Dead and Departed

Hello! I decided to post a bit of this story I'm working on. Let me know what you think! 
~Eudora Perine 
This story is a work of fiction. 
Chapter One:
 
The halls of the house were quiet. Charlotte Thatcher lay in her bed, unable to sleep. 
 
It was too quiet. No bugs, birds, no animals, could be heard outside, for it was winter. No other living thing called this place home.
 
How Charlotte longed for a noise. The longing dug into her bones, settled itself into the deepest corners of her body. She couldn’t bear the eerie silence. It was too much, yet too little.
 
. . .
 
“Xander,” Charlotte said, hands poised over the keyboard to her computer. 
 
“Yes, Char?” Xander scooted closer to her on the bench they were sitting on. A little girl bounced on his knee, giggling. “What is it?”
 
“How do you find emotion in an unexciting moment?” 
“You’re thinking too narrowly.” He slid off the seat. “Vega, my eagle, I believe you have to do your chores now, before we have to leave.”
 
“But! Daddy!” The little girl protested, but couldn’t seem to think of a reason. “Okay. Promise to video me at my dance recital?”
 
“I promise,” Xander laughed, showing his dimples, as she skipped away. Charlotte smiled. 
 
“Look at these tense muscles,” Charlotte felt his warm hands on her shoulders. “You need a break.”
 
“I need to get this paper done. It’s due tomorrow.”
 
“College can wait a few minutes.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes, but she grinned. He hadn’t needed to worry about college, he wrote and drew for a living. It was all that paid the bills, but it was enough.''
 
“Just come outside.” Xander pleaded. Charlotte sighed and reluctantly stood up. He took her arm and soon they were out in the countryside. The breeze blew Charlotte’s hair and the long grass tickled her feet. Xander and Charlotte were both barefoot, just the way they liked it. The sun was bright and warm. 
“What is it?” Charlotte asked. “This day is like any other day out here. What’s different?”
 
“Nothing’s different,” Xander said. “But what’s life if you can’t get out once in a while? It’s no life at all if you’re stuck inside. Spread your wings.”
 
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” They kissed and Xander spun her around, Charlotte’s heart finally easing. 
 
“It’s almost time for you to take Vega to her recital.” Charlotte reminded him, the thought bringing her down from the clouds. 
 
“I know,” Xander said, embracing Charlotte. “But you have to promise to remember that all you need to do is fly.”
 
“I don’t have any wings.” 
“Nonsense. You just haven’t learned how to use them.” He took Charlotte’s cheek in his hand, looking her straight in the eye. “But in the meantime, I can be them for you.” Charlotte leaned forward and they kissed once again. 
 
“Grrooossss,” Vega stood at the door, sticking out her tongue. “Mommy, daddy, it’s time to go!” 
 
“Have fun, Little Eagle,” Charlotte said lovingly, hugging her daughter. “You too, Xander.”
 
He gave her a peck on the cheek, causing Vega to stick out her tongue again, and smiled. “I’m sure we will.” 
 
Xander led Vega toward the car, looking back and miming flapping wings. “Fly free, Char!”, making Charlotte smile and shake her head. Then he buckled Vega into her seat, got into his own, and drove off. 
. . .
 
But now it was quiet. Suffocating, yet empty. Charlotte shivered in her bed, unnerved by the chilling silence. It had been a year since the accident, yet she still wasn’t used to the absence of sound, of laughter, of anything, really. 
 
Chapter Two: 
 
The phone rang and Charlotte dragged her feet out of bed. It was ten in the morning, and she hadn’t gotten up yet. She’d been laying there ever since seven. 
 
“Yes?” 
 
“Charlotte?” Said a voice at the other end of the line. “Is that you?”
 
Charlotte sighed. “Yes, Brigitta. It’s Charlotte.”
 
“God, you sound awful! How about I pick you up and drive you over to a cafe or something?”
 
Charlotte’s mood plummeted even more. Her voice took on an uncharacteristically dark tone. “I’m never getting in a car again.” 
 
“Okay, okay. But you should at least start coming to class again. You’ll have to retake the year if this keeps up. How long do you have until you’ll have to sell the house?”
 
“Not long.” Charlotte admitted. 
 
“You have to get a job sometime, you know.” The phone crackled with static from the other end. 
 
“I know.” Charlotte’s voice was bland. She couldn’t seem to muster much emotion. 
 
Brigitta sighed. “I’m worried about you.”
 
“I’m fine.”
 
