The Last Robotica (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thefolksbetween) wrote2009-05-23 05:04 pm
thefolksbetween) wrote2009-05-23 05:04 pm
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6th Birthday - George
Six years old.
Today was his 6th birthday. He was a full 6 years of age now, and a fine young lad; all the pretty maids said so. His father was proud of him and he never got into a mess or trouble. Because he was such a good child, for his birthday they made just a little cake, all white and simple with a bit of sugar made frosting spread on top. It looked so good and he couldn’t wait to share it with everyone.
But the cake had been forgotten. The screaming of labor had broken up the tiny little birthday celebration. The song hadn’t even started, though they had started to gather. Someone burst through the door of the kitchen crying out “Gregory! It’s time! She’ll have him any moment! But she won’t leave!”
The Mistress of the house was pregnant again, and past nine months due. She’d been pampered and taken are of for fear of the child with in her but the time had come and she was refusing to go to the hospital for it. A doctor was called and hurried on the way, for she would have no child of hers born into the world of the City, feeling that her own home would keep it safe from the monsters outside.
A commotion had broke out, people rushing here and there. For such and advanced time and era they were still down to boiling water and cleaning towels or sheets, preparing the room for the Lady to have her child, and waiting for a doctor who was slight behind time and schedule.
The kitchen had soon cleared out, even the birthday boy with it.
The screams seemed over dramatic to him. Was it really all that bad? Did she really have to yell that this was all the Masters fault? The lord of the house wasn’t even here. But after hours of her screaming and blaming and cursing about how she hoped her figure wasn’t ruined, there came another scream. Different this time, high pitched and young. It followed a smack that seemed unnecessary. It was no wonder the baby was screaming like that.
Looking on from one of two doors, George watched as they tried to carry the baby off, his father there by the Mistresses side, helping the doctor. He was in his Butler suit, always perfect and pressed, smelling of clove and cedar and looking as if he himself were the Lord of all. His father helped deliver the child, then gave strict orders here and there.
George couldn’t be prouder of her father if he tried, even if he felt… forgotten.
The door opened and he nearly tumbled over, so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize someone had come forward, to his door. He backed up, wide eyed, looking up at Mable as she rushed forward, blood towels in her hand. “Oiy! George! Hurry along now, back to the kitchens. You don’t need to be seeing this mess.” She told him and started to herd him off some.
He left, going back to the kitchens. There were still so few people here, but it didn’t matter now. When he returned however he found his little birthday cake upturned, a few glasses knocked over in the commotion and the cake had been lost. It was just a tiny one, just enough for him and a few others, but still. It was his.
Leaning over it he frowned at it, picking up the plate that it had been on, and turning it back over onto that. It was a mess and dirty. Not very eatable. Not that anyone would care about that now, would they.
With a heavy sigh, he moved to the trash, pausing there with the plate, reaching one finger and a thumb to take a bit of it from what didn’t touch the ground, and take a small chunk. He looked around, no one watching, and thus popped it into his mouth. Sucking on his fingers, he started to cry, turning the cake into the trash bin, walking over to one of the large sinks and sinking the plate under the long forgotten water. He took a towel and rubbed it over his face, drying it, and then moved to clean up the mess on the floor.
Father would be disappointed if he had left it a mess, right? And so he cleaned it, trying not to cry.
The cake didn’t taste that good anyhow.
Today was his 6th birthday. He was a full 6 years of age now, and a fine young lad; all the pretty maids said so. His father was proud of him and he never got into a mess or trouble. Because he was such a good child, for his birthday they made just a little cake, all white and simple with a bit of sugar made frosting spread on top. It looked so good and he couldn’t wait to share it with everyone.
But the cake had been forgotten. The screaming of labor had broken up the tiny little birthday celebration. The song hadn’t even started, though they had started to gather. Someone burst through the door of the kitchen crying out “Gregory! It’s time! She’ll have him any moment! But she won’t leave!”
The Mistress of the house was pregnant again, and past nine months due. She’d been pampered and taken are of for fear of the child with in her but the time had come and she was refusing to go to the hospital for it. A doctor was called and hurried on the way, for she would have no child of hers born into the world of the City, feeling that her own home would keep it safe from the monsters outside.
A commotion had broke out, people rushing here and there. For such and advanced time and era they were still down to boiling water and cleaning towels or sheets, preparing the room for the Lady to have her child, and waiting for a doctor who was slight behind time and schedule.
The kitchen had soon cleared out, even the birthday boy with it.
The screams seemed over dramatic to him. Was it really all that bad? Did she really have to yell that this was all the Masters fault? The lord of the house wasn’t even here. But after hours of her screaming and blaming and cursing about how she hoped her figure wasn’t ruined, there came another scream. Different this time, high pitched and young. It followed a smack that seemed unnecessary. It was no wonder the baby was screaming like that.
Looking on from one of two doors, George watched as they tried to carry the baby off, his father there by the Mistresses side, helping the doctor. He was in his Butler suit, always perfect and pressed, smelling of clove and cedar and looking as if he himself were the Lord of all. His father helped deliver the child, then gave strict orders here and there.
George couldn’t be prouder of her father if he tried, even if he felt… forgotten.
The door opened and he nearly tumbled over, so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize someone had come forward, to his door. He backed up, wide eyed, looking up at Mable as she rushed forward, blood towels in her hand. “Oiy! George! Hurry along now, back to the kitchens. You don’t need to be seeing this mess.” She told him and started to herd him off some.
He left, going back to the kitchens. There were still so few people here, but it didn’t matter now. When he returned however he found his little birthday cake upturned, a few glasses knocked over in the commotion and the cake had been lost. It was just a tiny one, just enough for him and a few others, but still. It was his.
Leaning over it he frowned at it, picking up the plate that it had been on, and turning it back over onto that. It was a mess and dirty. Not very eatable. Not that anyone would care about that now, would they.
With a heavy sigh, he moved to the trash, pausing there with the plate, reaching one finger and a thumb to take a bit of it from what didn’t touch the ground, and take a small chunk. He looked around, no one watching, and thus popped it into his mouth. Sucking on his fingers, he started to cry, turning the cake into the trash bin, walking over to one of the large sinks and sinking the plate under the long forgotten water. He took a towel and rubbed it over his face, drying it, and then moved to clean up the mess on the floor.
Father would be disappointed if he had left it a mess, right? And so he cleaned it, trying not to cry.
The cake didn’t taste that good anyhow.