Chapter Text
A newly radiant sun stepped forth from the rainy spring, wrapping the island of Piffling in warmth. With the brilliant rays came brighter spirits for the all residents as they milled around the village with smiles spread across their faces. Almost all of them, anyway. Funn Funerals sat somberly against the otherwise vibrant backdrop of the island. In the back workshop Georgie finished eating half of a croissant from her breakfast with Jennifer, listening to the radio. Her girlfriend’s voice spoke enthusiastically of Funn Funerals - though it was mostly about Georgie’s work there- her voice traveled throughout the house and down to Antigone’s mortuary where she sat reading. It didn’t bother her as much as it would on any other day, as even the lighthearted spirit that came with summer had reached her, but only as long as she was able to stay in her cold, dim mortuary all alone.
The villagers liked Georgie, and trusted Jennifer that her words were true. Despite the influx of business Funn Funerals was having because of Jennifer, the only person who seemed happy was Rudyard. Antigone had distanced herself from Georgie, making increasingly more absurd excuses as to why she didn’t want to spend any time with her, especially when Jennifer was around. She did not want to be interviewed or have her broadcast the intricacies of her work over the airwaves.
She held something heavy in her heart. It was inevitable that she would have to one day release it.
Whatever sense of peace she had could never last long, not as long as her brother still had a vengeful ambition in his heart.
Rudyard burst through the door of Funn Funerals, calling for Antigone and Georgie to join him.
“What is it now?” Antigone hissed as she emerged from her dark into the uncomfortably warm and bright kitchen. “Why are the windows open?”
“Because it’s boiling outside and we don’t have air conditioning.” Her brother stood there with his stained grey button up rolled up to his elbows, the legs of his trousers rolled up to half past his ankles. In his hands he clutched a piece of paper.
“Would it not make the house cooler if we kept the windows and curtains shut?”
“The house is not insulated and you know that.”
Georgie leaned against the counter. “That’s only because we didn’t have much of a choice but to line the coffins with the insulation material.”
Madeleine poked her head out of his shirt pocket wearing a tiny straw sun hat, squeaking. He shook his head, dropping the subject.
“Now look here,” He set down the brightly coloured flier covered with gaudy clip art. “Chapman is hosting a sandcastle building contest this weekend.”
Georgie and Antigone looked at each other. “And?”
“I signed us all up as a team.”
“You did what?” His sister hissed, having no desire to participate in yet another worthless competition to prove themselves as worthy of respect and praise. Exhaustion of this rivalry had set in her bones.
“Uh, guys…” Georgie scrutinized the fly-poster. There were rules to the competition that Rudyard seemed to have glossed over in his blind ambition. “It says teams are only allowed to be in pairs of two.”
“Oh, thank god.”
“Not so fast, Antigone.” He grabbed her sleeve. “You and I will make one team, and Georgie and her girlfriend will make up the other.”
“She can’t…” Georgie narrowed her eyes, and clenched her teeth, remembering what Jennifer had told her that morning over breakfast.
“Why not?”
She pointed back at the radio.
As if on cue, Jen’s voice crackled through. Turning up the volume knob, they listened closely. After all the pleasantries about the arrival of summer, she finally announced Chapman’s competition. The first place prize would be a gift card to his restaurant, second place to his cafe; third place was a coupon for a funeral, and most importantly in this situation, Jennifer could not participate as she was hosting the competition alongside Eric, keeping those who would prefer to stay inside on these hot days up to date on the event.
Georgie rubbed the back of her neck with a rueful expression which quickly turned sour as Chapman walked through the front door holding a clipboard.
“Afternoon, all!” He said with a smile as bright as the sun itself. He was glad to see Funn Funerals in such a nice light, having never gotten a good look of the place with all the darkness. His smile faded upon catching an ungodly amount of black mold on the ceiling.
“Chapman.” Rudyard growled.
“I saw you signed up for the sandcastle competition,” He caught a glimpse of the flier in Georgie’s hands before she began folding it over and over. “Except, I saw you signed yourself up alongside Georgie and Antigone…”
He stood indignantly. “Chapman, Antigone and I practically count as one person.”
“No, we absolutely do not.” She glared at him, appalled at the notion.
“I’m sorry, Rudyard. I can’t make any exceptions.” He shrugged. “Everyone has to sign up individually. You can’t just force others to work with you.”
Georgie handed her the paper crane she had just made. The tail between her fingers, Antigone crossed her arms. “It’s alright, I didn’t want to participate anyways.”
“I’d be your partner if I could.” Eric said with an apologetic tone.
“Why would I ever want to be partners with you?” Disgust dripped from her voice as she returned to her mortuary, slamming the door behind her.
She did not descend the steps any further. Rather she sat at the top step, leaning her head against the door as she listened to the three make plans that Rudyard and Georgie would be a team. She always said she wanted to be alone, that she did not want to participate, but truthfully she did want to be a part of something. Even something as trivial as a sandcastle building competition. Years of having been left out and forgotten left her numb, she would exclude herself on purpose just to skip the inevitable humiliation of failure.
Even if Chapman could be her teammate in this game, she no longer wanted him. As time passed, her hatred had come to match Georgie’s; eventually it settled to perpetual annoyance, as if he were her brother.
She carefully unfolded the crane, staring intently at it as if the printed words would magically rearrange themselves and give her the answer she needed.
There was one person on the island who had shown her that she could be something so much more, but the very idea of talking to her again drenched her body with disquiet. With the cacophonic sound of the circus passing through the square to the other side of the island, Antigone closed her eyes.
Each mistake she made taught her something new about herself. Her mistake lay in a matter of poor timing. Now was her chance, if the tyrannical ringmistress’s last words to her were true, then this would be her next time.
There was always a tomorrow for her to try again.