Genevieve And Piqué

• Zoe Whitman, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2021

“Good morning Genevieve!” I called out. When an empty silence greeted me, I remembered that Genevieve had an early meeting at work and she would’ve already left. As I meandered out to the kitchen, the sound of the radio filled my ears. Genevieve must’ve left it on for me, but it was set at a volume that could only be heard in the kitchen. My favourite song was playing and I sang along as I settled down and ate the breakfast that Genevieve had generously left out for me. After I filled my ravenous stomach with food I walked over to the large window, which had a cushioned seat built into the windowsill. I sunk into the window seat and looked out at the sights before me. The famous Eiffel Tower stood across the road, powerful and quite humiliating to someone like me who was very negligible by comparison.

Then, I heard them. One second they didn’t exist, the next I could hear them wandering around outside the house that Genevieve and I shared. Quickly, but quietly, I moved from my cozy window seat into the bedroom where I dived into the closet. I was hidden but I could still hear them. They spoke in very loud voices, which was lucky for me. I was curled up as tight as I could make myself, hoping to be safe. I closed my eyes but my ears remained open for information on who these people were and what they were doing here.

For a long time I could hear nothing of the people outside and I thought they might’ve left. Then I heard a cry of: “I found it!”. I froze, paralysed. Thousands of questions flew to my brain and I wasn’t sure which to answer first. What did they find? What if they were inside the house? They were bound to find me. I had to make it clear that someone was home. I thought about calling out to them to tell them to go away, but I didn’t want to put myself in further danger. I thought of the ceramic vase in the lounge room as I tiptoed out of my hiding place. I never liked it anyway and I’m sure Genevieve wouldn’t mind, especially when I tell her what I broke it for. I made my way to where the vase stood and knocked it off the coffee table.

As soon as the vase hit the tiled floor, it shattered into a million pieces that spread in a million directions. I dashed away from the vase and straight into the closet again. I curled up into a ball, as tightly as I could hoping to make myself smaller. My ears were wide open. Not even a second later, I heard a response.
“Someone’s home! It doesn’t matter, mate. We got the key, we’ll just come back tomorrow.” I watched them get in a black van and the drove down the street. My first thought, after they left, was to call the police, but then Genevieve came home from work. I told her everything that happened. Her eyes filled with a slight look of sadness when I told her about the vase, but that quickly passed once I told her why it was broken. She turned straight back around and went out the door, only pausing long enough to pick up her bag.

She came back later new door handles and a key that fit snugly in the new shaped lock. She also held a plastic grocery bag. She went into the kitchen and emerged holding a bowl and a plate. The bowl was filled with warm milk and the plate contained a grilled fish fillet for me to eat all by myself. I rubbed myself against Genevieves legs before moving towards the plate and bowl and gobbling up the feast she’d presented.
Then she said, “what would I do if we couldn’t speak the same language, Piqué?”