Well, just to get an idea out of my brain and down onto paper, I wrote this little piece of nothingness. I suppose I'll keep it on hand if I ever need another novel idea! (As I'm sure I will :) This is mainly characterization, as it is told from a narrator-type voice, but who in the world cares when one is scribbling inspiration? ;) So here I give you, for your enjoyment:
"Higglety Hill"
By Rachel Heffington
To have suggested
they nail down the loose step so it would not creak would have been heresy. To
recommend a few more real pieces of furniture among the telephone-wire spools
and orange crates would have been blaspheme. For, the owners of Higglety Hill
were adamant—not a thing should be changed. Could
be changed. If one began meddling about dear Higglety Hill it would quickly
slide into the ranks of Just Another Place—“Japs,” the children called those
legions of blind, unloved, empty houses scattered over the countryside.
Higglety Hill
began as a Jap. But that was, of course, before the Beckett children had
discovered it and given it a name. Now to suggest that Higglety Hill had ever
been such a thing would earn you an indignant stare from Olivia, a fierce growl
from Hugh, and a pained cry out of Jemma.
“Higglety Hill a
Jap? How dare you?” they might say, and naturally that would be an end to any
acquaintance you might have with the place, for the Beckets were jealous as
dragons over Higglety Hill. They were fierce about it, I tell you, which is why
they swore that, were there any other children on Sparrowleave Lane, they should not be
friends with them anyway. But there were no children on Sparrowleave Lane save themselves.
Jemma, who was
six, might have been “Jemima” once, but no one could remember so no one cared.
Her entire character could be pinned on that maxim, for Jemma was the quiet
Beckett. She was the one people glanced at, forgot about, and were startled by
the next moment when she cleared her throat and fixed her blue eyes on them,
reproachfully.
Olivia was the
oldest Beckett and it was she who had suggested they name Higglety Hill. She
named everything, even a particular freckle on Hugh’s elbow that she christened
“Moss.”
“Moss?” you might
ask.
“Why not Moss?”
she’d answer with all the loftiness twelve years bestows, and become even more
mysterious. It was Olivia’s habit to be mysterious over the oddest things. You
might be eating a picnic lunch and she’d raise the lid of her sandwich, peer
inside, then look at you. “I won’t tell you what’s on mine.”
“What’s on yours?”
“Not telling.”
“Pickles?”
“No.”
“Ketchup?”
“What?”
“Ketchup.”
“No.”
“Mayonnaise?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Mustard, ham, and
cheese,” she’d say at last, taking an enormous bite out of her sandwich.
“That’s what we’ve
all got!” You’d cry in frustration.
“I never said it
wasn’t,” she’d reply, staring at you as if she found your company dull and
rather taxing.
This particular
habit of Olivia’s vexed Hugh who was always curious and therefore always asking
questions. His favorite was “why?” or perhaps “what?” (pretending he was deaf)
or once in a very long while “wherefore?” which he had read off of a torn page
of Shakespeare’s Illustrated Companion next to a picture of a man in colorful
tights whose named appeared to be “Romec.” The page was chewed by a mouse there at the last half of the word
and Hugh walked about feeling that somehow there was more to fellow’s name than
he had been able to decipher. “Romec”
wasn’t any sort of a name at all.
In addition to
Hugh’s curiosity, he was the Beckett no one could forget—his duckling-yellow
hair made sure of that if his pert opinions failed, which they hardly ever did.
These were the
owners of Higglety Hill, and this is their story.
5 comments:
Oh, I like this. :D
I love this! I want to read more, please. :)
Beautiful!
I second everyone's comments. it is so beautiful and I want to read more.
By the way, I've posted an excerpt of Within Danger's Core if you'd like to check it out.
Delightfully enchanting! You truly have a gift for writing about children.
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