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The Blue Ribbon
by Aaron
The Blue Ribbon
Dorothy was scrupulously working with the blue ribbon since morning that she had bought the night before. The ribbons were of silk, it would have cost Dorothy a dollar, if not for the benevolent shopkeeper, who kissed the little girl'TMs forehead affectionately, charged fifty cents for two peppermints and of course the ribbon; closed his shop and walked her safely back to her home. Dorothy had been hunting and saving the one or two cents for months in her house; she finally bought what she wanted.
Dorothy was a little girl, studying in '~Sisters of Hope'TM; she was six years old and already as tall as her mother. Dorothy would smile, a lot, to an extent that when something hurt her, she would immediately start smiling. This called for immediate psycho-analysis that even Sister Miranda suggested to Dorothy'TMs mother but she didn'TMt listen to her advice; she couldn'TMt. The reasons were not far too seek. Dorothy and her mother lived in a small cottage near the frozen forests of Frostmore, where wolves of the night made treacherous plans of vandalizing people'TMs houses. Dorothy'TMs father was indeed one of them; a drunkard confessed by the parishioner, a mistake admitted by Dorothy'TMs mother and vicious '~Daddy'TM, regretted by Dorothy. Dorothy'TMs parents would go at each other, almost fisting each other, at night when Dorothy was supposed to be asleep, as Dorothy'TMs father would ultimately tear open his wife'TMs purse and take out the notes, not forgetting to count the coins as he would leave the house to seek his elixir while Dorothy'TMs mother would cry, lying on the bed, with her senses, benumbed by the excruciating agony of undeserving cruelty. She was a good mother, she loved her child.
Dorothy saw it all, and then she would quickly run and hide under her bed, silently reciting '~Teeny Tiny Tales of Toy-world'TM, 'oeThe whistle blew, the train came, the excitement grew, all o'TMer the lane''Afterwards, she would run to the mirror, and putting her little '~Teddy'TM in her arm, she would smile. She would waltz with him, sing meaningless songs, and be merry; for '~Teddy'TM was her only toy, her only joy.
It was eight o'TM clock when Eliza got ready to cut her cake. She was proud to be seven at last, her father had promised her a cellular phone on her birthday, and Eliza'TMs father, a man of his word, gifted it to her just when she was about to cut the cake. The melody of the birthday chorus was put on it as Eliza heard all the other people clap in unison as she brought down the knife on the icing. She seemed happy, after all, she had grown up a little more than she was before. The party could not have been grander, with almost the whole of Crawville, present at the party. Eliza was careful in writing down the names of her friends at '~Sisters of Hope'TM, and having the name of Dorothy circled with crayons and starred.
Dorothy was Eliza'TMs best friend; she would tell stories about unheard tales of Indian kings becoming monkeys for mistreating their subjects and how rabbits would climb trees to secretly talk to grasshoppers. It was indeed interesting though, that unlike Dorothy, Eliza cried easily, her lachrymal glands were too loose to hold back the tears, or so it seemed; when hurt, she would cry, when pinched she would cry, when patted or hugged, she would do the same, while Dorothy would laugh at her in mirth. A week before Eliza'TMs birthday, just after Eliza had finished her third set of crying in the day, she said to Dorothy,
'oeDorothy, I will grow seven next week. See how I bully you then,' to which Dorothy laughed and replied,
'oeFor all I care, I might be older than you because I never celebrated my birthday in my life,' after which Dorothy gave out a laugh which frightened Eliza.
'oeI'TMll tell you what,' said Eliza, 'oeLet us celebrate together. Let us assume our birth dates are same,' and Eliza put on an innocent smile. After a few seconds of silence, Eliza thought that she saw Dorothy'TMs eyes gleam, as Dorothy started laughing.
Eliza had been impatiently searching for her companion, crying helplessly, which attracted the attention of some of the suited and coated gentlemen and some beautiful fair ladies, who tried to speak to her, but it was too difficult for her to cry and explain at the same time. At around ten o'TM clock, the princess gave up her search, ran off upstairs to her castle, was sure to bolt the doors, and started crying. She cried silently, she was sad that her best chum hadn'TMt wished her on her birthday. She fell asleep afterwards.
By the time Eliza opened her door, it was eleven. She could see through the hall window that all the guests had left and the lawn was filled with darkness and silence. Eliza saw that her cart of presents had been brought outside her room. Just as she was about to haul the cart into her room, she heard loud screaming after which she could distinctly hear the sharp sound of one of his father'TMs scotch glasses breaking, upstairs. She ignored it-like she had been doing since childhood, it was probably her mother scorning her father for his intense addiction to alcohol. Eliza bolted her door again and jumped into her bed in excitement, she would open her presents at last. She tore up the wrappers one by one. She had received Teddy bears, large and medium ones; there were dolls, puppets, crayons and everything that a girl of seven could desire, though Eliza had lost her enthusiasm halfway-she already had a load of same toys in her cupboard. She had grown up and therefore she had expected mature gifts. As soon as she picked up the last present, she saw a blue ribbon, neatly folded in the form of a lotus. A note was stitched to it. Eliza threw away the gift in her hand and read the note, she was quick to understand that it was Dorothy'TMs handwriting and was quick to hang the lotus on the wall, below which a poster read 'oeBEST PRESENT.'
It was eight in the evening when Dorothy finished her lotus. It was a masterpiece. She had learnt the craft from her mother who had taught her once. She put on her pink frock and white top and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked beautiful. She was happy that at last, she was going to celebrate a birthday, her first celebration, with her friend and; she would receive presents too! Her heart had always craved for presents, how she longed to play with those battery powered toy-trains that would run on tracks or the toy dolls which would talk to her. She would give the lotus and would receive piles of gifts in return, she thought and she laughed heartily. She took her satchel where she carefully put the ribbon in, and left the house.
Dorothy reached Eliza'TMs house just before eight, before the cake cutting the ceremony. There were two guards at the gate, guarding the palatial mansion in which Eliza lived. It took Dorothy enough time to observe and examine the house and the people celebrating in the lawn. She was about to enter the premises through the gate when suddenly one of the guards grasped her by the hand. Strangely, none of them talked. She handed the blue ribbon to the guard, whispered 'oehappy birthday, friend' and went away, towards her home.
The guards saw in Dorothy more flaws than Dorothy could anticipate, when she had seen herself, in the mirror. All the guards could see was a castaway, in an old faded and torn frock. They were thus swift enough, to block the trespasser, from entering the restricted grounds, which their duty demanded from them but were humane enough to put Dorothy'TMs gift along with all the other gifts in the gift-cart.
Back at the house, Dorothy saw her mother, crying, with both her ears bleeding. Dorothy cried out a shrill laugh which rang out through the house as she slipped on the blood-stained floor.
The End
Neil
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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