Chain Fiction: December 2007 Part Two

It's back! Greg's posted the beginning of a new story. Read Part One by clicking on the link below. Then come back and read my Part Two. If you fancy adding another section yourself then feel free. Check out the rules and conventions here.

Part One @ Greg's Brain.

Part Two: 408 words.

16 years earlier...

Standing by the edge of the great frozen pond, the tall blonde-haired girl looked wistfully out across the vast expanse. She was wrapped in an over-sized duffle coat, a long multi-coloured scarf and large mittens. Her teeth chattered lightly in the cold air. In the middle of the pond an icy breeze churned loose snowflakes into great swirls of white dust. Apart from her, there was not a soul in sight.

Squinting to shield her eyes from the bright light, she moved closer to the edge of the pond, trying to follow the swirling snow patterns in the distance. They reminded her of the ice dancers she'd watched on TV every Christmas for years, spinning and jumping around, seemingly so carefree and yet so meticulously rehearsed. In a strange way they reminded her of what she had done. Could it only have been an hour ago? So calmly and thoughtlessly, innocently even, and at the same time with such premeditation. Premeditation. She rolled the word around her mouth with her tongue, liking the sound of it but hating the meaning. That was the kind of word the police used, she thought. And judges in the criminal justice system. Is that what she was now? A criminal.

The pond before her seemed suddenly like an abyss and she took a step back from it, frightened of falling. She'd done that too many times before. Her hands began to itch again and she pulled the left one out from the warmth of its mitten and began to scratch. She could feel the familiar panic beginning to rise within her. The itch became more intense and she scratched harder. Wasn't there a character in that Shakespeare play they'd read last year at school who could never get her hands clean enough? Wasn't that character going mad?

Retreating further from the edge of the pond, she forced herself to stop scratching and put the mitten back on. Swallowing gulps of fresh, icy air she began to force the panic back down inside her. Get a grip. No-one could know yet. No-one would ever know. She just needed to walk back up to the house, eat Mom's sweet potato pie and celebrate Christmas as usual and everything would be OK. And, anyway, if things did turn out bad, there was one thing she was sure of: she could always say he'd made her do it. For Jack had. Hadn't he?

Part Three...(by you?)

We had a go at this a few months ago and it was great fun. Check out my effort in that story here.