Post by Libitina on Jun 24, 2007 13:22:50 GMT -5
Flames Flicker to Nothing
by Libitina
His chest was blood-soaked, and I could barely look. I didn’t take well to blood; it made me squeamish. The rich, dark shade of red glistened from the warm and viscous mess flowing from the wound, and I thought I was going to vomit. It had been a while since I had even spit up--I was growing up. But this was among my smaller concerns, and I was not about to let my mind wander for comfort. He looked up at us, at Kit, gulping the air as though it were sudden rains in a draught. Kit, too, was breathing heavily. She wouldn’t last much longer. I swallowed my tears before they came.
Olaf appeared to be on his last limb. Klaus, Violet, and I were helping Kit deliver her child, but I couldn’t watch him die. Despite everything he had done, despite the pain, the tragedy, the death of our parents, the despair that had befallen everyone around us because of him, he was still a human being. Perhaps that is what we forget most in the world. I made my way carefully over to the dying man.
“Sunny, what are you doing? Kit needs us!” Klaus cried. I paused a moment and looked him straight in the eye, then doing the same to Violet--peering into their thoughts, searching for their intentions.
“Nobel,” I told them plainly, but I am not quite sure they understood. I didn’t bother to wait and find out, but continued on the short journey to Olaf. He looked at me curiously when he noticed my presence, but his pain was sharp in his eyes. He tried to lift his head, but couldn’t. Unsure of what to do, I gently pet him on his forehead, moist with sweat. He smiled a little. Encouraged, I looked at the wound in his chest. For goodness sake, I was little more than a baby, but I had gained more than enough common sense throughout our trials. The cut did not look deep, but it had been bleeding for a while. I tore off long strips from the bottom of my dress and pressed them against the wound. As Violet and Klaus delivered Kit Snicket’s daughter, I stayed with Olaf, finding water for him and using the little medical knowledge I had to begin healing him. Not too long before, I myself had been near death. If one can save a person in need, one must, I had discovered.
Long hours passed, and Olaf was asleep. Though his brow was still furrowed in pain, he was healing, and he would likely survive. I smiled and brushed a few tears off my cheeks as I hurried back to Kit. The baby had nearly made its way into the world, and my siblings willingly accepted my help. The dying mother screamed as her daughter was finally born, and at last, she held her in her arms. Kit looked at the three of us and smiled weakly. Then, gazing at the child as though trying to convey all her love and knowledge in a single instant, she leaned back and closed her eyes on the world forever.
We wept for her that night, rocking the child in shifts all the while, smoothing its motherless transition into the world. The baby, named Beatrice, didn’t know she was an orphan, of course. We saw this as a ray of hope. Misery was not hereditary; Beatrice had a chance. We intended to help her make the most of it.
The morning brought welcome fresh sunlight. Beatrice was healthy, we could see, and had survived her first night. We all ventured over to Olaf together, deciding to be civil. Treachery, we knew, was like the plague, and we would not be helping by spreading it. Olaf sat up when he saw us, considerably stronger than when I had left him. Strips of my dress were still wrapped around his chest, but the blood on them was dry. He was healthy, and I grinned, for I had done something good.
No good deed goes unpunished, of course.
Olaf rose before us. “Happy, orphan?” he asked me. His eyes were shining ominously; it was as though nothing had happened at all. My mouth opened in bitter surprise, then closed, then opened again to speak.
“You’re better?” I asked him, pointing to his chest.
“It wasn’t that bad after all,” Olaf replied, and in a swift, unexpected motion, he seized Violet’s arm. “But now you orphans are going to pay for this.”
“We-we didn’t hurt you, Olaf,” Violet said, trying to sound calm and confident. Her voice shook. Olaf growled.
“Not this blasted wound,” he hissed. His spit his words like fire, each syllable a spark, a flame, that lit the sand before him. “Everything. All the time I spent after your fortune! The henchmen I lost--my friends. Fernald! Esmé! Carm--well, Carmelita was a blessing, but it’s the principle! You orphans cost me more than I could ever begin to explain!”
