LE PETIE MORTE (AP)

the blonde locks slip as friday dips her head to stare at her workings, brow furrowed in thought, “i’m not stopping you, sister.” is the sharp, but hesitant reply, pencil clattering to rest in the middle of her book, pages whispering as they fall shut.

in her mind, she adds this on: if mother tries to make me, i shall wield my power! for friday had something over her family, something on her side that would cause them to wretch and cringe and step away from her. friday had PASTELS. she had done it before, left her pretty pale items scattered around the hose to give them all a fright, make them leave her alone!

gentle fingers reaching to pluck the a ribbon off of her dresser, using it to secure her hair then shoots her sister a wary look, “your braids are coming loose, would you like me to fix them?” it’s evident she has no intention of going for dinner. why bother? friday always slipped away after dinner, to go and buy food from the local shop with her friends, then dart to the playground for half an hour in the setting sun, the warmth made her feel normal.

Sometimes she wonders how she could consider this girl her sister, even a part of the family. She defies not only her but her Mother and Father as well. Eyes dark as the night lock onto her sister with distaste a she ignores the wishes. Blatantly refuses to do as they ask, is this what they meant by teenage angst? While Wednesday was busy plotting an arrow through her sisters skull she can also fee her stomach rumble.  ❝ Must you always be so self centered, Friday? ❞ Word are spoken pointedly.If they didn’t want her around then Mother and Father would not demand her attendance.’

                       THOUGH SHE ADVISED PATIENCE, this day has been anticipated since Wednesday’s childhood, when she stood no more higher than her mother’s elbow. The matriarch’s thoughts turn briefly to a conversation with one Miss Ferkins  years prior, where her eldest’s aspirations had been discussed in much detail. How pleased Morticia had been ——to hear of Wednesday’s ambition to follow the footsteps of Calpurnia Addams ( straight to the grave would have been preferable, but she has her doubts. Wednesday, unlike her ancestor is much too shrewd to be found guilty. Besides, these days burning at the stake is more of a recreational activity than a true punishment. Such a shame. )   

 To say the matriarch was proud was an understatement. Pride clung naturally  to Morticia Addams like a second skin. This emotion ran much deeper. It was a mother’s joy, to see her child undertake old family traditions with as much care as those before them had done. A faded box of matches is produced & pressed into the palm of her daughter’s hand before casting the trail of her dress to the side so that she can step backwards, out of the chalk circle etched onto the ground below them.  ❝The candles first, start anticlockwise just as we discussed. ❞ Crimson lips curl into a reassuring smile, having complete confidence in Wednesday’s capabilities. 

THE TALISMAN IS A CRUTCH, one that she uses to build strength. Her core burns with the intensity of the darkness that moves through her every vein. Gestures reach forward with her outstretched hand, palm flat and fingers spread. Lips kept in a line as she FOCUSES, on each black candle. A symbol for each lighting and with it she is on her way to the next sure step in her life. Slowly the poised ebony haired princess of darkness turns, the candles lighting with a slow but demanding flicker. 

✘|| @beheadingdolls

              TAPERED FINGERS ARE SPLAYED flat against the mandible of a decaying skull, neatly lining it up amongst an entire row of similarly arranged specimens. Dark eyes glint with quiet satisfaction as she retracts her hands & stands back to admire her handiwork. ❝ ——It’s so nice that the family could be here, to see it all. ❞ After all, it was a momentous occasion. Smiling now, Morticia turns her head to the side, seeking out her eldest child.  ❝ Wednesday, are you ready?  ❞

@beheadingdolls.

                       “ see you later, holly. “ friday calls as her friend walks onward, up the sidewalk and to the house that she calls home, with sandra and george - her parents who praised her daisy chains and flower pressings. a pang of jealousy strikes, just as it does every day at 4:35pm after they departed from their play in the park.                           friday LOVES her family dearly, but she can see the disappointment in their eyes every time she bought home a good school report or took out the trash or made her bed. it confuses her, but she does love them. so, she turns and heads up the path to the house, ignoring her dolls – HER DOLLS – beheaded on the lawn, their pretty locks singed and their eyes scratched out.she ignores her skipping rope wrapped around the neck of her teddy bear, biting back tears as lurch opens the door. he takes her coat and bag, as usual. she watches as he hangs the light colors against the blacks and navys.                           it’s a slow, somber walk up the stairs for friday, homework organiser and note pad held beneath her arm, pencil case clutched in a hand. her room brings the solitude she welcomes ( THOUGH NOT FOR LONG ). halfway through her second page of math questions, the door creaks and friday addresses her sister in a small, shaky tone, “ is – is dinner ready, wednesday? tell.. tell grandma i’ll be right there, please. “

ANNOYANCE washes over the pale faced child. Middle school is enough of a trip without her sister-- yet she is forced to listen to her overly chipper sister socialize with the perky swine of her school. It’s no shock that no one knows how they could be related, they are as different as night and day, sun and moon, light and dark. If you haven’t noticed by her black dress edged with pure white for her collar, and the braids--- widows peak black as night. She likes it this way, the terribly dreadful drab.

What you might not expect is that Wednesday is jealous, not in the way you think. She does not wish to be LIKE her sister in any form, but she does wish she had someone she could accept as a friend. Simply put, the naive perky girls are only out done by their more naive and cocky jocks of the school. She is a black diamond in the rough, one that would rather be alone then waste her time with those people. Though she did find it amusing to speak with them time to time, people so bright are so easily to spook.

She gets home before Friday, due to her need to spend time with people other then her family. Wednesday on the other hand just watches from her window, them playing having a good time. She can’t help but imagine someone to share her games with, someone to drink poison, shoot arrows, sit in the electric chair, maybe even contact the spirit world. It would be nice to track these followings with others, but instead she is ruefully tearing the heads off of pretty little barbie dolls. So fascist, woman do not look like this, nor should any woman own so much pink. WEAR PASTELS, and her sister practically praises it. Someone had to show her that wasn’t the way-- one more is tossed before eyes dark as ebony look to the walkway as gate opens eagerly for her sister. She is poised as she closes the window, and grabs the book of the dead. Reading some before she hears the call of her Mother’s voice to dinner. 

@beheadingdolls , didn’t ask for this.

                        Brows furrowed and behind nearly black eyes lay barely suppressed anger. He was too close to stomping his feet on the ground like a pouty child, but he had manners. Manners and patience, which was running thin at the moment. “ How often do I have to ask you not to try beheading me in my SLEEP? ” It was such a mundane thing, yet he had to repeat himself over and over again. “ I told you to wait until I wake up, Wednesday! ”