Unus

Chapter One.

Chapter I

Jane, in her ten serendipitously obtained years with the Taylor clan, had never obtained the pleasure of meeting the late Sir Theodore Rothbourne Sr., though she had seen several photographs. She, being quite instinctively curious, and assertive; had most recently heard fascinatingly heartfelt accounts of the man who had become her adoptive grandfather, just short of a decade ago. As Jane stubbornly overlapped her sets of arms and legs in the rear seat of Mr. Taylor's ocher station wagon, she mused upon the absurd concept of memorials in the wake of death. Especially those in honor of widely known, and immensely loved persons such as Mr. Rothbourne.
"Sir Rothbourne, Jane." Mr. Taylor, the son-in-law had once corrected her over family 'tea-time'. It had been a simple, almost condescending response to a similar inquiry on the man, upon the moment they had been informed of his death by telephone. Mrs. Taylor, had flown away from the daintily adorned breakfast table in a deluge of tears and hysterics.  "He was knighted you know." He finished with a glance of annoyance, before hurrying dutifully after his inconsolable wife. Jane sat noiselessly then as she did now; all burning questions she may have wished to offer therein were certainly doused after such hypocrisy. It left a bitter, bubbling bile in Jane's throat, and she could not for the life in her, understand what was happening within this uncomplicated little triangle she had grown accustomed to calling her family. Jane had never even vaguely been aware of the man's existence before this passing week. Other than of course, the unspoken understanding that Mrs. Taylor, had once been Miss. Rothbourne; a once over privileged daughter to this supposed saint. Naturally, her heart was shattered in far more ways than Jane could count, rather...care to attempt at recounting, for she undoubtedly could recall her own scarlet fragments. So she did not -refused to- dwell on it. For all she knew, or cared about him, he may very well have been a decaying old man who shakes a weary fist at children who make frivolity too close to his equally decaying home.
Now, as she waited patiently on the seat of neglected upholstery, there was something Jane has grown decidedly sure of; until you die...you remain an unimportant, unacknowledged and unloved blip on the world's radar. It was a God-forsaken world- Jane scoffed at her own pre-thought. 'God?' She had misspoken. Mr. Taylor pulled up noisily beside the parked hearse.

Jane sighed deeply as the Taylors exited the vehicle and urged her along. Mr. Taylor commented on the situational contrasting, lovely weather. Mrs. Taylor seemed as though she would have liked to open her mouth and concur, yet she was holding back sobs. Tall and regal, she towered over Jane and Mr. Taylor as they approached the mortuary. Jane stared blankly after them, considering whether Theodore's forsaken vessel would appear mannequin-like in his casket or if his post-mortem make-up would lie upon his cold flesh more professionally, as her parents' was, giving the appearance of them being merely napping. The steps leading one up were ornate marble and finely polished, as if a skilled hand had returned every evening after the agonized crowds had dispersed, and refinished them, asking for nothing in return. However, Jane knew, a notion as such was a dispensable fantasy, completely improbable. There was not a heart so pure left in this life, though she did not believe in a next. She followed on blindly, willing her feet and eyes to keep up as her mind took residence elsewhere. By the time Jane collided with reality once more, she and the Taylors were seated, all neatly together in a cherrywood pew. Jane shivered spontaneously, and turned her head directly to the right, so as not to be forced into the sight of the hysterical Mrs. Taylor. Instead, she was met with two autumn eyes, adorned by two handsomely defined brows, which were raised in inquiry.

"Forgive me, is this seat occupied?"

Author's Note

I wrote this novella in the style of The House on Mango Street, which I felt to be so well written in that it was so concise and filled with such strong emotion and pain despite each chapter being no more than two or three pages.