Molding (only a fraction of this chapter)

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- Molding houses aren't supposed to look good, are they? .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

If going here hadn't been my own idea, I would have hated my father when Le Fleur Vert came into sight at the end of the alley of trees. Maybe the melancholic feel to the enormous, victorian mansion was caused by the gray weather, that kind where you can just feel rain are on its way, but I had a hunch that the place was just depressing in general. But, well, what mental institution wasn't?

I drew a long, sullen sigh as my father parked the car, my stomach wild with my all too common anxiety.  

"Yeah, Tessa, I know it doesn't look exactly as on the website," he began. "But it has some of the qualities, doesn't it?"

I dismissed his enthusiastic remark with a little smile that said just let it go. I wasn't going to start complaining about the facade of this place. Not even the moss-pledge it seemed to have. But what I did find a little unnerving was, when we had entered the massive front doors, the intense stink of decay lying in the air. I retained a cough, shooting a look at my fathers frowning face. His graying hair, or what was left of it, seemed to rise a little, and I noticed that he, too, was at the brink of having some sort of rasping fit.

“Tessandra Droselle?” a stern voice sounded from a place above us. I looked around in the great, weathering foyer, but found no source to the request, so the person must have been in at the top of the nearby staircase. What I did found, though, was a bulky bloodhound, breathing on my left hand. I yelped and grabbed my father’s jacket-sleeve, almost climbing him to get away from the unexpected creature. 

My father laughed, giving the monster a gentle pad on the head. “Since when have you been afraid of dogs?” he taunted. His question went deeper than I think he had intended it to. But most things did nowadays. Why was I afraid of this dog? Was it merely because of my anxiety of this new place or something else? Maybe it was the poisonous scent of mold in the air, infecting my head with jitters.

“Where is everyone�"” 

My father’s question was interrupted, when a sombre-looking old woman came down the stairs. Her gaze looked empty, and her low-hemmed dress was fraying in the bottom. Reaching the end, she made a coughing noise. “Are you our new subject, dear?” Oddly enough, she sounded a bit, if not very, snarky. Like one who had had her boundaries tested a lot of times. 

For some reason, I didn’t feel bad for her. I felt annoyed by her. And that was very uncharacteristic of me. I usually felt bad for even the worst villains of the movies. I had always known that everybody had a reason for their actions. But this woman, even though I didn’t know her, really ticked me off. The way she was standing their, looking all wearied, made me want to hit her. 

Hit her. What is happening to me.

These thoughts ran through my head serial of times and gradually grew more manic. Maybe I was really starting to go insane. Maybe I wasn’t just depressed, but also violent and hating. 

I took a step closer to the woman. Her eyes looked daring, like she was saying, “You mean nothing. Silly child.” I felt my hand rising. What was happening? I hadn’t hit another being for years. No. This wasn’t me. Not anymore.

Pushing myself out of the homicidal trance, I started gagging. I felt my insides twirling, like my body was trying to reject something. Chills ran down my body, and I knew, just knew, that I was going to faint soon. I had to go lay down, right away. Pictures of rotting corpses and frightening sceneries invaded my mind, and I could have sworn that the old woman had something to do with it, because as she stood there, chatting with my father, she sometimes stole some glances at me, seeming to smile. 

“Dad�"” an aloud gag came. 

“Tessa, what’s wrong, sweetheart?” My father’s brown eyes looked as concerned as they had done back when my depression had just begun. 

“I�"” another gag. “Need the bathroom.”

My father looked at the old lady. She looked as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Like she was just standing there, consumed in her own little world. 

“Can Tessandra borrow your bathroom?”

No answer.

“Miss?”

“What?” She looked as if he had hit her.

“Can my daughter borrow the bathroom?”

“Oh,” a crooked smile spread on her wrinkled face. “Of course. Let me lead the way.”

Author's Note

I'd love feedback on the flow of the words and the text :-)
Are there too many or too few commas?
Is this beginning intriguing?

Reviews

[RYDER]

A very interesting pattern thnx for da read request

[Sukylola]

Definitley intriguing, i love it. The commas make it flow well, so it's clear how you're meant to read it.

[Hester Vane]

The flow is great and your description has an almost poetic feel to it. Commas are your friend, make use of them, i love them! And yes the beginning is intriguing. I spotted a typo. On the penultimate line it says "Was is merely" should it be "Was it merely" ? Anyway great job!

[Amanda J. S.]

Thank you so much! :-)
Yes that little one was a typo ;-)

-Looooove your reviews!

[de_maruf]

hmm