Klaus looked up at him in horror. “Olaf, haven’t you any idea what you’ve done to us? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t pursued us in the first place!” he insisted.
“Enough! Silence! It doesn’t matter now whose fault it is. Kit is dead, and you three are paying,” Olaf roared. His voice cracked on the last word, but he pretended not to notice. We followed suit--he still held Violet.
“Let go of Violet,” I commanded him. He didn’t, of course. He looked her carefully in the eye and pressed his lips against hers.
“That’s what was robbed from me when you didn’t marry me,” he growled. Violet stumbled backwards, spitting on the ground. Olaf’s grip on her remained firm, and he broke into a sudden run with her. She screamed, but there was no one left to hear her but the two of us. We ran after them with all the power we had, but we were younger and slower, despite Olaf’s injury. Before we reached them, we were caught in a seaweed and vine trap made by the islanders before their departure. It was something of a fishnet, and there was no way to escape. Klaus rose his hands to heaven and cursed Ishmael. Seeing the words “Call me Ish” carved on the tree that held our trap, he let out a cry of defeat. I was silent. This was my fault. No matter what good one tries to do, evil will creep its way in, like the winds of a winter night through your bedroom window cracks.
Violet was gone to us. Klaus and I held each other and wept that morning, unsure of her fate, but certain it would be dismal. I couldn’t bear being the cause of this. I bit my hand over and over, scraping the skin with my teeth, until the taste of blood was sickening. Klaus said nothing about this being my fault. He said nothing at all, which was perhaps what was most frightening.
After a few hours, Olaf found us in the trap. His eyes were shining brighter than gems. “Let me help you down, orphans,” he said. He pulled a small knife out of his pocket and cut the vines of the trap. The gleam of his eyes reflected off the blade.
“What have you done with her?” Klaus demanded. He held my hand, his grip nearly cutting off the circulation of blood in it.
“With who?” Olaf said with a fabricated innocence that he knew was fooling no one. He began strolling nonchalantly in the direction he had taken Violet, and we followed. Before long, we found ourselves in a quaint fortress of trees. It was cool and peaceful, and the shade darkened the area in a way that was almost comforting. More overwhelmingly than everything else, however, it was dreadfully silent. We checked over the surroundings quickly and found nothing suspicious. All looked natural but a candle burning a slight distance away from us. Klaus and I moved towards it, certain that Olaf’s intentions weren’t good. The man himself said nothing, but watched us as we carried our worries to the light.
The burning candle itself was soothing and gentle, but we as we looked to see where the wax was dripping, we found that it rested in a human skull--Violet’s. I screamed when I saw it, bit my own hand. Klaus yelped as well, falling to the ground. What quick work he had made of her! I couldn’t begin to think of the method he had used to murder her and come away with her skull in such a way. The top of the skull was cut off and lying beside it. Olaf joined us at the site, lifted up the cut-off part of the skull, and put out the candle’s flame. His eyes flickered with light as the candle’s died.
The thought of my sister--strong, quick-witted Violet, always sharp and ready when it mattered, nearly our parent--being dead was unbelievable. And it as my fault. My mind exploded with emotions I hadn’t known existed. I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t see. Olaf, shining brightly in his own world, was quite content with himself.
“I told you that you would pay, orphans,” he said, and I did not need to look at him to know that he was grinning in triumph. Even if he didn’t realize it then, it was hollow triumph, for what success is there in killing a teenage girl? Anyone, for that matter. I wondered what it would be like to lack a conscience and feel victorious, even for a moment, for such an act.
