/ phantom /
a figment of the imagination
"She was like a dark wave crashing upon the bright shores of his horizon."
Anne Wheeler. An outcast. A loner. A street orphan. A disregarded, disgraced child born out of wedlock. A broken girl waiting for a s...
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A chilly, dank wind, laced with a cutting edge of ice, swirled through the dancing shadows of the dark alleyway. It rattled the tin tops strewn beside their overturned bins and shook the few covered windows cut into the fading brick of the street walls. It whistled and wailed as it spun around the dead, rattling branches of the trees lining the pavement which was covered with cracks and puddles of squelching mud.
The tall, slim figure of a girl, partly concealed in a large, floral shawl, shuffled down the path leading into the alley. Gasping at the cold air that mercilessly nipped at her bare skin, the girl wrapped her fingers around her elbows, desperately trying to keep in her body warmth.
As her soft footsteps padded across the damp ground, soaked by the recent rains that had swept the country, the girl wandered over to an old, rickety door secured from within by a lock and chain.
"Großmutter bin ich [Grandmother, it's me]," the girl called out in a low tone. Nervously, she glanced from side-to-side and pushed back the wet, dank curls sticking to her forehead and cheekbones.
It was the middle of the night and street thugs were out on the prowl, looking for victims to rob and molest. The girl wasn't very keen on running into any trouble of that kind, considering it would probably end up with her being dead somewhere.
"Ich komme [I'm coming]," the raspy voice of Grandmother sounded from the other side of the door. The rattling of chains and the metal sliding of the lock followed her statement and, a few seconds later, the girl stepped inside. She was greeted by the warmth of the fire crackling in the polished kitchen stove and the savoury smell of chunky stew.
"Warum bist du so spätzu Hause, Anne? Es ist gefährlich [Why are you home so late, Anne? It's dangerous]," the tiny, wizened form of Grandmother reproved as she helped take off the girl's shawl.
Trying to evade the subject, Anne moved towards the table and queried, "Wo ist W.D [Where is W.D]?"
Grandmother sighed and shook her head as she ladled out a bowl of stew for her granddaughter. "Er schläft. Wie du es solltest [He's asleep. As should you be]."
A wave of guilt crashed over Anne and she nibbled on her lower lip, watching as her grandmother, burdened with exhaustion and frailness, set about getting her dinner. She didn't know how to tell her that she had, once again, lied about where she had been that day. Never could she know the truth.
As Grandmother set the bowl of stew in front of Anne, she reached over and placed a feathery kiss on her forehead. "Iss und ruh dich aus [Eat and get some rest]."
Anne nodded and smiled as the elderly woman pulled away from her and hobbled over to her makeshift bed in the corner of the tiny apartment. Anne's deep, chocolate-coloured eyes roamed the room and finally landed on her brother's figure which was sprawled across his hay-stuffed pallet near the back door.
A soft sigh escaped Anne's plump lips as she turned her attention back to her food. She dipped her wooden spoon into the warm liquid as one of her hands slipped into the patched pocket of her dull blue apron.
Her fingers closed around a piece of crinkled paper. Pulling it out, Anne unfolded it and laid it on the table so she could study it for the fifty millionth time that day.
W A N T E D!
Unique persons and curiosities.
Male or Female.
Young or old.
Daring Acts.
Wonders of the World.
B a r n u m ' s A m e r i c a n M u s e u m.
Anne ran her tongue over her dry, cracked lips and smirked.
Tomorrow, she would go see what this hullabaloo involving the newly-famed museum manager was all about. He had been nothing less but the talk of the town in recent days and Anne was curious to find out which were rumours and which was the truth.
Later, as Anne crawled beneath the warm covers of her pallet, she gazed up towards the yellowing, paint-peeled ceiling hovering above her and let out a lengthy breath of contentment.
Her life as a poor street mouse was hard but at least she always had a home and a family to come back too.
That's more than she could say for many, many others that she knew.
Gif: Anne as she walks into the house.
Question of the update: Would you rather have a happy family or millions of dollars and why?
