Ask Me No Questions I'll Tell You No Lies

Chapter One: Boycott Immorality

"Scarlett!"

Ugh. What the hell do you want, mother?

"Yes, mother?" What could she possibly want with me, this early in the morning?

I looked at the clock. 5:34. Nyeh. I raised my eyes to the window and squinted into the sunlight. Below my penthouse suite, people were either walking to work, or begging for money. They were lined up at the soup kitchens, or strutting into high-end restaurants.

"SCARLETT!" my mother screamed. I took that as my cue to get up. I untangled myself from the covers and stood. Stretching my arms high and closing my eyes, I yawned in a way that would drive my mother over the edge if she were there to see it. Shooting a glare over to the door behind which I knew my mother was waiting.

I opened the door and jumped at my mother's harpy-glare. I could practically feel it burrrrrn.

"Yes?" I said, hoping the reason I had had to wake up so early was not for breakfast with another one of the suitors my mother had graciously handpicked. Apparently, at 20 years old, it was about time I got married and condemned myself to cooking and cleaning for some rich sleaze or a stuttering, adoring idiot.

"Scarlett, dear," she said. Uh oh. "Dear" is never a good sign, "I'm beginning to think you've forgotten about our outing with my dear suitor, Charles."

Oh yes. It is not enough to force me to marry, she has to get hitched at well. Ever since Father died, she's been desperate to find a man so she won't, in her mind, look like a sad widow. If she meant sad as in pathetic, she's failed miserably. I groaned good-naturedly so that she wouldn't be aware of my plot to kill her, and brushed past her toward the bathroom to get ready.

After emerging from the toilet fresh-faced, I had to cover my ears to shield them from the sound of my mother's "sweet nothings" on the phone, most probably directed at Charles. I stopped to look at her. We looked so different, her and I. I had obviously gotten my looks from my father, with my black, impossibly wavy hair and the pale skin which my mother prized. She herself was slightly tanner than I was, but she was still beautiful. Her shiny blonde hair was placed into a fussy chignon, and her eyes were blue.

They reminded me of water, my favorite element. I'd wished that I had her eyes ever since I was old enough to care. Mine were green and brown. Mostly a light, bright green, but with a brown line round the edge and little sepia-colored specks. They were pretty, I suppose, but they were the colors you saw every day. Trees were green, dirt was brown. My mother's eyes, you could say, were the color of the sky, but you'd be wrong. They were nothing like the sky, because of all the different blues. They were not like the sea either; the sea didn't hurt you eyes after looking at it too long. My mother's did, because they were so bright and sparkly. The only feature I had that I thought nicer than hers by far was my nose. It was proportionate to my face and straight, reminding my mother of a "Grecian statue". Hers was slightly small and made her look a bit kittenish. The one thing that I'd inherited from her was my lips. They were slightly pink and full, and men tended to stare at them. They were the one thing I had that was similar to my beautiful mother, and yet I sometimes cursed them.

She must have noticed me standing there in a bathrobe, looking off into space, because she cleared her throat very loudly, breaking me out of my reverie. I started, probably looking like a deer in headlights, and sped toward my room to get dressed.

It was a chilly September morning, so I picked out a long black skirt that ended inches below my knees. A white blouse was tucked into the skirt, and a long black wraparound trench coat was pulled over it. I buttoned up the coat cuffs which went all the way to the middle of my forearm, and slid on a pair of sheer pantyhose, tripping twice in the process. A strand of small white pearls and black shoes with a small heel completed the outfit. I nodded at the mirror and exited the room to find my mother waiting for Charles at the door.

Sad…

"Mother, when is he coming?" I asked. She jumped.

"Oh, at about 7:30," she replied, after sitting down in a cushy chintz armchair.

"Huh?" I asked, "So why did I have to get up at five thirty?" I looked at the clock. 6:00.

We had an hour and a half to do nothing.

"First of all, dear, you don't say 'huh'. It's so vulgar! And secondly, I thought…" she paused, as if silently convincing herself to go on, "I thought that...well…today we could try something with your hair…maybe put on a bit of make-up?"

? Has she gone insane? Does she think aliens abducted me in my room and replaced me with a new daughter that acts just like her!

She must have seen the incredulous look on my face, because her face dropped considerably. I felt a twinge of guilt in my stomach.

No…must…not…surrender…must not say…

"Alright. Do your worst." I said with a sigh of self-loathing. My mother's face lit up once more and, with strength I never knew she had, she ushered me into her bedroom and onto a seat facing her enormous vanity. And then came the Dreaded Words:

"So shall I go bright or dark?"

End Scene 1

In the next chappie, you'll meet Englehorn….dun dun dunnnn.