excerpt from Of a Flower: Chapter 4
in-progress novel written by Kevin Liang
A knock on the door disrupted my leisure. I glanced up. It was unusual to receive a visitor on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Perhaps Jane was feeling lonely and wished for my company. I set down my book and made my way to the front entrance. Just as I turned the doorknob, however, I remembered I did have extra company with me today. Glancing up, I saw her there, next to the door, in plain sight where I should have easily seen her. She stared at me with that same curious expression on the day we met. I froze, but it was too late. The door opened a crack and a blade of light beamed in, washing away my surroundings and blinding my vision. Bewildered, I tried to push the girl away, but my arms could not find her. Instead, I felt a jolt; a strange, disorientating sensation. As if I was falling. I pressed my hand against my face, squinting through the slits of my fingers, trying to make sense of blinding white.
Then, my vision returned. The light eventually dimmed, revealing the dusty bedroom windowpane. The sun dipped back into hiding, ceding its radiance to the fringes of the clouds. Birds chirped from their perch on the cottage roof above, and a slight breeze battered the window screen. I felt my right shoulder digging into the mattress from the weight of my body, the pressure straining my back. The bedsheets had fallen below my chest, allowing the summer draft to gently ruffle my gown. I lowered my hand and rolled back onto the bed. Just a dream.
I closed my eyes and sunk into the mattress, exhaling. I listened to the rustle of leaves swaying in the breeze. Sunlight periodically pierced through the clouds and flushed my face with its brilliance, weighing down my eyelids. I relaxed. My mind went blank.
The weekend afforded myself some time to lay in bed, doing absolutely nothing. I was usually slow to wake up, and almost fell back to sleep before I remembered there were a few errands to run today. I rolled to the bedside and sat up, rubbing the fog out of my eyes. A waft of fresh air broke through the window, waking my senses. Still, I sat there, lazily gazing around the room. Sunlight illuminated the two shelves that hung perpendicular to the windowside. Old dolls, several books, bookstops, and a small potted plant. Even the dark wardrobe was thoroughly lit up, the sunlight coming in at just the right angle.
I fiddled for my father’s pocket watch on the bedside table, opening it. I felt my forehead and finally convinced myself to get up and dress. Hopefully I did not catch a fever. It was too early for that time of the month. Shuffling through the wardrobe, I contemplated what to wear, pulling out garments one at a time. They were old dresses from when I was a girl. Simple tea gowns with minimal amounts of lacing around the neck and waist, skirts with flowering furbelows paired with a satin ribbon around the waist, white blouses with puffed shoulders, thin cuffs and high neck frills that ran down the chest. Not as fancy as those worn by the upper class, but decorative enough to catch the eye. They still fit, as I did not grow much since my father had them made, but I was not partial to any of them. They were too fancy for my taste; all my comfort clothes were waiting to be washed.
As I ambled back and forth, my naked foot kept bumping into a crumple of bedsheets nearby. I sighed, set the clothes aside and scooped up the discarded sheets. It was about time to do the laundry. Walking out of the room, it was already growing stuffy in the mezzanine hallway. I added the sheets on top of the other clothes and carried the basket downstairs, leaving it by the back door. The primary curtains were already open, and I left the sheer curtains shut. I prepared the kettle on the stove and tidied up the table as I waited. There were already two sets of cutlery out on the table for Jane and I, though they appeared to be used.