Before Trixie: A History of Nobody

I did a little writing about Trixie's childhood, my character from the ongoing RPG. I'd like to write more, but this is what I have for now.

Before there was Trixie, there was Nobody. Well, the girl had a name. Trixie thought it was something like, Violet. Violet Wood. Yes, that was probably it.

Violet didn’t have a mother. She had a father, she supposed. There was a man who would come home everyday and give her food, usually consisting of stale bread with some slightly molding cheese.

“And you better enjoy it too, you ungrateful brat! It was my sweat that bought that food!”

Violet was never sure how a person could exchange sweat for moldy cheese, but she didn’t ask. The man didn’t like it when she spoke. He usually hit her when she did. So Violet didn’t speak much. She didn’t speak when one day the man came home and did something strange under her dress, even though it hurt so much. The man continued to do this thing everyday, until one day he never came back. Violet waited a week for him and then she left the place the man lived.

Violet wondered the streets of the city. She learned many things there; like how to scare a feral cat away from your food and when a potato was too black to eat without vomiting afterwards.

It was on the streets one day, when she was rifling through the trash cans in a nicer neighborhood, that she met another man. He told her to call him, Doctor White. He was a much better man than the one before. His house was clean and smelled of oranges. Doctor White took Violet and gave her a bath, clean clothes, and something warm to eat. It was fresh food. Violet didn’t know that food tasted this good and said as much. He didn’t hit her, he just laughed. This encouraged Violet to talk more. She found that she liked talking a good deal and Doctor White always listened intently. He told Violet that he liked children and was so happy that she had come to stay with him. After Violet had finished eating they both lay in a warm clean bed. Violet fell asleep with her arms wrapped around Doctor White.

Their Days Went on Like This:
Violet and Doctor White would wake up at eight o’clock. He would make her breakfast, usually eggs. He would always make her a sandwich for her lunch before leaving for work. He would come home and make her dinner, always with fresh vegetables. He would teach her some bit of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Then he would give her a bath and they would go to bed.

Violet knew that heaven must be something like this. Doctor White was the most wonderful man on earth.

One night, after they had just crawled into bed together, Doctor White asked, “Violet do you love me?”

If Violet knew anything, she knew that a warm bed with clean sheets and full tummy must mean true love. So she did not hesitate when she said, “Of course I love you.”

Doctor White looked pleased. “I love you too, Violet,” he paused a moment, “Now since we both love each other, will you do something for me?”


Doctor White lifted up the bottom of her nightgown and began doing the same thing the other man had done. It didn’t hurt nearly so much this time. She didn’t mind letting him do it because after all, they loved each other.

Violet had lived with Doctor White three months when one morning, during breakfast, a telegram arrived. Doctor White’s face turned pale as he read it. He put it absentmindedly on the table and left the room. Violet stopped eating her eggs and peered over the table.

"Business abroad finished STOP Will arrive by train tonight STOP Your loving wife STOP Helen"

Doctor White returned to the kitchen with a small leather suitcase. He began to make Violet lunch as usual, but his face was still pale and looked strained. Violet knew something was wrong. Somehow, this small piece of paper had changed everything. Doctor White put her lunch, along with a fresh apple in a paper bag.

Without turning around from the kitchen counter Doctor White said, “Violet I need to tell you something.” His voice sounded hollow. With a great deal of force he made himself turn to face her. “You have to leave today Violet. I’ve packed your things in this suitcase.” Violet noticed tears creeping into his voice.

“Where am I going?”

“Some place away from here.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t come with you.”

“Well when can I come back?”

“I’m sorry, but Violet,” his voice cracked, full of pain, “you can’t ever come back.”

Doctor White helped Violet into her pretty wool coat. He handed her the suitcase and the brown paper bag. Even as he held her hand leading her toward the door, Violet still did not understand.

Doctor White began to cry as he said, “Goodbye Violet, I will always love you.”

“I love you too.” Violet was in a haze. This must be a dream. This must be a dream.

She walked away from her home in no particular direction. Then, the reality of the situation finally came to her with terrible force. Violet sat on a street corner clutching her little suitcase and rocking back and forth. She cried harder than she had ever cried before. Harder than that day the cat who guarded the trash cans on 42nd street bit her ankle and she had to limp for a full week. She cried so hard that her chest hurt and it became hard to breath. But she still cried, into the night as millions of dark faceless people walked past. The love of her life had made her go and she would never see him again.

On that cold night in early October, little nine-year-old Violet Wood died. But if you ever asked Trixie, there had never been a Violet Wood. Before Trixie there was Nobody.


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