Klaus and I remained silent. He was holding me now, and we cried quietly with each other. Olaf was making his way towards the other side of the shaded area. He came back in a few moments with Violet’s dress. “You can have this back,” he snarled, and thrust it
at us. Klaus picked it up carefully and examined it with as much respect for our sister as he could. The dress itself was in rather good shape, considering the circumstances. However, in the sleeves of the dress, our sister’s arms still remained. Klaus yelped louder than before and cast the dress away. Olaf threw his head back and laughed. The breath he exhaled was like poison, and I couldn’t stand to be near him anymore. I grabbed Klaus’s hand.
“Leave!” I cried, and we hurried back to the shore of the island. Olaf didn’t bother following. He had won, for the moment, and was human enough to let us have time to mourn our sister. Upon our return, we saw the tiny body of Beatrice. In the horror of the past few hours, we had forgotten about her. To our relief, she was unharmed, and we cared for her as we discussed our options.
“We have to get off the island,” Klaus said, with the most focused attitude he could muster. I nodded; he was stating what was obviously true.
“How?” I asked. Klaus frowned, dismayed.
“I don’t know,” he said. “He really has won this time.” He was beginning to cry again, and I patted his hand. He smiled sadly at me and shook his head. “This is the end, Sunny. There’s nothing more for us to do.”
“Violet--little engine,” I insisted. If she were still alive, after all, she would have tied her hair up in her ribbon long ago, inventing a way to sail to safety. Klaus nodded, but still frowned.
“Why don’t you see what Olaf is doing now? If we are going to survive, we need to know his plans,” Klaus said with a bit more hope. “You’re small and quiet; he won’t notice you if you are careful. I will stay here with Beatrice.” I smiled, saluted my brother, and set off for Olaf’s new lair.
Olaf was sitting now on a large rock. I crouched behind a bush as I watched him. The rock was pushed towards a larger boulder, set up like a table and chair. He was talking to himself. “Yes, boss! I’ve got the orphans, boss! Is it safe to eat raw toast?” The voices of his associates--some dead, some never to be seen again. He repeated their words to himself, even imitating the pitches of their voices. He squealed with laughter. I was both shocked and horrified. Olaf was insane. I wondered which was more dangerous, a sane villain like him or an insane one. With Olaf, it was difficult to tell.
I looked for Violet’s skull with the candle in it. The candle was burning again. I shuddered. As I watched the flame, Olaf stood up and walked toward it. “Little Violet, what a pretty face,” he said to the skull, and laughed again. He picked up Violet’s dress, which was still lying where Klaus had thrown it in terror. He stroked it a moment, and then lit the edge of it with the candle’s flame. I couldn’t withhold my scream. Olaf snapped his head in my direction, startled. I was frozen with fear.
Olaf dropped the dress, which was quickly being consumed by the fire. He glared at me for a moment, and then charged toward me. However, with his withered sanity, he forgot about the dress, and tripped over it. His filthy trousers caught fire. He stared at them in disbelief. Still unable to move, I thought about all the disguises I had seen him wear that I had wished would catch fire. How many lives would have been saved if he had been dead? Would my parents be alive? Would we spend cheerful time with Uncle Monty? Would Jerome Squalor have a faithful wife? Would the Quagmires be safe? Would Hotel Denouement be standing?
He was too dumbfounded to attempt to put out the flames. They rapidly consumed the rest of his clothing, scorched his skin. He did not scream, but closed his eyes and let the fire devour him. I couldn’t watch him die. I ran back to the shore where Klaus and Beatrice were waiting.
When a bee stings its victim, it spends a few moments in victory. It has claimed its prey and won, and celebrates its triumph. However, when it releases its weapon, it finds that the weapon is precisely what it needs to survive. By injuring another, it kills itself. Olaf’s fate was similar. His greed for human flesh destroyed Violet, but destroyed him as well. If justice is sometimes delayed, it is not scarce.
