Tuesday, 18 December 2012

Help me, Jane!

I just wrote this and decided to post it rather than have it sitting around. I would love to know whether you think it is utterly terrible or whether there is something there. And I want to know who figures out who her friends are! So yes, comments are appreciated and (sadly) begged for. So here you go, this is 'Help Me, Jane'.

Terrified I ran out of the house. Anywhere, anything, except inside those walls. There had to be a place where I could go, a place where there would be warmth, solace. There had to be, right? I ran and ran until I had to make a decision on where to go. I couldn't just keep running aimlessly or could I? There had to be somewhere.
Where to turn to, where to go?
Maybe I could run to Marianne's house, knock on the door, be admitted in. Perhaps there was a place for me there, some clean clothes, some food. But wait, wasn't Brandon there? I couldn't face a man, not now, not one I knew, like I had known him. No, I couldn't. What time is it? Perhaps he is at work, perhaps he is not even there. He probably isn't there, it is a Wednesday. But no, he goes golfing with him on Wednesday and he was not away so perhaps Brandon is at home. And I can not face him, I simply can't
Where to turn to, where to go?
Perhaps Anne then, soothing and kind Anne, who always knew what to say. I feel safe with Anne, comforted. She always knew what to say and what to do. Everyone always said Anne knew, no matter what it was that needed knowing. And William himself was such a great soul. But no, William knew him, even owed him. I couldn't go there, could I? Could I ever go back there or did I have to ban myself from that fireplace for all eternity?
Where to turn to, where to go?
What about Emma? She was fun, she was even gentle in her own way. And she had looked after her own father long enough to know what it means to care, didn't she? Or had she cared enough and did she not want to be burdened? But George would be there. George was a good man and didn't like him that much either. It had been Emma who had insisted upon him being there. Why had Emma wanted him there? Why? It would have been better had Emma never cared for him, then we wouldn't have spend that much time together. I couldn't go to see Emma now, could I? Emma wouldn't approve of me.
Where to turn to, where to go?
How about Mary? Mary was so serious, so unlike Emma! Surely Mary would understand the gravity of the situation. And she had never seen him. Mary never saw any men and he had always avoided meeting her. Yes, Mary's would be perfect. Would it? Mary didn't like a fuss or drama and that was just what I would bring. I would be a burden to her and I couldn't be a burden, could I
Where to turn to, where to go?
Possibly Lydia could take me in? She knows what it is like to be troubled, to be fallen. She had lost grace now so have I. She would understand. And her George hadn't been there for a long time, had he? But then Fred might be, or Rupert or Bill or whichever one was there. Do you fall when you willingly jump? I hadn't jumped, had I? Perhaps I had. But I couldn't go to see Lydia, she would be bored by me. I cannot dance now or laugh or sing and she would kick me out.
Where to turn to, where to go?
I couldn't face Eleanor, she is to sophisticated. She wouldn't understand or would she? She who was always so calm and composed, so...knowing. She would nod and sigh, but she would secretly wonder at me. She would think me foolish. I am foolish perhaps for running like this. Perhaps it is better to sometimes just sit and nod rather than run. But no, it cannot be better, can it?
Where to turn to, where to go?
Catherine would think me the fallen heroine of one of those tales. She would sit me down, make me tell her every detail and then dream of. She would, I know she would. And Henry would just sit there and smile, content to let her fantasise. That is what they would do. What will I do then? What will I do now? Am I the heroine or am I just a side character, who fall shows the heroine what not to do? I couldn't be the heroine if I fell or could I? Would that make him the hero or the devil? He couldn't be the hero or could he?
Where to turn to, where to go?
Fanny might understand. She has been slighted, she has been put aside. But now she has Edmund. She has been content ever since, willing to forget. Am I willing to forget? Will he let me? I wish I could happily forget. It would be easier. Is easy not sometimes good? Fanny would think so, wouldn't she? But she wouldn't know. She couldn't know.
Where to turn to, where to go?
There is nowhere to go but back, isn't there? It would be easily done. I am already standing in front of the door. I could just knock, couldn't I. Tell him I'm sorry, that I didn't want to run. That I want to be heroine to his hero. That neither of us had quite fallen yet. And it would be good, would it? I have already knocked on the door and he is already coming. Why wouldn't it be good?
Where could I have turned to, where could I have gone to?
I could have gone to Lizzie. I now know I could have. But knowing now is knowing too late. It wasn't good, it never would have been. I was no heroine, I had not fallen, I had jumped. I was only running to return. Lizzie knows about realizing towards the end, but I guess she was luckier than I was. He never realised, I think. I don't think he realises now. Fitz would have known what to do. He never owed him or liked him. Fitz was his own person, or as far his own as he wasn't Lizzie's.
I could have gone there, but I can't now.

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