Doomed to Survive: A Re-Telling of Marie Therese of France

**This is story #2 that I had to write for my Creative Writing Class - this prompt was "fan-fiction". We could pick anything and do whatever we wanted with our selected character from a TV show, movie, video game, history, and etc.**

Doomed to Survive: A Re-Telling of Marie Therese of France

by: Carole Rae

“And I present to you, your son.” The Physician handed me the small baby. I tried to hold back the emotions, but tears rushed down my cheeks. Everyone, except for Antoine, my husband who looked close to tears himself, sighed and 'awed' over what they thought were tears of joy.

No. My tears were for this child I did not want. My tears were for my child's gender. My tears were for my boy's cursed future. His Great Uncle Xavier and future advisers would push my poor boy into treading a dangerous road; the road of reclaiming France.

“What shall we name him, my dear?” Softly asked Antoine.

I thought for a moment and kissed my son's head. A small noise that sounded like a small kitten came from his little turtle mouth, a diminutive smile settled on my lips. I responded, “Charles.” That was the name of my dear, lost brother.

~*~

The years flew by like a summer breeze. Charles continued to grow even though I prayed to God to stall his growth and leave him my little chubby-cheeked baby. A cynical part of me even wished he would die young and innocent like my little sister, Sophie, who did not have to suffer the prisons like my family and I did. My heart ached as each birthday came and went. My heart ached even more as Charles grew to look more like my murdered mother, the late Queen of France, with fair hair and eyes bright like a clear summer day's sky. My heart ached as Charles grew to be a man right in front of my eyes. As much as I wanted him to be innocent and carefree, his Uncle Xavier trained him to be a king. He trained him in diplomacy and etiquette. Antoine trained Charles how to led an army and how to kill if necessary. As much as I loathed these lessons, I was not so innocent myself in his upbringing. My hatred for the people who killed my family and my old life, bled through and infected him as well.

All these things would doom my poor son on his 18^th birthday. I knew the day would come that he would think he was ready to take on the French people and reclaim the throne.

“Please, don't do this!” I cried as I softly caressed my son's cheek. Oh, his cheeks had once been so soft and pinch-able, but now they were covered with the stubble of manhood.

“I must for it is my God given right! I am the heir and I want what is mine back.” Charles exclaimed. His eyes were filled with faith and dedication. My poor, poor naive boy.

“France is lost. We have been trying for years to reclaim it. The people do not want us! They want the Republic. They want that Emperor.” He walked away from me and went to the window and stood by Uncle Xavier. This man was mine and Antoine's uncle, but also my murdered father's brother. This man was nothing like my kind and loving father. This man burned with a passion to regain France at any cost. If Charles had not been born, I can imagine him trying to claim the throne for himself.

The silence of Uncle Xavier broke, “It is his destiny, Marie Therese.”

“What...to die like my family did? To have his head hacked off just like your brother?” I hissed. Oh how I loathed him.

“Yes. The throne MUST be reclaimed at ANY cost.” Uncle Xavier responded so heartily his jowls gave a bounce.

“Antoine. Say something.” As much as I loved my husband, I hated him at the same time. He was so awkward and stammering when nervous. I always wondered how he was able to led armies?

“I-it's seems that Charles wants to do this, my dear. A-as much as I fear for him, w-we must allow him to try. P-perhaps he can do what we could not.” Antoine responded.

“Yes, mother. I would be willing to die for my rights.” Charles said softly, but filled with such hope and undying faith that made me want scream.

I slumped to the chair defeated. My gaze took in the red and gold room. It reminded me so much of Versailles at times. My mother would have fainted to think the place of her birth, Austria, would have such a similar room as her adopted land. Mother would have loved little Charles as much I did. He was such a kind little boy and full of mischief and pride. That pride of his! Oh, I remember when he was trying to learn how to walk, he would allow no one to help him! The most serious of looks would appear on his face and he would try and try. The moment he was able to, the brightest smile appeared and he cheered in joy. After that feat was done, he would be off challenging himself again. Now, he stands at the brink of another adventure and I can not do a thing to stop him. A little breeze from the window blew through Charles' fair hair and made the crystal chandelier twinkle. The silence hung like a threatening thunder storm. The clock ticked on.

Finally, I heaved a sigh, “Go then. Go to your doom, son.”

~*~

“Milady, a messenger is here.” The monotone voice of my Steward shook me out of my memory of me chasing after Charles around the fountain below the window. It had been three years since I had last seen my poor boy. He had left that night with troops of Austrian and French soldiers eager to do his bidding. I watched him leave through this same window. Charles had seen me watching him and he threw me a salute and a grin that illuminated the night. I tried to smile back through my tears. In no time at all he was lost from my sight.

In the matter of only a couple of months, Charles and his army claimed victory over the rebels. The throne was his. I could only imagine the smile that sprung to his lips as the crown was placed onto his head. Even though such good news would reach me in Austria, I knew his victory would only last so long, for the people of France did not want a King.