I reached the shore quickly, and Klaus looked at me anxiously. He could tell something had happened, and eagerly inquired. I took a deep breath, for it was beginning to set in. Our series of unfortunate events--for now, at least--was over. “Olaf is dead.”
by Libitina
His chest was blood-soaked, and I could barely look. I didn’t take well to blood; it made me squeamish. The rich, dark shade of red glistened from the warm and viscous mess flowing from the wound, and I thought I was going to vomit. It had been a while since I had even spit up--I was growing up. But this was among my smaller concerns, and I was not about to let my mind wander for comfort. He looked up at us, at Kit, gulping the air as though it were sudden rains in a draught. Kit, too, was breathing heavily. She wouldn’t last much longer. I swallowed my tears before they came.
Olaf appeared to be on his last limb. Klaus, Violet, and I were helping Kit deliver her child, but I couldn’t watch him die. Despite everything he had done, despite the pain, the tragedy, the death of our parents, the despair that had befallen everyone around us because of him, he was still a human being. Perhaps that is what we forget most in the world. I made my way carefully over to the dying man.
“Sunny, what are you doing? Kit needs us!” Klaus cried. I paused a moment and looked him straight in the eye, then doing the same to Violet--peering into their thoughts, searching for their intentions.
“Nobel,” I told them plainly, but I am not quite sure they understood. I didn’t bother to wait and find out, but continued on the short journey to Olaf. He looked at me curiously when he noticed my presence, but his pain was sharp in his eyes. He tried to lift his head, but couldn’t. Unsure of what to do, I gently pet him on his forehead, moist with sweat. He smiled a little. Encouraged, I looked at the wound in his chest. For goodness sake, I was little more than a baby, but I had gained more than enough common sense throughout our trials. The cut did not look deep, but it had been bleeding for a while. I tore off long strips from the bottom of my dress and pressed them against the wound. As Violet and Klaus delivered Kit Snicket’s daughter, I stayed with Olaf, finding water for him and using the little medical knowledge I had to begin healing him. Not too long before, I myself had been near death. If one can save a person in need, one must, I had discovered.
Long hours passed, and Olaf was asleep. Though his brow was still furrowed in pain, he was healing, and he would likely survive. I smiled and brushed a few tears off my cheeks as I hurried back to Kit. The baby had nearly made its way into the world, and my siblings willingly accepted my help. The dying mother screamed as her daughter was finally born, and at last, she held her in her arms. Kit looked at the three of us and smiled weakly. Then, gazing at the child as though trying to convey all her love and knowledge in a single instant, she leaned back and closed her eyes on the world forever.
We wept for her that night, rocking the child in shifts all the while, smoothing its motherless transition into the world. The baby, named Beatrice, didn’t know she was an orphan, of course. We saw this as a ray of hope. Misery was not hereditary; Beatrice had a chance. We intended to help her make the most of it.
The morning brought welcome fresh sunlight. Beatrice was healthy, we could see, and had survived her first night. We all ventured over to Olaf together, deciding to be civil. Treachery, we knew, was like the plague, and we would not be helping by spreading it. Olaf sat up when he saw us, considerably stronger than when I had left him. Strips of my dress were still wrapped around his chest, but the blood on them was dry. He was healthy, and I grinned, for I had done something good.
No good deed goes unpunished, of course.
Olaf rose before us. “Happy, orphan?” he asked me. His eyes were shining ominously; it was as though nothing had happened at all. My mouth opened in bitter surprise, then closed, then opened again to speak.
“You’re better?” I asked him, pointing to his chest.
“It wasn’t that bad after all,” Olaf replied, and in a swift, unexpected motion, he seized Violet’s arm. “But now you orphans are going to pay for this.”
“We-we didn’t hurt you, Olaf,” Violet said, trying to sound calm and confident. Her voice shook. Olaf growled.
“Not this blasted wound,” he hissed. His spit his words like fire, each syllable a spark, a flame, that lit the sand before him. “Everything. All the time I spent after your fortune! The henchmen I lost--my friends. Fernald! Esmé! Carm--well, Carmelita was a blessing, but it’s the principle! You orphans cost me more than I could ever begin to explain!”
