Her Name Was Madi
Author's note: I always loved the 1950's. Grease, Cry-Baby, so many things made me want to write something for... Show full author's note »
Chapter OneHer name was Madeleine Rourke, and she was normal. At least, she was as normal as she needed to be. She felt average-looking and plain, but of course, to the naked eye, she was. However, if looked upon with the right pair of eyes, she was a great deal more than average, perhaps even extraordinary. She was a deep bookworm, hopelessly devoted to her ever-growing library, and music was her one and only addiction. She had also decided after a rather fateful night that drinking was completely off-limits. If you knew what was good for you, you never, ever mentioned it. As for all other illegal activity, she saw it all as too much hassle for her taste, so she kept on the straight and narrow.
On the morning of February 14th, 2009, she reluctantly awoke to an unrecognizable love song blaring on her bedside radio. It seemed to be a mix of death metal and techno, a mix that she silently hoped would never again disgrace the radio stations during the course of her lifetime. Cautiously, she took a quick peek around her room, scanning for any sign of the dreaded holiday; balloons from her mother, for example. Speaking of which, there was an obnoxiously pink bunch of the helium filled monsters trying desperately to escape her doorknob. Cursing softly to herself, she rolled out of her low bed and glared at the stupid objects. They all seemed to mock her, squealing "I Love You!" and "Be Mine!" There was clearly nothing personal about them, considering they were from her mother. The woman had the attention span of a small child, and so Madeleine could expect little from her in the way of gift-giving. Glancing next to the balloons, Madeleine noticed a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Hey, those are pretty fun, she thought, approaching them. She turned the box over in her hands and saw that not only were they chocolates, but they were artist-inspired chocolates. Curiously, she picked up a pretty rectangular one decorated with small splashes of pastel colors, and tossed it in her mouth.
"Sweet mother of God!!!" she hissed, making comical faces at the taste that was the equivalent of a hard smack in the face. Running down the hall to the bathroom, she spat it out and stuck her entire head in the sink, trying to wash the taste out of her mouth. Still nearly convulsing at the early morning shock, she quietly returned to her room, past her totally bewildered mother. Batting at least ten balloons out of the way to shut her door again, she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her nightshirt and took another glance at that box of chocolates, thinking maybe they had already gone bad. Now which one was I chewing on exactly? she asked herself quietly. She stifled a gag as she read the official "flavor" of the chocolate she'd eaten. "Chocolate Pistachio". Good Lord, people actually eat this garbage?! she screamed in her mind. Having suddenly lost her appetite, she sighed and rummaged through her drawers, searching for a reasonable outfit for the torturous holiday.
Not too bad if I do say so myself, Madeleine thought contentedly, gazing out her mother's passenger window. So far, she'd gotten numerous gifts from family members and friends, and had gotten a chance to spend time with her little cousins. However, she did tend to feel bad for her family. Every Valentine's Day, she was single, and every Valentine's Day, her family took it upon themselves to help her forget it. Even her eleven-year-old brother toned down his hare-brained antics for the day. The yearly routine made it seem almost as if February 14th had faded into the monotony of the rest of the year. However, her mother was usually the one that took it upon herself to make Madeleine's day a little more exciting. As a matter of fact, at this very moment, she was taking her daughter to a rather well-received horror flick to appease her for the year. She always wondered why the poor girl had spent Valentine's Day alone. Even with Madeleine being her daughter, she knew she wasn't ugly, and certainly not a bad companion. She figured fate was just waiting for the right time to pull her into the loop and decided to leave the question unasked.
Shrill screams pierced the silence of the massive Imax theater, making Madeleine and her mother jump about ten feet out of their seats. Truthfully, Madeleine was impressed with her mother's bravery in the face of big, bad, scary movie monsters just to help her enjoy the day. Since before she had been born, her mother had been petrified of the sight of blood, and in Madeleine's eyes, she was handling it very well. She'd only gagged twice.
Ugh, Madeleine thought, so much gore. Is all this really necessary??? The sheer extent of the horrific gore present throughout the movie made her severely sick to her stomach. Suddenly, her hot dog seemed less like food and more like dead animal. As yet another character suffered a severe beheading, she stifled a "burp" that would probably turn to soiling the theater floor if she wasn't careful. She could feel what was left of that chocolate at the back of her throat and hoped the horrific gore fest would end soon.
Madeleine sighed heavily and collapsed onto her messy leopard print sheets. What a day-and that was saying something for her. Her stomach was flipping in all different directions from her extreme overdose of sweets-in fact, she was fairly sure her heart had stopped somewhere along the line. Turning onto her back, she grimaced at the discomfort caused by her tight pigtails. They were cute, sure, but they were a you-know-what to get out, especially with her wild curls engulfing the extra-small scrunchies. Debating with herself on whether or not to get up and go through the long process of getting ready for bed, she finally slid out from under her sheets and went to wash her face.
She returned to her bedroom with her waist length chocolate curls unrestrained and falling around her face, wearing a stretchy camisole and Happy Bunny boxers.
"Ah. Much better," she whispered quietly, glancing at her collage-covered walls. Completely hiding the baby blue paint beneath them were four huge collages, made up of photos, magazine and newspaper clippings, and sketches of hers. The photos and sketches were mainly of her and her friends, a monstrous catalog of memories, the good and bad alike. She had always felt that the bad memories made the good ones that much more special, and so kept them all.
So many of these friends were lost along the way...Madeleine thought. Looking at the faces of those who'd abandoned her tugged at her heart. She remembered the stories her late grandmother had shared with her about the "peaceful" 1950's, the closest America had ever come to a Utopia. Or so they'd thought. Looking back, Madeleine figured she preferred those days as compared to the present, hectic and heartbreaking.
"What I wouldn't give..." she muttered to herself, lacing her fingers behind her head, "for a taste of that kind of simplicity. No sex, no drugs, no alcohol..." The age of innocence, she thought to herself, I kind of like that idea. The idea was wonderful, wonderful enough to fly her off in a blanket of dreams.