The Forbidden

I recently came across a quote from Mark Twain, and as it sunk into my brain, melting into the crevices and dissolving with the slow, agonizing sweetness of caramel, I knew I needed to use it as a quote.  There are SO many directions you can take with this, though of course my first thought, seeing as it comes from Mark Twain, is to apply it to a barefooted boy with shaggy hair and a pair of tattered overalls.  I'm going to put Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn on my list of books I need to reread sometime soon.  :-)

The prompt is: There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.  (Mark Twain's Notebook)

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My response:

Rain pelted down out of the sunny sky on the day I was born.  My mama called it Devil's rain, and she said I carried the luck of it with me from my very first moments.  The midwife had fallen asleep in the rocking chair in the corner while my Auntie, who was quite experienced, having been there for all ten of my Mama's previous babies, saw me into the world.  At my first cries, the midwife started from the chair, but before she reached the bedside, she was seized with a heart attack and died, right there on the floor.

This was not even the worst of the stories I could tell you about my early years.  At the beginning however the misfortune I pulled behind me took care to limit itself to the odd acquaintance or two.  Not until my tenth birthday did it cut so close as to draw tears from my eyes.

It was raining again, that day.  Mama liked to keep to her room when the monsoons came through.  The thunder and lightning brought on a headache and tremors.  She'd had a present the day before, though, from my father.  It was perfume in a small, crystal vial.  The sunlight, when it was present, reflected through the bottle and drew a collage of rainbows on the far wall.  I'd picked it up to investigate the magic in it, but Mama's hand come down quickly, gripping my wrist and forbidding me from touching the tiny miracle. 

Of course, that only made me more determined to get my hands on it. 

I sat through the morning, sitting on a small, embroidered stool by her bed and reading to her aloud from a book - I don't recall the name of it, for my mind was over on the dressing table, with the crystal vial, only my eyes and my lips preformed their duties whilst my mind was wandering.  I waited, the picture of patience on the outside, while roiling in heavy seas on the inside, until Mama's eyes slipped closed. 

Of course, finding myself unattended in her room, I could not contain my curiosity one minute more.  My slippered feet crossed the carpets and my fingertips closed around the vial.  I held it up to what little light there was, turning it this way and that in the air above my head.  For a full three minutes I reveled in joy.  Then the vial slipped from my fingers.

The carpets were plush, and had it landed there, all would have been saved.  Instead, it smacked into the brass knob of the dressing table as it plummeted towards the ground, shattering in midair and spraying the contents all over the carpet and my dress.  Now the plushness of the carpet worked against me, for I could not simply mop it up.  And the stench.  What was nice in small amounts reeked to high heaven as a full dose.

Mama stirred, woke up, and soon called for her maid.  The headache from the storm grew worse with the overpowering reek of perfume, and Mama's maid soon ushered her out onto the covered terrace to wait out the worst of it while the kitchen maid went after the stained carpet with a bucket and washrag.

I knelt on the floor, feeling foolish and quite the child.  Mama wasn't one to scold, but with my tender nature, a scolding was hardly needed.  I'd broken the vial, and I tortured myself over it.  To this day, I hate to think of those horrible moments.  With the sickening scent of perfume in the air, and Mama on the terrace, seated in the corner furthest from her room, misfortune struck again in the form of lightning. 

Damage to the house was minimal.  It struck the tall chimney and traveled to the new gutters fastened to the roof of the covered terrace.  Mama's maid had come back in to help with the mess, and I, as I have said, had stayed inside of my own volition.  The horrible crack shook the house and threw us all to the floor.

That was when I first realized the seriousness of my condition and vowed to find a cure.