George The Rogue

• Angela Watkins, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2011

When I opened the door, I recognized the figure immediately after he threw back the hood of his soaking cloak. “GEORGE” We embraced and shared a few quick kisses before Mother slowly descended from the stairs, George helped her take a seat in the sitting room, while I collected his wet cloak and draped it on a chair near the fireplace as I started to wake up the fire. My mother, and Georges, Eleni Cooper, shook with joy as she kissed and hugged his son with wet tears streaming down her now-wet cheeks, George wiped them away with his handkerchief and took a seat, pulling his wife, me, onto his lap, securing his hand around my waist, making me blush, I still wasn't used to having a husband, let alone one such as George, as we asked him a great deal of questions, he only laughed and said “calm down! I was only gone for a few days, guess what?!” I looked at him, his soft, hazel eyes were filled with mischief and beaming pride. Suddenly I whispered. “You did it, your the Rogue!” he grinned wolfishly and turned me towards him so I was facing him face to face. “Yes dear one, I am the Rogue.” Eleni burst into fresh tears as I shed a few of my own, both of us proud of George, weeped as George tried to comfort us at the same time. I laughed when I realized, George chuckled as he fished into his pockets for a handkerchief for his mother. Eleni, in a night gown, happily accepted the handkerchief I brought out before Cooper found his spare in the back pockets of his dark green breeches,I got special treatment and got my tears dried slowly with his own pink, handkerchief. Rogue, my husband, Rogue of the lower city of the greatest city known to the world.
George Cooper, and I will bear his sons of the undoubtedly, best ruling Rogue of all time.

By Angela Watkins
To be continued.......