Linking up with Red Writing Hood!!
This week’s prompt is…
forbidden or taboo
My excerpt is from my book Break ©c.g.drews.
Just to set the scene a little…
It’s taken from my fantasy-WIP.
About twins (and in this section it’s a back-flash to when they were 5).
Word count: 424
Gill pokes my shoulder. “When we get to go to the Other World –” She always starts that way. Then comes the imagining. “We’ll meet the King and see his castle. And then we’ll go ‘s’plore. Every bit of it, right, Sam?”
“And then we’ll –”
“Gill.” It’s our father, his voice warning. “What did I tell you about talking about the Other World?”
“But we’re all ‘lone, Daddy,” she protests.
“When you start school it’ll be different. Better get used to the idea now. No talking about the Other World—unless Mummy or I say you can. And that’s final.”
Gill mutters something about the injustices of the word “final” and puts her sandy feet on the seat. She’s not allowed to do that either.
I lean over and grab her head, putting my mouth close to her ear – so close she giggles and pushes me away.
“When we go to the Other World,” I say, “we’ll always have fun. No school. And no secrets.”
“Sam.” Our father’s voice is sharp. Some days his temper’s really short – like he’s remembering something and it makes him hurt. “Don’t make me stop this car. Do what you’re told.”
Gill takes her feet off the seat. “Oh, Daddy.” She turns passionate, leaning forward as far as her seatbelt allows. “Oh, Daddy, are you lonely again?”
I jerk her back. “He’s got us, goose.”
“No. He’s lonely.”
Our father looks through the rear-view mirror and pushes his glasses further up his nose.
“I’m alright, Gill. Sit properly please.”
“Well, we’re here, Daddy,” Gill says. She throws her arms out wide, smacking me in the face – on purpose. “You’ll always have us. Right, Sam? He’ll always have us. All three of us. Always.” She bounces on her seat, ignoring the limitations of the seatbelt. “Aren’t you going to say something, Daddy?”
“Sit properly, Gill.” He has that tired voice again. “I have to concentrate on the road. Why don’t you count the cars? I see a red one.”
“But aren’t you going to say ‘always’, Daddy?” she whimpers.
I flop over her, spreading biscuit crumbs over the floor of the car. “O’ course he means ‘always’, you goose!” I shout. “He just forgot to say it, is all. Come on. I’m countin’ the blue ones.”