Fate

• Bronte Latham, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2011

I still remember that day, it is the only thing I can remember before the age of 9, but for some reason, I can remember it as clear as I can remember yesterday. It all started a normal day, but what was I to expect? How was I to know that that was the day that it would all come tumbling down. The butterflies fluttered into my hair, the beetles crawling along my finger tips, I was in my happy place, the pond behind my house. I could hear my mother calling my name, instructing me to come and eat my lunch. Like any other day, I gently placed the beetles back next to the water, let the butterflies soar off me as I cheerfully jumped up and ran back to the house. To me, my house was a castle. My family were all descents of very rich people, from surgeons to barristers, real estate agents to business owners. My mother, Angelina Destino, is a international talk show host on her show ‘The Picnic Table’. We are the 12th richest family in the world, but money means nothing to me. All that is important to my family is status and fortune. My family name Destino is Italian for fate, but does fate mean money? That I was never sure. After finishing my sandwich, my mother instructed me to go to the play room near the back of the house, and wait there patiently like a good girl. This was very unexpected, I always loved to play, but the tone in my mothers voice was different, forceful and almost frightening. I lived in a huge house on the top of a hill, looking over LA. The house was
surrounded by fences, long and tall, ‘keeping unwanted people’ out as my father would say, but sometimes I wondered if they were placed their to keep us in. I said I would go to the room, my mother smiled down on me, her teeth perfectly straight, and perfectly white. She kissed me gently on both cheeks then waved me off. I never got lost in the house, but it always seemed like a maze, the walls weaving through the house, to many rooms to count, but each room had a meaning and a very small number of them weren’t used. I skipped down the hall and into the play room closest to the back of the house. It was the largest of my 3 play rooms. My cream doll house sat right in the middle, it was a gift for my 6th birthday from my grandmother, though we only visit them once a year, she never misses any of my birthdays. It has 19 rooms, and my doll family are always taken care of. I like to make families, keep them happy and take care of them. They are always happy and their family loves each other. The parents always played with their children and their children always smiled. I wish my family was like that. My father always says he is too busy with the business and my mother always has phone calls to take or is down at the set recording shows. I am always left to play with myself and my toys, I am an only child so it can be very quiet and I can become very lonely sometimes. I have a nanny that takes care of me, but she seems more interested in how her hair looks or how perfect her nails are for that party she is going to that night with her new boyfriend. But sometimes I think I live a better life in my imagination rather then in my families world of fame. I start to play when I hear a faint noise in the lounge, even though it is further up the house, I have taught myself to eaves drop over the years to my parents conversations considering I never get to be involved in them. I hear my mothers voice, gentle and welcoming, but cautious at the same time. My fathers low and short mumble, possibly a greeting, maybe a disapproved thought, it was always hard to tell how my father felt by the sound of his voice, unlike my mother who was like an open book when it came to showing emotion. Looking over at my doll house though, I start to dress the dolls, I was distracted by another voice. This one was different, I couldn’t recognise who it belonged to, nor could I understand what the person was saying. Was it a man? Yes, the voice definitely belonged to a man. He suddenly started to get louder, his voice filling the air, my mothers sobs bursting out every now and then, it seemed to be getting more and more confusing as they kept talking. Silence. A large sigh and silence. Then the crash, the sound of metal hitting flesh and a blood curling scream. All in that order. Then silence again. I was paralyzed, what had just happened? The sound of china breaking, a shuffle of feet and then silence once again. I creeped around corners, slowly but surely getting closer to the lounge room where my mother, father and the mysterious voice came from before. I peaked one eyes around the wall, the sight that I saw was too much for my young and innocent eyes. A breathe escaped my lips and my eyes widened. No, I thought, no. I blinked twice, but the scene refused to change. The man with the mysterious voice was no where to be seen. Only my mother and father were in the room, but not in the way I wished. Father had one hand extended towards the far door, his body violently sprawled across the floor, a large amount of red blotches stained his best suit. Mother laid behind him, closer to where I was standing, her body draped over fathers legs, as if she had fallen, but pieces of her best china plates were neatly broken through her hair and across her face.
“Mother, mother, you know this isn’t working, I told you I never fall for jokes, I have the smallest sense of humor known to man, good try to you too Father, now get up and explain why you thought I was going to fall for this joke.” As I refused to think, they didn’t move.
“Mother?” I took one step into the living room, “Mother? I’m serious Mother.” Another step. “Father, please roll over.” I started to run, suddenly throwing my body over these lifeless forms. “Oh no, God no.” Tears, this is something that hasn’t happened in a while, I am the toughest person, nothing scares or hurts me, but one by one, wet drops of hell streaked down my face and onto the floor, swirling with the blood patches on my Mothers’ best cream carpet. Screams, sobs, sighs, silence. This was the beginning of the end.