I was correct, his reign only lasted two years. The rebels struck back up and Charles did not have the money or the manpower to keep them at bay. The throne was lost again. Refusing to be in exile like me, he stayed. He stayed and continued to fight to no avail. The people soon arrested him and threw him in prison as a traitor to the French Republic. No matter how much Austria and England begged and pleaded and tried to pay them off for him, they refused to let him go. My poor, poor boy. I try to keep images of him in prison out of mind, but I can not help but picture him alone and miserable in his defeat.

“Let him in.” I responded and straightened out my dress. The messenger walked in ragged and tired from his hurried journey here. His skin with burnt from many miles traveled under the summer sun.

With a bow, he handed me a letter that had been in his side bag, “I came as quickly as a I could, milady.”

“Thank you, my steward will pay you for your great service.” With a nod and a bow, he quickly exited the room. The letter was worn and had seen many miles of sweat and heat. My heart raced and my greatest fear hung over me for I knew in my heart of hearts this letter held ill news. Before I can open the letter, Antoine rushes in the room.

“What news?” He exclaims.

“I have not opened it yet.” I chuckle at his anxiousness.

“T-then open it!” He sits down in the chair away from me.

“Alright, alright.” Without another second, I rip open the letter and pull out the once piece of paper from the envelope. There are only a couple lines from our informant, “Charles is dead.” The letter slips from my fingers and I lose myself to the pain and shock, but the tears will not come for I knew this day would come. My silly, proud boy, who only wanted one thing in his life, was gone forever. I had shed all my tears for him over the years for I knew his fate was cursed just like the rest of my family who lost their lives. My fate, I feel is worse for I was doomed to survive without my father, my mother, my brother, and now my poor, poor boy.    

The Black Cat and the Little Girl by Carole Rae

****As you may or may not know, I am taking a creative writing class this summer (along with two other classes), so I feel that I want to share what I write in class. This first paper is a Creative Nonfiction short story.*****

There was once a little girl who had hair like Goldilocks and bright brown eyes that shimmered like stars in the night sky. With each day her golden hair turned darker and darker. Her mother, who had hair the color of bark, would sob and sob over this. She would exclaim, “My Goldilocks keeps growing! Her hair is looking like my hair!” Why was the mother so upset about this? Well, the little girl's golden hair resembled the mother's mother's once flowing hair. Now that the mother's mother had passed, the mother had little to remember her by. The mother also secretly sobbed, because the little girl was not like her at all. The little girl rather play alone and was reserved. She spoke little, but when she did speak she carefully chose her words and to whom she spoke to. It was not that she was a rude little girl, but she had had her heart broken by the man she loved: her father.

After the mother left the father due to his unfaithfulness and his horrid temper, the little girl stopped talking and clung to the mother's leg as they ventured cross country to a colder land that the little girl was not use to. They arrived at a little yellow house who belonged to Grandfather, the father of the mother. Grandfather brought the two in with no questions at all. He offered many a cookie and treat to the little girl, who only muttered a “thank you” to his deeds. Grandfather never forced her to speak or do anything she did not want to do, for he understood and was quite the quiet one himself. It took no time at all, though, for the little girl to finally break the ice over her heart and love Grandfather. Alongside this, her adventurous side was reborn and she had no choice but to roam the halls of the little yellow house.

The house smelled of many years of memories. Old and dusty items were scattered throughout the house. Some of these old and dusty items seemed to be older then the little girl, perhaps even older then Grandfather! Every room held a new mystery that enchanted the little girl. She played everywhere and tried to play with everything, but the mother would intervene and carefully place the item back and say, “One must be careful, sweetie, because this is old and will break if handled too roughly.” The little girl didn't quite understand, but she listened to her mother's words and never touched those items again.

The little girl loved the little yellow house. She loved every room and every item with all her heart! There was one place, though, that was her favorite and she did the majority of her playing and dreaming there. This was the most unlikely of places for a little girl, but the little girl loved the coolness and solitude of it. What is this place? Nowhere, but the gray basement on a little black cot set up just for her. Grandfather and the mother were rather confused as to why the little girl liked the basement the most, but they didn't ask questions and set up her black cot there. This basement was a spacious basement, but the walls and shelves were filled with more old things that amazed the little girl. There was a pantry tucked away next to the white laundry and dryer. There was a small shower and a toilet on the other side, which baffled the little girl, because she never seen a toilet in a basement before. Next to that was an old, overfilled tool bench that the little girl never, ever touched for it was Grandfather's tool bench. Near her black cot was a bed as huge as a car! It was pushed up against the adjoining wall from the cot. The little girl, again, was amazed and confused as to why a bed was in the basement. Beds belonged in bedrooms, didn't they?

“Perhaps,”She whispered to herself, “It was put there for me to play on!” She ran to the bed and began jumping on it. It was not as good as a trampoline, but it was still fun and softer on her feet! After a few hoots and sadly attempted back-flips, the mother came flying down the stairs and grabbed the little girl off the bed and set her down on the cool floor. She glared and yelled, “You know better! Beds are not made for jumping! They are made for SLEEPING! This bed is for guests, not for you to be jumping on.”

