05/16/2018
OK letting the cat out of the bag. I am working on my first fiction novella. Here is the opening chapter:
Eva and Eve
It was Eve’s fourth birthday. She was a happy toddler. Tantrums were few and far between. About the only thing that would get her upset, despite not having reached the age of logic, was fairness. And unlike her small peers, it was the inequity of others, not herself, that was the most distressing to her. If she had a cupcake and her friend didn’t, she always spoke up in their defense.
Eve’s father Gunner looked across the yard at his amazing child. His pride slowly slipped away as he thought about her compared to Eva. Guilt swelled in him as he compared the two identical children. Eva was a difficult child. There was no denying it. It wasn’t that he loved Eva any less than Eve. It was just the ease with which Eve was going through life and learning at such an early age. Nothing seemed to bother her. Eva, on the other hand, was constantly squirming, complaining and crying about seemingly nothing until her death. It was these very traits that contributed to her undoing.
As the grief overcame Gunner, as it had done so many times before, the images forever imprinted in him began manifesting before his very eyes, as he stood motionless staring at Eve.
Eva loved Halloween. It was her favorite holiday. Born November 1st, Halloween brought a two-day non-stop celebration. Her costumes were always unusual and there was never a fear that she would be dressed in the same outfit as twelve other kindergarteners in the neighborhood. The night of her death, one day before her sixth birthday, Eva was wearing what she called ‘The Haunted Chicken.” It was mostly just a chicken outfit but with some blood around the beak. But Eva pranced around making a spooky ‘baaaaaaaauuuuuuulk” sound like something out of a horror movie.
At Eva’s request, upon learning that such a thing existed from her peers at school, she demanded that they go to the ‘scary farm,’ a local farm where they had a large pumpkin patch, a corn maze, games and a haunted hay ride.
They spent the early evening trouncing through the muddy corn maze, playing beanbag toss and picking out pumpkins to carve later. The last event, once it was dark enough, was the hayride. Gretel, Eva’s mother, expressed some concerns about how scary it would be for a five year old.
“She’ll be six in a few hours!” Gunner reminded her.
“Still…”
“She’ll be fine. Look at all the other little ones already going.”
“I’m not scared of anything. I’m a Haunted Chicken, Mommy.”
In the spirit of the season, Gretel, laughing, agreed and they climbed up into the wagon. In the short amount of time it took to discuss the appropriateness of the ride, the wagon was almost full of families. They took the last few remaining seats right behind the tractor at the front of the wagon.
It was overcast and misty. The lights from the area where the pumpkin patch and games were faded behind them as they bounced along the farm road into the ‘Haunted Forest.’ A man dressed as a scarecrow jumped out from the road with a light-up chainsaw and screamed as he revved up the blade. Most people screamed or laughed and a couple of children Eva’s size buried themselves in their parents’ laps or in the hay.
Eva just squealed and clapped for more.
“Again! Again!” she choked out. And then she let out a long haunted baulk.
Eva had pushed by her mother and made her way to the edge of the wagon hoping to have a better view of the next killer that awaited them. As fast as one could blink Eva was now standing on top of a hay bale on the front corner of the wagon. There was metal grating along the sides of the cart but not on the corner where she stood. It was the corner where the ladder to climb up hung over the side of the cart.
“Eva! Get down NOW,” Gunner half-heartedly screamed, trying to appear as concerned as possible.
Eva turned to her father, planning on explaining that it was fine, just as they rounded a corner and hit a large pothole. Eva, without even time to scream, was ejected from the hay and thrown between the front and back wheels of the cart.
She died instantly; her head crushed by one of the rear wheels as the tractor motored on. Gunner leapt over Gretel jumping off the wagon thinking he would find a bumped up and bruised child or perhaps a broken arm. The jolt they felt right after Eva fell was not a pothole though.
The last thing Gunner ever said to his child was in the form of a yell, like so many times before.
He snapped out of his daydream, still staring at Eve. Eve was pouring imaginary tea into tiny cups they were using for punch for the children at the party. When could he tell her who she was? He and Gretel had spent many a night, even before they decided to clone Eva, how it would be handled. There were of course support groups, books, movies, and endless resources on how and when a cloned child should learn their origin.
In the end, they never told her. Eve grew to be a beautiful, strong lady without ever knowing where she came from or who she was.