Klaus looked up at him in horror. “Olaf, haven’t you any idea what you’ve done to us? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t pursued us in the first place!” he insisted.
“Enough! Silence! It doesn’t matter now whose fault it is. Kit is dead, and you three are paying,” Olaf roared. His voice cracked on the last word, but he pretended not to notice. We followed suit--he still held Violet.
“Let go of Violet,” I commanded him. He didn’t, of course. He looked her carefully in the eye and pressed his lips against hers.
“That’s what was robbed from me when you didn’t marry me,” he growled. Violet stumbled backwards, spitting on the ground. Olaf’s grip on her remained firm, and he broke into a sudden run with her. She screamed, but there was no one left to hear her but the two of us. We ran after them with all the power we had, but we were younger and slower, despite Olaf’s injury. Before we reached them, we were caught in a seaweed and vine trap made by the islanders before their departure. It was something of a fishnet, and there was no way to escape. Klaus rose his hands to heaven and cursed Ishmael. Seeing the words “Call me Ish” carved on the tree that held our trap, he let out a cry of defeat. I was silent. This was my fault. No matter what good one tries to do, evil will creep its way in, like the winds of a winter night through your bedroom window cracks.
Violet was gone to us. Klaus and I held each other and wept that morning, unsure of her fate, but certain it would be dismal. I couldn’t bear being the cause of this. I bit my hand over and over, scraping the skin with my teeth, until the taste of blood was sickening. Klaus said nothing about this being my fault. He said nothing at all, which was perhaps what was most frightening.
After a few hours, Olaf found us in the trap. His eyes were shining brighter than gems. “Let me help you down, orphans,” he said. He pulled a small knife out of his pocket and cut the vines of the trap. The gleam of his eyes reflected off the blade.
“What have you done with her?” Klaus demanded. He held my hand, his grip nearly cutting off the circulation of blood in it.
“With who?” Olaf said with a fabricated innocence that he knew was fooling no one. He began strolling nonchalantly in the direction he had taken Violet, and we followed. Before long, we found ourselves in a quaint fortress of trees. It was cool and peaceful, and the shade darkened the area in a way that was almost comforting. More overwhelmingly than everything else, however, it was dreadfully silent. We checked over the surroundings quickly and found nothing suspicious. All looked natural but a candle burning a slight distance away from us. Klaus and I moved towards it, certain that Olaf’s intentions weren’t good. The man himself said nothing, but watched us as we carried our worries to the light.
The burning candle itself was soothing and gentle, but we as we looked to see where the wax was dripping, we found that it rested in a human skull--Violet’s. I screamed when I saw it, bit my own hand. Klaus yelped as well, falling to the ground. What quick work he had made of her! I couldn’t begin to think of the method he had used to murder her and come away with her skull in such a way. The top of the skull was cut off and lying beside it. Olaf joined us at the site, lifted up the cut-off part of the skull, and put out the candle’s flame. His eyes flickered with light as the candle’s died.
The thought of my sister--strong, quick-witted Violet, always sharp and ready when it mattered, nearly our parent--being dead was unbelievable. And it as my fault. My mind exploded with emotions I hadn’t known existed. I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t see. Olaf, shining brightly in his own world, was quite content with himself.
“I told you that you would pay, orphans,” he said, and I did not need to look at him to know that he was grinning in triumph. Even if he didn’t realize it then, it was hollow triumph, for what success is there in killing a teenage girl? Anyone, for that matter. I wondered what it would be like to lack a conscience and feel victorious, even for a moment, for such an act.
