Abigail Potter and the Wish of Doom

Faint glimmering dots that were stars could be seen throughout the twilight sky. The setting sun cast its rays across a small town in England. The light poured through the stain glass windows of the church, and made a forest pond resemble an icy red punch one might have drunk during that hot summer's day.

However, a small neighborhood was hidden from all the magic. A large grove of trees to the west hid the sun, and being the neighborhood was on the eastward side of town, it was already quite dark. Not many people who lived in that section of town were interested in such beauty as a sunset anyway. All they cared about was the kind of cars you drove or how much you were paid. Of course, they didn't think a sunset wasn't nice to look at, but why would you want to look at the sun when there were bills to pay? Money to make? Lives to live? Fortunately, there was at least one resident of Millpond Way that didn't think like that.

Abigail Potter liked her bedroom, because she liked to see the sunset. True, the large amount of trees would prevent viewing from almost anywhere else, but Abigail had discovered a secret when she moved to England four months ago. There was a clearing in the trees directly in line with the west window of the back bedroom, and that was where Abigail slept. She sat at the window seat now with her knees curled up to her chest, watching, amazed at how the sky above the blood-red ball could look so different than the sky below it. Not enough people can appreciate this beauty, she thought to herself. Abigail knew one in particular, and was just about to ask what she didn't see in the sunset when she heard the voice of the person she was thinking of.

"Abigail! Get down here before I starve you!"

"Coming Moniqué!"

Abigail turned her eyes away from the window and ran downstairs in the semi darkness she had gotten from starring into the bright sun. By the time she had reached the kitchen, her vision had cleared, and she saw her cousin Moniqué putting out plates and cups. A large pot of pasta was sitting on the stovetop, and Abigail could smell tomato sauce from the glass bowl on the counter. As much as Abigail hated her older cousin, she had to admit, she was a good cook. Abigail eagerly served herself some pasta and covered it in sauce, then poured a glass of water before sitting down and quickly beginning to eat. She had devoured nearly a quarter of her pasta in a minute when the dish was taken away from her. She looked up sharply and saw Moniqué across the table with Abigail's plate.

"Humans chew. Cows don't," said Moniqué coldly. She slid Abigail's plate across the table and just missed knocking over her water glass. Abigail glared at her cousin before silently and slowly continuing to eat.

~*~

For as long as Abigail could remember, she had lived with her older cousin Moniqué. Moniqué was a collage graduate, and she traveled often to many famous places to capture monuments on film, dragging Abigail with her. Moniqué had a passion (and talent) for taking photographs, so she would travel around the world to take pictures of many different things to sell to postcard companies or scrapbook companies, anyone who wanted them. For Abigail's sake, she stayed in one place for awhile, at least during the school year, so Abigail could get a decent education and make friends. Of course, according to Moniqué, everything she did was for Abigail's sake. Moniqué always complained that if it weren't for the fact that her parents, Abigail's cousin Roger and his wife Kathy (for technically Abigail and Moniqué were second cousins), liked her so much, she wouldn't have kept her. Abigail could never remember living with her cousin and his wife, though she tried very hard. She had been very young, about three according to Moniqué, and her stay with them only lasted two months, before they were both killed. Abigail didn't know why, because every time she asked Moniqué anything about Moniqué's parents, Moniqué would burst into a fit of tears, which was so often that Abigail suspected that many times they were not real tears.

Surprisingly easier to remember were Abigail's own parents. Abigail had lived with them for three years before they died, in a cruise ship accident on their anniversary, whic Moniqué had told her. Still, Abigail would often remember little things, mostly when she was not trying. She would be sitting down doing homework, or watching television, when she would remember a musical laugh, or strong arms lifting her into the air, or shampoo that smelled of cinnamon. The memory would be so vivid that Abigail would turn around, expecting someone to enter the room laughing, or feel a breeze on her face, or wrinkle her nose at the sharp, yet sweet and warming smell. However, she would realize it was only a memory, and continue with her activity. But the memories couldn't stop her from running to answer the door every time someone visited, hoping to see her father walk into the room, or hoping to hear her mother's voice when she answered the phone. Since she had no idea what either of her parents looked or sounded like, she didn't know how she would recognize them, but Abigail felt she would know when she saw them. Sometimes, when she was out on the street, she would play a game, trying to guess if any of the strangers she saw were her parents. Was that man over there with Abigail's dark brown hair and round eyes her father? Or what about that woman, who shared Abigail's deep brown eyes and faint freckles, was she her mother? While it was fun to pretend, the game hurt after awhile, because Abigail knew her parents were gone, and she would stop.

~*~