“I know it must be hard, but you gotta get over it, at least enough for you to get a job and take care of yourself.”
 
“I know.” Charlotte chewed her lip, a nervous habit that she had been using a lot lately.
 
“Gosh dang it, Charlotte! Stop answering me in two-word sentences!” 
 
“Sorry.”
 
“What did I just say?”
 
“Not to talk to you with two-word sentences. But I didn’t. Technically I only said one word there.” 
 
“Ha ha,” Brigitta said sarcastically. “Like that really makes a difference.”
 
Charlotte understood why Brigitta was so frustrated. Charlotte had cut them out from her life for so long. But she just… couldn’t. She couldn’t get into a car with her friends and play loud music. She couldn’t go back to college with all the other students and classes and teachers. She couldn’t go to a cafe and enjoy a latte. Not anymore. Not after all those possibilities and happiness had been stripped away so fast.
 
“Maybe it would help if you face it. Go into their rooms and clean up a bit.”
“ 
Brigitta,” Charlotte interrupted. “I appreciate it, but just give me a little longer, okay?”
Brigitta sighed over the phone, breaking up slightly. “Okay, Charlotte. Talk to you later, then.” Then she hung up.
Charlotte set down the phone, not bothering to hang it back up on the wall, and slid into an armchair, tired as if she had just lifted a mountain. It had been a year already. Why couldn’t she get over it? She had to learn to… fly solo… 
 
“Fly free, Char!”
 
But her wings were gone. 
 
She would never, could never fly, only plummet. It was something she would have to get used to. 
 
 
Chapter Three:
 
Miya sighed and clicked ‘submit’ on her english paper. She didn’t like her work, knowing it was never good enough for her strict teacher. She wasn’t good at english class in the first place, but now she was in danger of failing. Mr. Sullivan, who liked to brag that he was related to Anne Sullivan (though this was never confirmed), was a tough case. He dissected everyone’s work, searching for every possible way to criticize their writing. Getting back your graded essay (if it was on paper), you would see every sentence highlighted in multiple colors, pointing out what you did wrong, what sounded wrong, what was right, what was grammatically wrong, was grammatically right, etc. He gave a rubric to you after an online assignment was graded, filled out with everything he wanted you to know. Mr. Sullivan was the kind of teacher who everyone didn’t want.
At least he gives you feedback. Miya told herself, messaging her forehead. At least you know what he’s looking for. 
Yeah, right. Who was Miya trying to fool? Mr. Sullivan was, by far, her worst teacher. 
But, English teachers aside, she had math homework to work on now. Before she could get started, however, Miya’s dad opened the door.
“Do you want to take a break, Miya?”
“Yes,” Miya said. She knew they were going somewhere. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” Her dad smiled. “But promise you’ll stay calm. I wouldn’t bring you if I wasn’t worried about leaving you home alone.”
“I’m nearly twelve, dad.”
“I know, sugar. But I’m your dad. You’re coming.”
“Okay.”
Miya left her homework to be finished later, following her dad into their car. It shuddered to life, and they were on their way. Miya knew better than to ask her dad where they were going. When dad wanted to keep a surprise, he was like an air-tight lunch container. 
Soon, we were at a little house in the middle of nowhere, knocking on the faded green door. Miya wondered who was inside, why her dad had told her to stay calm. Was it some old guy with dementia? 
It wasn’t an old guy who answered the door, though. It was a woman. She just stood in the doorway, silent, staring at Miya’s dad. 
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was cold, hollow. Unwelcoming. 
“Ms. Thatcher,” Miya’s dad started. He didn’t seem to be bothered by her icy demeanor. “I’ve come to invited yo--”
“Don’t you get it?” Ms. Thatcher interrupted. She could have spit fire. “Nothing you do will work. So stop trying and give up! Give up!” She slammed the door shut, making Miya jump. Her dad sighed.
“Every time. Let’s go, Miya.” Miya’s dad took her hand and pulled her away. 
“What was that about?” Miya asked. Her dad shook his head. 
“Another time, Miya. I’ll tell you soon.”
“How soon?”
“When you’re ready.” 
They pulled out onto the road. Miya thought back to when her dad had called home, explaining that he was in the hospital. He’d assured her everything was fine. He would just limp sometimes. Miya could tell that something worse had happened. Felt in it her heart, her gut, her brain. How could she tell? 
Because Miya had a secret.
That's it for now! Come back in a bit to check for updates. I'm currently working on another story right now, so it may be a while.
Have a spectacular day!
~Eudora Perine