Bridget

Bridget Anita Stone was a strange little girl.She was born into an extremely wealthy family with a large estate in Harrow St. She was an only child whose weak mother can barely get out of bed. Her father, who had a poker face with no scratch of emotion, travelled often. He cannot bear to see his suffering wife and his peculiar little daughter.

Little Bridget has the deepest, greenest eyes that often projected curiousity and quiet fascination. She was a very silent child, preferring not to play with other children her age or with her dolls and its dollhouses. She would walk around every corner of the mansion, keenly aware of its majestic size and its formidable silence. She would watch her mother sleep with those green eyes for a few hours and would silently slip away when she would fall asleep.

At the age of seven, she could unlatch the lock of the estate gate and take a walk for the whole morning in the quaint neighborhood in Harrow St. She carried an air of assurance with every step in the sidewalk. She would pass by every little quaint apartment with indifferent eyes. There was one apartment that had been empty for quite some time now which she would usually walk by without care. But today, this cold autumn day, there was a large truck in front of that apartment with boxes of different sizes littering the sidewalk. Little Bridget stopped, her head cocked to one side. Her eyes flashed with interest. She watched from a safe distance, not wanting to attract attention from the big, sweaty men carrying furniture to the place. She was astonished to see a grand piano moved to the small doorway.

Little Bridget thought, a musician perhaps. She would like to see the newcomer but the length of moving took so long that Little Bridget skipped off to the nearby confectionary shop.