Klaus and I remained silent. He was holding me now, and we cried quietly with each other. Olaf was making his way towards the other side of the shaded area. He came back in a few moments with Violet’s dress. “You can have this back,” he snarled, and thrust it
at us. Klaus picked it up carefully and examined it with as much respect for our sister as he could. The dress itself was in rather good shape, considering the circumstances. However, in the sleeves of the dress, our sister’s arms still remained. Klaus yelped louder than before and cast the dress away. Olaf threw his head back and laughed. The breath he exhaled was like poison, and I couldn’t stand to be near him anymore. I grabbed Klaus’s hand.
“Leave!” I cried, and we hurried back to the shore of the island. Olaf didn’t bother following. He had won, for the moment, and was human enough to let us have time to mourn our sister. Upon our return, we saw the tiny body of Beatrice. In the horror of the past few hours, we had forgotten about her. To our relief, she was unharmed, and we cared for her as we discussed our options.
“We have to get off the island,” Klaus said, with the most focused attitude he could muster. I nodded; he was stating what was obviously true.
“How?” I asked. Klaus frowned, dismayed.
“I don’t know,” he said. “He really has won this time.” He was beginning to cry again, and I patted his hand. He smiled sadly at me and shook his head. “This is the end, Sunny. There’s nothing more for us to do.”
“Violet--little engine,” I insisted. If she were still alive, after all, she would have tied her hair up in her ribbon long ago, inventing a way to sail to safety. Klaus nodded, but still frowned.
“Why don’t you see what Olaf is doing now? If we are going to survive, we need to know his plans,” Klaus said with a bit more hope. “You’re small and quiet; he won’t notice you if you are careful. I will stay here with Beatrice.” I smiled, saluted my brother, and set off for Olaf’s new lair.
Olaf was sitting now on a large rock. I crouched behind a bush as I watched him. The rock was pushed towards a larger boulder, set up like a table and chair. He was talking to himself. “Yes, boss! I’ve got the orphans, boss! Is it safe to eat raw toast?” The voices of his associates--some dead, some never to be seen again. He repeated their words to himself, even imitating the pitches of their voices. He squealed with laughter. I was both shocked and horrified. Olaf was insane. I wondered which was more dangerous, a sane villain like him or an insane one. With Olaf, it was difficult to tell.
I looked for Violet’s skull with the candle in it. The candle was burning again. I shuddered. As I watched the flame, Olaf stood up and walked toward it. “Little Violet, what a pretty face,” he said to the skull, and laughed again. He picked up Violet’s dress, which was still lying where Klaus had thrown it in terror. He stroked it a moment, and then lit the edge of it with the candle’s flame. I couldn’t withhold my scream. Olaf snapped his head in my direction, startled. I was frozen with fear.
Olaf dropped the dress, which was quickly being consumed by the fire. He glared at me for a moment, and then charged toward me. However, with his withered sanity, he forgot about the dress, and tripped over it. His filthy trousers caught fire. He stared at them in disbelief. Still unable to move, I thought about all the disguises I had seen him wear that I had wished would catch fire. How many lives would have been saved if he had been dead? Would my parents be alive? Would we spend cheerful time with Uncle Monty? Would Jerome Squalor have a faithful wife? Would the Quagmires be safe? Would Hotel Denouement be standing?
He was too dumbfounded to attempt to put out the flames. They rapidly consumed the rest of his clothing, scorched his skin. He did not scream, but closed his eyes and let the fire devour him. I couldn’t watch him die. I ran back to the shore where Klaus and Beatrice were waiting.
When a bee stings its victim, it spends a few moments in victory. It has claimed its prey and won, and celebrates its triumph. However, when it releases its weapon, it finds that the weapon is precisely what it needs to survive. By injuring another, it kills itself. Olaf’s fate was similar. His greed for human flesh destroyed Violet, but destroyed him as well. If justice is sometimes delayed, it is not scarce.
I reached the shore quickly, and Klaus looked at me anxiously. He could tell something had happened, and eagerly inquired. I took a deep breath, for it was beginning to set in. Our series of unfortunate events--for now, at least--was over. “Olaf is dead.”