Salem, Massachusetts, 1939.
RRING. RRRRINGGGG. RRRRRRRRINGG-- a grumpy hand slapped the top of an engraved, metal alarm clock that sat upon the mahogany nightstand next to the owner's bed. June Augustine Tremont, read the inscription in an elegant cursive font that only supported the theme of the young woman's room as nothing other than regal. From merlot curtains to a rich mahogany wood floor and creme walls with gold framed oil paintings, June's bedroom was a picture perfect display of the more refined aspects of her personality. Laying in the bed, however, was a woman who had at least two personas; the more pretentious one was somewhat of a facade, used mostly to please her parents and distract them from the semi-reckless youth that every young adult had at least a small piece of. Her long, wavy, auburn locks required major control after a good night's sleep such as the one she'd recently had, knotted up and tangled into a horrendous knot that took about twenty minutes of brushing and spraying to reclaim.
After fixing up her hair into one wavy stream, fixed behind her by a single, gold-plated barrette given to her by her late grandmother, June stepped into her closet and tossed on a brand new, indigo, polka dot dress that flounced at her knees, along with two sapphire studs that she placed in her recently-pierced ears. Going through her drawer full of eyeglasses, she found a pair of white, cat eye glasses that perfected her look for the day. Slipping on some indigo flats to match her dress, June tread down the stairs hastily and through the living room filled with Victorian decor.
Reaching the double doors leading to the backyard, the young woman twisted the doorknob and peered out to the right. A petite, fair-skinned woman of approximately fifty years with rich brunette hair stood at the clotheslines, hanging damp whites in the warm summer breeze. She turned and looked into the olive green eyes of her daughter, who stood in the doorway of her house.
"I'm heading out to lunch with Ruth, mother! I will be home later this evening," June stated.
"Alright, dear. Be home by dinner, please," her mother almost requested.
"I'll be home later this evening," June's soft smile melted into a scowl. She hated having to repeat herself.
June turned inside and pulled the door shut harshly, agitated. Her mother was so rude to her! She shrugged it off and slowed her pace as she stepped toward the front door and eventually into the car that her parents had recently bought for her.
A Mercedes-Benz 540k... what a beauty. June called the ladybug-red, roofless beaut by a name she decided to give to her new best friend: Betsy. In the few weeks that June had the car, she had driven it everywhere. It was the first time she had ever had a car, and it was about time that her parents did something like that for her.
She stepped into the car and started it, racing out of the driveway at such a speed that she nearly struck a child crossing the driveway before her foot pressed harshly on the brakes.
"Move, kid! Watch where you're going," she rolled her eyes as she carried on at the same speed. She raced down the road and reached a series of intersections as she drove through town, smiling at the thought that others might be jealous of her new ride. Don't they wish, she thought comically to herself. When she finally reached a winding road in a wooded area, she only picked up her speed further. How could she resist? No one was there, so it's not like she was putting anyone else in danger, anyway. Not that it mattered.
Boom.
June's brand new car struck a small tree that had fallen in the middle of the road, halting to a rapid stop as her body launched forward into the windshield. The glass held its ground, slamming her back harshly against the driver's seat and finally bashing the temple of her skull against the smooth, yet unforgiving unforgiving dashboard. Her leg had been sliced open by a sharp edge of the car, causing blood to pool beneath both her leg and head on the dashboard. Her eyeglasses had cracked and fallen a few feet from her face, which stared blankly in the direction of the endless woods ahead. A few locks of her reddish hair had been partially torn from her head as it caught on the fresh cracks in the dashboard, leaving her last moments of life extremely painful for the young girl who had spent her entire life causing those who loved her most severe emotional pain. June Augustine Tremont had died a very poetic death.
