Words on a page (or I really need to find a better title for this...)

No one thought James Carter would survive long after the flames devoured his house and his livelihood. Cecilia knew quite well what everyone thought. And yet her days that followed the terrible incident were spent by the man's side, constantly leaning over his body as he lay still and bedridden. The bed belonged to the parson, who dutifully took in the homeless and the tragedy-stricken. James Carter was immediately examined by the apothecary, and Ceci herself arranged a room for him as soon as she heard the doctor's diagnosis: it was grave, but not fatal.

The way she doted over the poor man, everyone was sure she had promised herself to him and that they were engaged. Why else would she remain his constant nurse, vigilantly tending to his every need? But in truth she had not promised him anything. It was her relentless compassion that drove her to care for Mr. Carter. Compassion... tinged with a guilt she did not understand. It was through no fault of her own that his home and his work was destroyed.
It might have been the fact that James Carter, a helpless invalid, had begun to slowly hate her. For all his adult life he had doted on her, loved her from afar, made secret dreamy plans to bring her home as his wife. Those dreams went up in flames along with his house, his land and all his possessions, including the hearty sum he'd hidden away beneath the floorboards. It was all gone. And there she sat, day in and day out, spoon-feeding him like a little child, washing his sheets and helping the parson's wife change his clothes, to his utter shame and embarrassment. For the first time as an adult, he was dependent, completely helpless. And dependent on whom? The very woman he had always worked and desired to provide for, that she might depend on him, look up to him, love him. And now he knew with desperate certainty that that design was undone. He began to abhor her very presence, which was his daily reminder of this horrible truth.
But... could he not see her eyes as she tirelessly sat by his bedside? He missed the love in her look as she patiently cared for him. Her face glowed with life and compassion when she washed his face or brushed his hair. He did not understand any of this and was instead lost in his own misery. Day by day he grew more desperate and soon Ceci realized she must make an effort to ensure he didn't do any harm to himself.

It should be plain and clear by now that James Carter would never make any sort of husband for Cecilia. By "any sort" I mean to say that we all, without fail, hope and wish and dream for that someone who understands us and--very simply--completes us.
And though the more cynical among us love to assert the unrealistic sentimentality of this desire, still all the same it exists and the honest ones admit it.

In this story, for the good of our heroine (and subsequent hero...) she does not marry Mr. Carter, farmer by profession. However, Ceci leaves, in time, an indelible mark on his memory that he only understands in his old age... as gratitude.
Good for him.

The Experiment

Words on a page

Quincy was experiencing a state of boredom.
Unfortunately, boredom in relation to Quincy meant trouble.
Today the sun was out, the day was warm, the sky was an incredible shade of October blue. And yet, Quincy was completely devoid of interesting things to do.
If you've ever had the pleasure of understanding the behavioral characteristics of 11 year-old boys, you may know how quickly they find trouble--or trouble finds them. On this day, all Quincy had to do was get it into his head to go exploring.
This led him through the pastures behind his home, out into the open countryside.
Leaping over pasture fences and running swiftly through the tall meadow-grass, Quincy imagined he was riding a horse; an enormous dark-gray stallion just like the one his sister's friend Corran rode. Xerxes was a fantastic name for such a fantastic horse; he envied Corran, that man with the orange hair. Ceci always chided him for calling Corran by his first name. However, Quincy thought it perfectly normal; they both were young men coming into large inheritances, had much in common, and might as well start it off on a first-name basis.
Such was Quincy's reasoning and it sounded perfectly valid in his own mind.

Quincy was lost in his own imaginings and did not realize where he was for quite some time, and by then the sun had sunk much closer to the western horizon. Quincy gazed up at the glow of the sunset. It suddenly came to his attention that a low gray haze was growing in his periphery. It looked like the sun was singeing the tops of the trees.
Quincy jumped as a bright lick of flame fluttered suddenly above the far-away tree-tops. Without a second thought, he began racing towards the spot. A flame so high could not simply belong to a farmer's bonfire. Something was most definitely wrong.
As his heart beat wildly against his chest, Quincy wished his legs were longer so that his stride might stretch a greater distance. It seemed like ages before Quincy reached the sight of the flames. A sight it was, and Quincy's heart leaped in panic. He knew the small farmhouse that was now quickly becoming consumed in flames: it was James Carter's house. He flew like the wind, back the way he'd come, back toward home. Despite his somewhat scatterbrained, self-centered nature, he knew he could not put out the fire on his own. He was also aware of the fact that the closest homestead was across the farm land he was currently crossing, and that would be his home.
He reached the house within minutes, though it seemed like hours, and completely out of breath, he waved his arms frantically as he continued straight through.
"Fire! Fi-ER!" he hollered.
No one seemed present, for no one answered.
He ran back out the door and was nearly trampled by a great gray horse.
Mr. Lennox was coming up the lane. He stopped abruptly as Quincy rushed past.
"Fire!" Quincy screamed.
Corran looked startled for a moment. "Where?" he asked quickly, looking up at the house.
Quincy gasped for air. "James... Carter..." he breathed.
Without another word, Corran scooped Quincy up by the shoulders and dropped him on his horse's back. "Hold on tightly!" Corran ordered. He set off at a gallop.
Quincy nearly tumbled off backwards as the horse lurched into stride. He grasped at Corran's jacket and held on for dear life. He managed to peer back a moment and just glimpsed his sister Ceci running round the back of the house. When she saw the two of them racing down the lane, she dropped the handful of wildflowers, picked up her skirts and began to follow in a skipping run. She tried to call out to them, but the wind was rushing past Quincy's ears and the thud of the horse's hooves meeting the earth drowned out all other sound.
They reached the burning house almost instantly. Quincy's heart raced as wood and brick tumbled away from the half-consumed structure.
Corran fairly tossed Quincy off his mount, jumping easily down. Before Quincy could stand again, Corran was already through the dark entrance that was once a front doorway. Seconds passed and Quincy knew there could be no chance of extinguishing the flame until it had burnt away.
Of a sudden, Ceci was at his side, breathless. She was screaming and tears were streaming down her red cheeks. She shrieked at him, "Where's Corran?" And Quincy could only point at that dark entrance. Before either of them could do or say anything else, there was a horrifying groan and squeal, and the roof collapsed.
Quincy thought his lungs would burst or his heart would give out as his sister let out a cry of anguish.
There was a strange silence following the crash of splintered wood and crushed brick; in that silence, something emerged from the yawning shadow of a doorway. A bent figure stumbled and dragged a lifeless bulk out into the open air.
Before Quincy could react or even understand what was happening, Ceci was with the two dark figures, bent over both. She was both weeping convulsively and attempting to examine the lifeless bulk. The other figure collapsed, coughing a wheezing cough and shuddering on the ground.
Quincy found that his feet were finally moving, of their own volition, it seemed. The collapsed figure was indeed Corran. He was struggling to breathe. He was also blackened and bleeding around the arms and legs. A gash seeped on his forehead, trickling into his dirty red hair. Ceci was bent over the still, silent figure. Quincy realized the man was dead; he was not chocking and heaving like Corran; he wasn't moving at all.

And then, in an incredible moment, the still body suddenly convulsed; his chest flew upward as though his heart or his lungs were about to leap from his ribcage. Ceci gave a cry of astonishment. The man began to breathe and choke. James Carter was alive.