All Saints

vautours de la tragédie

The truth was out. Michèle was forbidden to talk to Laubrac, Simone wouldn't talk to Jean Pierre and nor were they talking to Dahlia. It was Descamps who wilfully let the truth slip his silver tongue to her father behind the shop counter. Every hair on his arm stood up straight as a vein bulged from his forehead. Apparently, Her father was prepared to march to school and crush Laubrac in his fleshed fist. It was his pale faced wife who had stopped him in his tracks. Jean Pierre watched anxiously from the slit of his room door. His father's shadow passing by as he bellowed at the startled girl who was begging for forgiveness. Jean Pierre stood still helpless and disgusted by her sister's foul secret. Though he had no right to be as both siblings were caught in illicit affairs of love.

Dahlia didn't understand how she had been drawn into this predicament but she was. Now everyone glared at her and Annick avoided them altogether not wanting to get stuck in the female cross fires. She liked the complete detachment from them. Dahlia couldn't handle walking side by side with this secret lodge up in her throat. She couldn't handle people. If she was omnipotent she would erase the existence of everything.

Dahlia couldn't help to retrace the fact that it was Descamps who had slithered out the truth to Michèle's father at a scene in her family shop. He had never been more satisfied with himself. He thought they ought to know what their child was doing behind their backs. He told Michèle before hand about everything, not missing the part where Dahlia was very aware of Simone's and Jean Pierre's clandestine relationship. Dahlia thought it was Joseph's way of getting back at her for the way he left him humiliated in the chapel. Although, he wasn't aware of the favour he did as Dahlia could not continue on superficial honesty in the name of friendship.

School had become monotonous as Dahlia tried to dodge her former friends death glares from across the classroom. Simone who would constantly apologised to Michèle was livid with Dahlia, the reason why Dahlia couldn't string together. She had lost all friends with one sentiment from Descamps and yet she couldn't hate him. He was vile and anyone with a sane mind would loathe him for his terrible behaviour towards Dahlia. She was sure she was sick in the mind, in the heart.

Descamps was jovial than ever, with his revenge complete he felt anew. How he did before his ego was crushed continuously since the tragedy of his stolen eye. The matter was about the Beaufort, nothing soured Descamps mood than anything remotely to do with Dahlia. "According to autopsy her father was sat there dead two whole days before they found out." Dupin informed the boys of this fact in which they were all aware of thanks to Andre's father's detailed paper on the tragedy. The worst of it was that Andre's father wasn't the only news letter who had plastered on the name of Beaufort for an income. Everyone wanted a piece of this cliche misery that had unfolded. Descamps over exaggerated a shudder smiling as he leant against the tree, "You should have seen her she was manic." His voice hissed lowly reminiscent of moment at her father's grave with her hands deep into the soil. He enthusiastically shared her little deranged episode to his friends skipping the bit at the church. Andre pokes the side of his head harshly, "You need to get away from her before she gets you sick in the head too." His laugh crackling through the air forming some knot in his stomach. He let out a hollow laugh joining the collective. He could feel the tree press into his back with every vibration. He grew quiet remembering that every ill deed will come for him soon enough. The feeling of guilt for his betrayal could be swallowed in this instance.

Suddenly he straightened up his hands still clumsily stashed in his pockets, "I'm going to have her confess her love to me and you're all gonna watch her get humiliated." He smiled with superficial glee with his constructed prophecy.  One of the boys shook his head at his bet, "She's too smart doubt she's gonna fall for that." He said to which some boys chipped in agreeing. This burned a hole in Descamps ego, making him determined. He rolled his eyes at their underestimation in him, "Oh you don't even have an idea how far she's already fallen, any day know just you wait." He gloated his conquest to the boys.

"I bet you two packets of cigarettes and," he said fishing through his pocket for something, "my dad's watch that you can't get her to fall completely in love with you." Dupin said smugly pulling out the old silver watch in the air. Descamps didn't even want the watch and he could buy his own cigarettes but he loved to prove a point.
He shoved his finger into Dupin's chest, "Oh yeh just Watch and learn."  He told his friends, his cockiness possessing his soul. He turns to look at Dahlia who was sat on the bench alone. She looked up from her book feeling the strange suspicious eyes of boys on her. If only Dahlia knew what wickedness held her gaze.

The bell reminded her yet again that she existed in the world. She looked down at her notebook page that only had today's date and the title of the lesson. Nowadays she spent most of her hours in her head, no matter how hard she tried something would draw her into mindless thought. It was as though her conscious was completely absent. She huffed in frustration. She neatly put her empty notes in her bag deciding to catch up alone at home.

To her amazement she had survived another day completely alone. She was starting to like it, her isolation held a sense of nostalgia from her boarding school days alongside the heirs of goldmines but it was a lot less painful. Although, teasing hadn't stopped and the glaring looks were worse she was thankful she didn't have a group of girls with their hands at her neck asking for her to plead for forgiveness. She hated reminiscing those demoralising moments. A group of men bombarded her with audio recorder tapes and questions. Her eyes darted in panic as the students walking past stopped in their tracts to gather around the commotion. She stood at the school gate with photographers holding massive machinery towards her face. The light making the shadows under her eyes apparent. She stood there in the beige dust of her school staring forlorn at her shoes not knowing what to do. She was embarrassed as they made her feel like a strange artefact behind a glass case. "This is a school!" Screeched someone from behind her creeping a protective hand over her shoulder pushing away the recorder from the child's face. It was Mrs Couret who grabbed her hand and pulled out of the threshold back into the arms of the school.

Inside the office sat Dahlia deep in thought as she gripped the chair, looking down at her feet that she kicked them in the air in turns. Mrs Couvert had a serious look on her face as she bit her lip troubled,  "I should walk you home dear." She volunteered feeling her responsibility over the child. Dahlia did not utter a word as her hands shook trying to contain whatever that was building up inside of her. Mrs Couvert followed her home not daring to look across from her to the girl who was sobbing next to her. She wanted to put arm around her but everything about Dahlia rigid posture and her refusal to talk told her that she would hate her even more if she did.

As they turned the corner Dahlia hurriedly wiped her wet face clean with the sleeve of her coat and all signs of sorrow evaporated. They faced her door in which stoic Dahlia knocked assertively on, making the flacking paint jump off the skeleton of the door and fall into a pile of chips on the front step. The door opened only a slit where one greenish eye sprang out from the darkness looking through the gap of the bolted door. The eye stared at Mrs Couvert unblinking making her feel unsettled. "This is my teacher, she wanted to walk me home." Dahlia was quick to explain before Ms Couvert could say anything. The sore, red eye blinked and disappeared as the door shut close. The sound of the bolt came from the door but the door did not open. "You should go now, it was pleasant of you to walk me." She forcefully ordered her teacher standing in front of her door not wanting to invite her in. Ms Couret speechless nodded stumbling backwards her bag swaying against her leg. Dahlia gave her small smile and only then did her teacher decide to walk up the street leaving her there at her door.

Camille had never felt so helpless. She spent her walk home thinking about what a cruel torture her student was facing. The girl could not heal and come to terms with the passing of her father as each time someone was bound to throw her misfortune back in her face. She has to relive that tragedy everyday never being able to escape. Camille's inner strength could not compare to that child.