Frost

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

On her way back home, the only thing Miss Frost could think of was a good meal and a cold cup of water. However, once she entered her house, she couldn’t think of nor say anything at all. The sight she faced made her speechless, and she couldn’t move a single step forward into her shockingly disorganized house.

Right in her once perfect living room, bits of food covered the small coffee table; clothes were scattered all over the sofa; the radio played very loud and unpleasant music; a terrifyingly large orange spot spoiled the white, wool carpet that lay beneath the coffee table. Unfortunately though, the hideous painting remained untouched on the wall.

Miss Frost stood still at her doorway with her eyes as wide as they could be and her jaw hanging loosely that she almost drooled over her already messed up floor. Suddenly, as she snapped out of this temporary trance, she rushed to her office. She ran by the kitchen, trying as hard as possible to ignore the foul smell that came out of it, but when she spotted the savagely emptied cupboards, she stopped for just a fraction of a second to take in the whole chaos, and then proceeded to her office, boiling with anger.

Once she reached the door of the office, she stood still with a thumping heart. She wasn’t sure whether to turn the handle or not. After gathering up enough courage to do so, she finally opened the door and almost died of a heart attack.

On her desk, drenched in the same orange liquid that had spoiled the carpet of the living room, were the papers of her most recent—and last—newspaper article for London Today, which she was going to mail to the company that very afternoon so that it would be published.

What had almost killed her moments ago was the fact that this article had absorbed every ounce of energy from her for the last two weeks, and this was how it ended up. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she fought them back; instead, she unleashed the fury that built up inside her, and stamped her foot angrily at the ground. Then she started her hunt for the culprit of all these atrocious crimes. She headed upstairs and looked into every bedroom, and none of them refrained from the brutal destruction to which the compartments downstairs were exposed to.

After going over every corner of the house, she was then almost sure about where the culprit was: her precious terrace. She raced there and grabbed a frying pan from the kitchen floor on her way, prepared for witnessing more damage.

And that’s what she did see as she tip-toed her way through the already wide open terrace doors. As she scrutinized the place, she finally spotted the culprit, who lay huddled on the grass next to the source of the orange liquid that had ruined her precious wool carpet and her career: a jug of orange juice.

Miss Frost’s face pulled into a frown as she walked her way carefully to the huddled culprit, who seemed to have fallen asleep on the grass. However, before turning the culprit over his or her back, she instantly recognized him or her from the outline of his or her body: Patricia.

“Patricia Williamsburg! What on earth have you done to my house?” yelled Miss Frost at the huddled figure.

As Patricia struggled to focus her eyes on Miss Frost, she said dazedly: “Elizabeth! My God, what’s all the fury for? Is this how you welcome your dear sister properly?”

“Yes, especially after my ‘dear’ sister ruined the most important work I’ve done in my life, not to mention my once perfect house! Do you have any idea how much damage you caused to my life with your carelessness? Do you?”

“For heaven’s sake, Beth! You didn’t even give me a chance to surprise you!” Patricia whined, rubbing her eyes wearily.

“Are you serious? Surprise me? Well, I’d like to inform you that you’ve done far more than surprise me; you traumatized me!”

“Relax Beth! Besides, I’m not staying here much long; I’ll only stay over for three months. Now we can spend as much time together as possible!”