Priscilla's Funeral: A Narrative Fiction

Anne slept lightly all night. Her head ached with thoughts about "Sir" de Lurrey. She thought all night and when she awoke in the morning, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Her head burned with pain. She was exhausted. She felt her throbbing head. She was burning up. She felt warm and was afraid. Anne lived in fear of fevers ever since she was young. She feared a fever would take her life just as it did her parents. Anne lay back down.
Later Priscilla awoke. She saw Anne lying in her bed. She saw Anne’s puffy red eyes. She crept out of the room. Soon she came back with a steaming cup of orange and honey flavored tea. The tea burned Priscilla’s hands, but it was worth it. Anne was the only friend she had ever had. After the grandfather
If she told Priscilla the truth, she might tell someone else or be upset. But if she told her a made-up story, she figured she would never know the difference. “Last night…I got up to get a small drink and I fell out of bed and scratched my hand on the bed trim," Anne lied.
Priscilla started again “Anne, I am going to the head of this hotel right now! Stay in your bed I will fetch you ice.” Priscilla dressed quickly in a creamy yellow frock with a white lacey collar. She knotted her coffee coils in a loose bun, buttoned her boots and stormed out of the room. Anne’s conscience told her she had done the wrong thing, but her head would not accept that. She was sick now, and she would now have to miss a practice. She hated to think of everyone practicing without her. She knew she had made the wrong decision last night, but as Gus would have said, “Keep the show running.” A few minutes afterward, Priscilla stormed back into the room carrying a bag filled with ice. She opened the shutters to reveal the robin’s egg blue sky, and the sunshine that made tiny rainbows on the walls. Then she spoke in a poised un-Priscilla-like tone, “Anne, I told a messenger to send word to Mr. Alexander-Buebertt that you are ill,” Priscilla took a deep breath. “You will lie in bed all day. The chef will bring you soup and cheese at noon. I’m forcing you to stay here.” Priscilla grabbed her lacey parasail and walked out of the
Anne strolled out of the hotel carrying a plain crocheted bag she had made. The bag held a few pounds and a few silver coins. She walked down the stairs and into the jade and cream lobby and out onto the eventful streets of London, catching every little detail as she walked. Anne started to pass by a fabric shop, but then she decided she just had to stop and see the flamboyant, lively colors and the newest of fashion prints, so she strolled inside. She tried to look all around her, but only one fabric really caught her eye. It was an emerald green satin with tiny fecks of purple on it. Green had always been her favorite color, and this green matched the shade of her eyes perfectly. She did decided to examine the crisp white lace that came from factories. It looked cleaner, whiter, and more intricate then the off white, thick lace Mrs. Guard had made for Anne’s special gloves, only to be used for distinct times. She went to talk with the cashier about the prices, but before she reached the counter, she collided with a lady adorned in a frilly pink dress, and toppled over a basket of appliqués. Anne bent down to retrieve the appliqués, grabbing them one-by-one then stating, “Sorry, ma’am. I’m a tad clumsy, well