Post by WT on Nov 14, 2010 13:09:17 GMT -5
Yay for random dreams that I actually had ages ago, but was thinking of this morning.
This has nowhere to go, but I kinda like how it came outeven if Ara stole the bloody words from my NaNo, so I'm posting it here.
Aranica didn’t like arguing. Never had- and though she probably never would have anyway, she definitely didn’t enjoy spats following the Games, during which every simple argument had the potential to turn into a blood fest- and did, in fact. Raised voices got her twitchy, even though she knew perfectly well that in normal situations people generally don’t pull out swords and gut each other no matter how heated the debate got. It was an association thing- and, yes, a thing of lingering fear. For all that she loved people, she wasn’t so fond of being around them anymore, having seen what they could do. She was terrified of arguments breaking out, and of angry words leading to the first punch in a downward spiral.
Why, then, was she standing like this in the kitchen, firsts clenched around the handle of the oven door with her head bent and teeth gritted in the effort to not throw a blow against the one person she least wanted to fight with? How had they let themselves hit this p- no, how had she let herself hit this point? There would be no problem if she hadn’t reacted so horribly. Anani didn’t like Dru and she knew it, but she also understood it. Goodness knew she’d heard it enough over the months, from people on the street who watched her left arm fumble and got angry flickers in their eyes or muttered darkly about heartless monsters who used innocent children until it was time to chop them up. No doubt the fight reflected horribly on both their moral codes- or at least the moral code of whoever the watcher decided they were siding against.
But her brother, related to her by blood as Dru had been by heart- of all people, shouldn’t he understand? He who had cared for her and returned not for her money but for her, he who would surely do the same as Dru when it came down to the end and they both realized they couldn-
Or would he? He didn’t understand her as well, wouldn’t have known her wishes so instantly; maybe he wouldn’t have attacked her. It was through no fault of his own, of course- he’d been around longer than Dru, but they hadn’t gone through as much together yet, if they ever would. And, truly, he hadn’t been around that long anyw-
Because he had left her.
That was why she was so damned angry. Because Dru, for all that she was cruel and vicious and had known Aranica for a couple weeks tops, had done better by the child than Anani had, and he was trashing her memory for doing so.
Having lit on the reason, Ara now found herself with an overwhelming desire to use it- to wound him the way he was wounding her, to cry out why and I don’t forgive you and please all together. She whirled around, facing her brother for the first time in several long, tense moments, and spat, “At least one of my siblings didn’t want to leave me.”
She didn’t regret her words the moment they left her mouth, but she did the moment they registered on Anani’s face. A defiant form of self-preservation lasted only a split second before guilt and sorrow and genuine pain washed into his features. “Ara-”
Good job, Ara! You’re learning to hurt with words, too, not just d-
Shut up!
Her left hand clapped over her mouth, then the right followed to hold it in place. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled around her fingers, feeling faint and cold and hot and generally more horrible than she had since her last kill. Maybe she didn’t forgive him, but it wasn’t like he forgave himself, either. She didn’t have to bring it up, didn’t have to keep trying to hurt people who didn’t deserve it in the slightest. “I’m so, so, sorry, Anani, I shouldn’t have even-”
Without any warning she turned and sprinted out of the kitchen, whizzing past him with her hands still pressed against her lips. Her aim was the bathroom, but she slammed into a wall when she tried to turn into the right hallway, making her fall backward onto the ground. Set back like that, she only barely managed to roll to the side so that when the vomit rose, it didn’t hit her.
How long she lay like that and cried, she wasn’t sure. At that point, the only things registering were the pain in her throat and her eyes and her shoulder, and Anani’s hesitant but gentle touch as he helped her off the floor and held her, silent and unintrusive, as she mourned all the time they had lost.
This has nowhere to go, but I kinda like how it came out
Aranica didn’t like arguing. Never had- and though she probably never would have anyway, she definitely didn’t enjoy spats following the Games, during which every simple argument had the potential to turn into a blood fest- and did, in fact. Raised voices got her twitchy, even though she knew perfectly well that in normal situations people generally don’t pull out swords and gut each other no matter how heated the debate got. It was an association thing- and, yes, a thing of lingering fear. For all that she loved people, she wasn’t so fond of being around them anymore, having seen what they could do. She was terrified of arguments breaking out, and of angry words leading to the first punch in a downward spiral.
Why, then, was she standing like this in the kitchen, firsts clenched around the handle of the oven door with her head bent and teeth gritted in the effort to not throw a blow against the one person she least wanted to fight with? How had they let themselves hit this p- no, how had she let herself hit this point? There would be no problem if she hadn’t reacted so horribly. Anani didn’t like Dru and she knew it, but she also understood it. Goodness knew she’d heard it enough over the months, from people on the street who watched her left arm fumble and got angry flickers in their eyes or muttered darkly about heartless monsters who used innocent children until it was time to chop them up. No doubt the fight reflected horribly on both their moral codes- or at least the moral code of whoever the watcher decided they were siding against.
But her brother, related to her by blood as Dru had been by heart- of all people, shouldn’t he understand? He who had cared for her and returned not for her money but for her, he who would surely do the same as Dru when it came down to the end and they both realized they couldn-
Or would he? He didn’t understand her as well, wouldn’t have known her wishes so instantly; maybe he wouldn’t have attacked her. It was through no fault of his own, of course- he’d been around longer than Dru, but they hadn’t gone through as much together yet, if they ever would. And, truly, he hadn’t been around that long anyw-
Because he had left her.
That was why she was so damned angry. Because Dru, for all that she was cruel and vicious and had known Aranica for a couple weeks tops, had done better by the child than Anani had, and he was trashing her memory for doing so.
Having lit on the reason, Ara now found herself with an overwhelming desire to use it- to wound him the way he was wounding her, to cry out why and I don’t forgive you and please all together. She whirled around, facing her brother for the first time in several long, tense moments, and spat, “At least one of my siblings didn’t want to leave me.”
She didn’t regret her words the moment they left her mouth, but she did the moment they registered on Anani’s face. A defiant form of self-preservation lasted only a split second before guilt and sorrow and genuine pain washed into his features. “Ara-”
Good job, Ara! You’re learning to hurt with words, too, not just d-
Shut up!
Her left hand clapped over her mouth, then the right followed to hold it in place. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled around her fingers, feeling faint and cold and hot and generally more horrible than she had since her last kill. Maybe she didn’t forgive him, but it wasn’t like he forgave himself, either. She didn’t have to bring it up, didn’t have to keep trying to hurt people who didn’t deserve it in the slightest. “I’m so, so, sorry, Anani, I shouldn’t have even-”
Without any warning she turned and sprinted out of the kitchen, whizzing past him with her hands still pressed against her lips. Her aim was the bathroom, but she slammed into a wall when she tried to turn into the right hallway, making her fall backward onto the ground. Set back like that, she only barely managed to roll to the side so that when the vomit rose, it didn’t hit her.
How long she lay like that and cried, she wasn’t sure. At that point, the only things registering were the pain in her throat and her eyes and her shoulder, and Anani’s hesitant but gentle touch as he helped her off the floor and held her, silent and unintrusive, as she mourned all the time they had lost.