With a sniff and some tears, the little girl apologized, “I'm sorry.”

“Good.” With that, the mother patted her head and went back upstairs.

The little girl flopped back onto the black cot with a pout and wiped away the remaining tears on her face. She contemplated going up to her room, but she was currently mad at her mother, so she decided to stay sitting on the black cot surrounded by her dolls. As she went to slip on the new dress for her doll, a noise by the bed froze her.

Meow

The little girl squinted her eyes looking for the sound. She was too scared to actually get up and go to the bed and investigate.

Meow

The sound was getting louder!

Meow

Suddenly the thing making the noise slid out from underneath the bed. It was a black cat with bright green eyes! However, the black cat was not completely black, but a large white mark circled the cats neck. It liked like a pearl necklace that her mother had given her that had belonged to the mother's mother. The little girl squealed with excitement! She called for the cat to come closer. The black cat at first refused, but soon sauntered over to the little girl. The little girl patted the cot and told it to come up and play with her, but the black cat just cocked its head to the side and slid under the cot and laid down there.

The little girl was a little upset that the cat didn't want to play with her, but she was never one to force an animal to do anything it didn't want to do, so she then went on playing with her dolls. It seemed like no time passed at all when her mother called downstairs, “Sweetie, dinner is ready! Wash your hands!”

The little girl, who was starved at this point, jumped off the cot and crouched to look under the cot, “Mr. Kitty, it is time for dinner! Maybe momma can give you some.” But as she looked under the cot, she could not see the black cat. An eyebrow raised and she whispered, “That's weird...I didn't see you leave kitty.” With a shrug, she skipped away to wash her hands.

Later that night, the mother tucked the little girl into bed and kissed her forehead, “Good night my angel.” The mother cooed. She went and turned on the little girl's night light and left the room. The little girl smiled as she stared up at the green glowing stars that Grandfather stuck on the ceiling for her. With a little yawn, she closed her eyes.

Meow.

She jumped up to a sitting position. The cat was back! She called softly,“Come here kitty! Where are you kitty? Did you get dinner?”

Meow.

“Come lay on the bed with me, kitty.” The little girl pleaded.

The black cat slid out of the closet that was opened just a crack. The cat came to the foot of the bed and looked up at the girl with a look of curiosity. It seemed that the cat was tempted to lay on the bed with the little girl, but instead it slid under the bed and laid there. With a pout the little girl demanded, “Why won't you play with me, kitty?” She jumped out of bed. Flicking on the light and she ran back to the bed. Crouching by the foot of the bed, she lifted the blanket and looked under for the cat. Again...the black cat had disappeared! She was rather confused.

Quickly, she slid on her bunny slippers and ran out of the room. Her mother would know what was going on! The little girl hunted down her mother until she found her sitting at the dinner table playing with paper and looking rather serious about it. Not caring that her mother was busy, she demanded, “Mom! Why does Grandfather's cat not want to play with me?”

“What?” The mother asked without looking up.

“There is a black cat with white around its neck! It refuses to play with me! Tell Grandpa I want to play with it!”

The mother put down her papers with a wide-eyed expression, “Grandfather does not have a cat, sweetie. You must be imagining it.”

“NO! No, I'm not! I promise! It was downstairs by my cot and then it was in my room! It keeps disappearing!”

The mother chewed her lip and thought a moment. She went to say something, but instead stood up and began ushering the little girl towards the bedroom, “Come, come. There is no black cat. You must have been dreaming. Back to bed with you.”

“But momma!” The little girl whined

“No...time for bed.” She replied sternly. Again, she tucked the little girl in and flicked off the lights.

The little girl was not happy to be ignored and put back to bed. She again jumped out of the bed and went to the door. Before she could swing it open, she heard Grandfather's voice and her mother's voice. She peaked through the creak and they were in Grandfather's room which was across the way from the little girl's room. Sitting down, she decided to listen to their conversation like a bad little girl.

“Dad, she seen that black cat!” The mother hissed.

“Impossible! That cat died five years ago. I buried it myself. It must be a stray or her imagination” He responded with annoyance.

“ No, Dad. She does not lie and you know that. She said the cat was black with white around the neck. It came to her by the black cot from the bed and it was in her room.”

There was a momentary silence.

“Dad?”

“It died under that bed a few days after your mother passed five years ago. I buried it myself.”

Again...silence.

“Maybe she did see it...maybe it's a ghost.” The mother whispered.

Grandfather shrugged and replied, “It's possible. Don't tell her though...she'll get scared.”

The little girl, hearing enough, slipped back into bed. A ghost? A ghost cat? She didn't quite understand what that meant. How does one become dead and become a ghost? She knew Casper was a ghost and he was friendly. The little girl hoped that the black cat was friendly like Casper. With a sigh, she concluded that the black cat had to be friendly, it hadn't done anything to hurt her yet. After some more thinking and convincing herself the ghost cat was harmless, she fell fast asleep.

Meow.

The black cat appeared again and jumped on the bed and laid next to the little girl.