People of the Prism Castle, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Little Southwalk shone in all its glory this morning of July, engulfed by the eerie morning sunlight beaming gently through the early mist. At the bidding of the easy breeze the leaves and the flowers had just engaged in a slow dance, soon to be disturbed by the wake of Ms Ledge’s hasty walk. Parading through the garden of the salmon pink, two storied house in number 29 of Grayson Street, the elderly lady kept carrying her cardboard boxes across the vivid green patch of grass, placing them on top of each other in even stacks, towered just by the wooden fence. Deeply devoted in that task of hers, she barely had the chance to notice the middle-aged man approaching her with easy pacing, waving his hand in a gesture of greeting as he called her name.
“Lucy! Still throwing Joy’s rubbish away, aren’t yah?”
The woman smiled tiresomely in response and placed the box she was currently carrying upon a growing stack with a sigh of relief.
“Truth be told, Bill, my brother had quite a collection of useless stuff in there. It will take me a good deal of time to get rid of it all, I’m afraid.” Lucy ominously cringed at the thought of having to go through all the piled-up clutter her brother had collected after all these years of lonely residing in the house. It had been only two months since her brother’s death and only three days since she had decided it was good enough time to start cleaning his house, and she had barely managed to clear away only half of the deceased man’s belongings. She had always known that forty five years of piling up trash would probably end in a massive throwaway but never had the woman imagine how exhausting this could be.
“We can help, if you want” said Bill, noticing the desperate look shading the woman’s still delicate and pretty features. “Laura and I have nothing better to do lately; after all, it’s the pensioner’s curse…” He dry laughed with his joke, took a cigarette out of the packet of his breast pocket and lit it up. He took a drag of his cigarette, with a look of outmost pleasure in his eyes and leaned against the fence, offering Lucy the packet with a silent gesture which the woman turned down with a shake of her head. The man shrugged and took another drag, before asking her behind his smokescreen: “So, you guys are selling the place, then?”
“No, not really” responded Lucy “though I’m sure we could easily find someone to fetch this house for an interesting price. But I think Christopher would like to keep it and to be precise, he is the only one who can take a decision on that matter. Jonathan has bequeathed it to him, after all.”
“Lucky thing…Many young men his age wouldn’t dare dreaming of having a house of their own” the man chortled “I only hope the boy can put up with all those nutters knocking upon his door for the upcoming months! There have been too many people around the street, looking for the house of Joy Camberland lately. Some of them have even knocked on our door as well!”
“Gone but not forgotten…yet” said Lucy in a bitter way that could only be proof that many people had bothered her too in her time of grief, looking for the house which their favorite writer had recently died in. The visits of the overzealous fans had started the very same day that Joy’s death had been made public and to Lucy’s disdain, they ceased only after the first month after her brother’s death passed. The weeks right after had been a nightmare; fans, journalists and even curious passersby had been knocking on the door of Joy’s house and the door of her son’s place with such frequency that it made life almost unbearable to the residents. At first, Lucy had tried to repel them politely; she had even given some interviews hoping for her family to be left alone. But after realizing that the crowd was not planning on clearing away but was instead still violating the family privacy like a swarm of annoying bees, she decided that the gentle way was not the proper one to handle them at all. Her demeanor changed in such a drastic way that soon enough her reputation among the incongruous crowd grew as fearsome as that of Cerberus itself. Determined to protect her family from the aftermath of the beloved writer’s death, she even came to the point of pushing one or two of the fans out of her front garden, spiting threats of restraining orders and physical harm.
“Joy was one of the most prolific and loved writers of his time” said Bill, ignoring Lucy’s vitriolic remark. “And not only! Many young people visit as well, despite being born years after Joy has last written his final book. This proves that his work is timeless and will always be loved. For example, this blond girl with the long, pointy haircut: she must be around her twenties and she was just dying to visit the place. She knocked on my door first, by mistake I suppose and after I sent her away with no clue whatsoever, she kept looking for the place. Saw her somewhere around here yesterday…she was talking to Ricky in the grocery store. Some stubborn girl, ain’t she?”
“If she finally located us, at least she had the sense not to be a nuisance and this is all that matters to me” said Lucy. “And now, if you don’t mind Bill, could you please let me finish what I’ve started here? I have so many things to do and I’m only halfway there.”
“Ah, of course, Lucy” said Bill, taking the hint and turning to leave after melting his cigarette with the heel of his shoe. “The offer still’s up; if you need any help just give us a call alright?” Lucy nodded in some kind of acceptance and got back to work, half heartedly and with her head full of thoughts.
Late at night, Lucy lied in bed with her ears ringing and her limbs hurting rather badly. After stacking an endless amount of boxes she had proceeded to sweep and mop the entire house, dust every surface available, mow the lawn and disinfect the bathroom and the kitchen. She had double checked the entire house for leaks of water and gas, she changed the burned out bulb in the bedroom and changed the bed sheets. After making sure that everything in the house was in perfect place she locked the door and left, and took the long way to her son’s house. She took a shower to wash the grease and the dust off of her and lied in bed, satisfied that her job in her brother’s house was done for once and for all.
But after Lucy lied down, head on the pillow and eyes fixed on a crack across the ceiling, despite her exhaustion she couldn’t sleep. The weight on her chest was still in place, and no matter how many tasks she had completed during the day Lucy knew; she knew that the past could never be stacked like the boxes; it could never be thrown away like the rubbish her brother had accumulated over the years. The past dwelled in all those places that no hand can reach to clear away and like a burden someone can never be relieved of it remains; it stays forever and some day that one will think it all is forgotten it will emerge; and in the end, the past will be finally proved as the most powerful and defining factor that shapes the future in a way that is impossible for anyone to change.