, hidden beneath the surface, there was a desire to be closer to family as they watched their unique love story unfold. Yet, the idea of maintaining the beauty of their relationship in the eyes of relatives seemed far-fetched. Little did they know that the challenges awaiting them in their new life, with the addition of children, family friends, and relatives, would be even more complex and puzzling.
Mary gave birth to us sequentially – a boy, followed by a girl, another boy, and finally, a girl. And yes, that last-born baby girl was none other than me, Phoebe. In the family crew, I stood out as the effervescent member, often shy and more inclined to listen than to speak. My name, Phoebe, a British name signifying 'brightness' and 'radiance,' echoed the luminous memories of our past life in London. Our older brother, Sheldon, took the intellectual path, earning the label of a nerd and much of a farmer like our parents. Then there was Amelia, my second-born sister, a beacon of hard work and bravery, always immersed in business and trade – pursuits that didn't quite align with my more laid-back nature. Lastly, my not-so-older brother but older to me, Brunel, portrayed the image of a brown-skinned, dark-haired, and seductively tanned individual, drawing attention from every girl in the village. People even thought he was just a perfect fit for being gay. Anyway, our family unfolded, it became a mosaic of personalities and stories, each member contributing their unique hues to our tapestry of love, laughter, and a hint of unpredictability.
A pivotal moment in our family unfolded when we began our journey to school. These names we carried weren't just labels; they symbolized our destiny—children destined to be extraordinary, both beautiful and smart. What made Phillip's lineage unique was the emphasis on respect beyond family boundaries. As the years passed, we all strived to excel in school, fully aware of our humble background. Life felt more like surviving than truly living, running errands just to make ends meet. Despite being taught by the same teachers, our blood cousins and even our neighbors' children didn't match our exceptional success. Congratulations came our way, but beneath the surface, there lingered hate and jealousy. Rumors circulated that our parents bribed the school principal for exam papers, staining our achievements with unfounded accusations.
Now, after 1827 days, equivalent to five years, it was time for us to repay Phillip's investment in our education. The expectation was that we'd become independent adults, free from the struggles of low-paying jobs. But at thirteen, my life took a chaotic turn. We received an invitation to our uncle's wedding, where our father played a pivotal role as an organizer. The three months leading up to the event were filled with preparations, from finding perfect kilts to selecting a wedding gift for the Amely family.
On the day of the wedding, the excitement of reuniting with family overshadowed the early morning annoyance of being called to action. The scene was lively, with women preparing delicious treats and men showcasing their manly skills. The wedding, though slightly delayed by the bride's prolonged preparation, carried on until an unexpected tragedy struck. During the festivities, a volunteer was sought to find an ox for the wedding feast. Surprisingly, no one stepped forward, prompting Phillip, the ceremony director, to reluctantly volunteer. Little did we know, while we eagerly anticipated the festivities, our father had collapsed in the unknown wilderness.
A call came through, urging our great aunt to take Mary home—something terrible had happened. Phillip had passed away suddenly, leaving behind unanswered questions. The once joyous occasion turned into chaos, demanding an explanation for the inexplicable. How could a person faint out of the blue? Was he sick, or did he consume something? Heaven seemed to owe an explanation, and fights erupted in the quest for answers. What i knew for sure was, when parents die, relatives change. See why i needed Harry around ?
YOU ARE READING
Call it what you want.
Genç Kurgua story about a girl who let sexual and family relationships turn her into a cold-hearted being. it took her 18 years up until she realized she had no fucks left to give. if she had one to give, she would rather sell it than give it to the bastards...
