kasija ; peacekeeper { fin }

Avalon Retired Staff 1,291 POSTS Pronouns: They/Them last seen Oct 24, 2016 10:04:26 GMT -5 when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted	kasija ; peacekeeper { fin } Feb 8, 2016 18:26:37 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Avalon on Feb 8, 2016 18:26:37 GMT -5 Kasija Peacekeeper ~~Eighteen~~ Twenty fc: -- { the secrets of room 8 }
	Last Edit: Mar 1, 2016 16:24:05 GMT -5 by Avalon *"solitaire something you consider rare"* credit to zoë

Avalon
Retired Staff

1,291 POSTS
Pronouns: They/Them
last seen Oct 24, 2016 10:04:26 GMT -5

when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted

kasija ; peacekeeper { fin } Feb 12, 2016 0:41:16 GMT -5

Post by Avalon on Feb 12, 2016 0:41:16 GMT -5

K A S I J A

My mother'd always believed in the forthcoming of told events, though, unwritten in passages of the scripture they'd always live by. She spoke with a silver, laced tongue, kept and untouched-- almost fluent in winding over her words between meaningless spiels. Though, to her it kept the order within her closed mind as she clutched her twisted right palm around the hard, dusty, leather binding of her bible passed along as an ancient heirloom. Chicken scratch marked thin pages with annotations of self-predicted events throughout her expansion of a timeless life. It was often mumbled under her breath frequently, and upon mention she claimed that the voices within her head fore-sought every ounce of chaos to strike throughout generations, and her mission of foreseeing would never be truly over.

They-- my father and mother, before she'd gone for a loop and he'd relied on turning to the face of faith among a mythical being who'd I'd never believed in. They whispered in my ear, through crooked teeth that clenched tightly around a suffocating rosary my mother wrapped around my throat-- her nails digging into skin if I'd tried to pull away. Interlocked between claws and flesh, she recited passages of ghosts and make belief Gods that they'd written about within their own leather back books. I felt the trail of a tear race down my cheek as she flushed my skin red, I thought I'd died a million times within that household, but lived to tell variations of a endless tale. ( "Your name is mentioned through rosary in my teeth. I did not raise you like this, you're the devil's girl, you don't believe in the faith-- and you know what that means? To room number eight." )

A household shared between my ~~kidnappers~~ parents, and ten sisters who were oddly too close in age range with one another. It was an old, tattered, abandoned cobblestone church that'd been renovated into a home to house all of us. Hoisted on the top of a cliff that overlooked the sea, I cannot remember a day when it wasn't foggy all around from our level above the rest of the world, though we were never let outside much. ( They would never let any of you outside, for they were scared you'd all run away and wouldn't come back. You did not belong to them, though, you'd never known. )

Faint lashings in punishment unto the words that spilled from a disobedient tongue, I felt the small drops of blood fall to the floor. They'd stain the wooden flooring with crimson, and the sensation of statues breaking their necks just to watch me-- a "sinner"-- cross their territory. I'd been sent to room eight often, alone in solitude, and it was there I found lone comfort and knowing that one day I'd find a way to leave. Be it through the middle of the night, or the claw markings that surfaced within the walls of the darkest room in the church home-- Room Eight.

We never spoke of Room Eight, it was to be left in secrecy and forgotten until one of us would be sent to it, and even then we kept it under whispers and side gazes. In there was nothing more than cobwebs that stretched from one corner to another, dust, old, creepy antiques that creaked and moved on their own. However, there's an old picture of a woman who looked like mother in the room, its corners charred and covered with dust that always caught my eyes. It looks as though it was from forty or more years before our time, as our parents were much older than average. She looked to be in her early twenties, and she smiled with long blonde hair that flowed past her waist. Once I tried to show father, but he took the picture and grabbed me by my wrists until the pale pigment grew deep purple. Ordering me to five more lashings, and sending me back into the damned room where I'd be forced to wait for instruction. I'd always cry for mom, though she was never one to come.

When I was around ~~nine~~ eleven years old it was when we had to stop seeing mom so often. She started having violent mood swings, she once lashed out at one of my sisters, and nearly gouged her eye right from its socket with her nails that were shaped to claws. Though, father grabbed her from behind and restrained her to a chair. She started talking in tongues around the age of when I was ~~eleven~~ thirteen, and when we did see her she'd raise her voice and shout that death would come for us all, and especially me. ( "Death does not skip the sinner, you despicable girl. He'll come for you most, he knows you've been workin' with the devil!" )

I never stayed in that place for so long that I could watch myself topple over and keel amongst the floor. Sent to an eternity in a make belief Hell that I was somehow destined to go to, though I refused to believe in their foolish tales and cross written scripture forged by a sloppy hand. In return for the years spent in pain, I fled in the middle of the night with no goodbye's but the only one who remotely resembled myself. ( You hadn't known she was your twin. You'd seen yourself as always two years older, and your faulty documents only proved the lies told for almost ~~eighteen~~ "twenty" years. )

It was at ~~Sixteen~~ Eighteen years old I left to travel throughout the District, ultimately joining the Peacekeepers when I couldn't find a satisfactory job to make a living. It was a phenomena, really, for the girl who'd once been scared to see the light of day outside her home. Some could say I could thank my fathers leash he kept upon my neck which finally faded to a single strand in which I was made capable of my own release. Other could say it was a thanks to Room Eight--

[presto]

you sent this hurricane now it won't go away

[/presto]

Last Edit: Mar 1, 2016 16:51:35 GMT -5 by Avalon

"solitaire something you consider rare"

credit to zoë

Avalon Retired Staff 1,291 POSTS Pronouns: They/Them last seen Oct 24, 2016 10:04:26 GMT -5 when i plant a fat ass cracker bitch i expect her to stay planted	kasija ; peacekeeper { fin } Mar 1, 2016 14:29:45 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Avalon on Mar 1, 2016 14:29:45 GMT -5 bumping up to work on
	*"solitaire something you consider rare"* credit to zoë

arx Retired Staff 2,426 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Apr 25, 2024 19:56:11 GMT -5 literally so gay, doing so many crimes	kasija ; peacekeeper { fin } Mar 1, 2016 16:28:48 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by arx on Mar 1, 2016 16:28:48 GMT -5 mmm slay [googlefont="Euphoria Script:400"]Accepted!
	"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."