Timothy Unbredane (1847) Truth be Told..

As an adolescent, one would assume being taken seriously was a given : but no, for some reason most of my time was spent being upbraided by middle-aged women who wouldn't know the first thing about truth. Their existence was meaningless, as burnished tables and a content spouse was all that a fulfilling life amounted to. It was never tolerated that I, 17 years of age, would ever discredit one wiser than i, anyone older, hence the upbraiding. I am not the customary adolescent boy, ineffectively resorting to recidivism to assuage my "deep-seated lust for unavailable autonomy", as they put it.
As I hobbled across the 3rd floor hall leader to Charles' room, I was impassioned by the throbbing patch of blistering skin on my abdomen, resulting from a significant thrashing from my father,  after expostulating his decision to "give" mother's Norfolk property to Charles. Charles was the prodigal son, the god, the respected: the admired one under all circumstances. I was expected to demonstrate my gratitude to him always, as he pilfered the last of our funds, acquired fortunes from the poor, and created a generation of children in almost every neighboring house. The only mildly pleasing aspect of our household, presently, was the library, stacked in every corner by literature from all continents. It offered escapism, just a moment to abandon life. Some stories were true gems of literature, others, lachrymose tales by amateur wordsmiths but either way their provided an incomparable distraction from the actuality of things.
 "The Lord's Speech to Anthem" was an appeasing piece, as it gave insight into the structure of England's most carefully formulated panegyric. My father's father wrote it, a true virtuoso in the incorporation of unnecessary praise in every speech. My existence wasn't much more consequential than the ladies', working downstairs in awe of their luck to serve my father. I was not in awe but I was most definitely serving him, in every feasible aspect. The emotional connection i bore towards books commenced shortly after the death of my mother, 5 years ago. Literature mitigated the pain of loss and they were an aid in keeping the secret...

to be continued! :)