/~[Infinitas]~/ (open)
Jan 31, 2011 19:47:42 GMT -5
Post by Rosetta on Jan 31, 2011 19:47:42 GMT -5
Claustrum Mallor
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Claustrum’s writing: 006A55
Her Speech: 006064
Other Speech: Gray
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Claustrum awoke with a start, her eyes snapping open, as her alarm clock blared. Even after many years, the dull beep of the alarm clock never failed to startle and annoy her in every which way. Wearily, she rolled from bed, listening to the familiar crack of her stiff back, from sleeping in such an unusual position. For some reason, she could never sleep without being somewhat on her stomach, her back arched up, and her face smothered in her pillow. Her cheek ached from being so crowded, but she disregarded it. It wasn’t important at the moment. Claustrum shuffled over to the odd contraption on the wall, and shoved her arm inside, wincing slightly, as the uncomfortable sensation of the wet ink imprinted itself on her arm. As usual, the first thing on her schedule was: Breakfast: 7:00. Sometimes, she wished she could just skip breakfast. Most of the people of District 13 had breakfast at that time, unless they had an early job, or were on a night shift, therefore eating at a different interval. Her interval was most awkward, because it allowed her to become face to face with her parents-no, her fake parents.
The mere fact that Gabe and Diana Mallor had passed themselves off as her parents for 18 years still hung over her head, like some dark storm cloud. She‘d always wondered about her real mother, whom she‘d heard some about from Gabe. She knew they looked alike. Julianne had had the same unruly dark hair as her daughter, her eyes were just as wide, and sparkled in sudden light. Perhaps Julianne tapped her foot when she sat down for a long period of time, just like Claustrum. She might have imagined her pencil to be something extraordinary like some kind of killer snake when she was bored, as her daughter did when she had nothing else to focus her attention on. Really, the possibilities were endless. But, Claustrum knew little about her real mother. When she was 18, and preparing to leave, Gabe had only told her so much.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!”
She remembered throwing something, breaking something. There were tears, blood on her hands from broken glass. She remembered gripping her bag tightly, pushing past the liars, and careening into the hallway. It was unceremonious, but by that time she hardly cared. Claustrum rarely cried, but the waterworks ensued, sobs racking her body, forcing her onto the ground, curled up, looking very much like a child, rather than a grown woman. It wasn’t until some officials made her get up, and brought her to a new apartment, did she stop crying. It was abrupt, she merely wiped the tears from her face, and nodded at the sympathetic-looking officials. Then, she closed the door, and got into bed. She didn’t cry again. She just floated on stale thoughts, until her mind became blank and she finally fell asleep, in the unusual position she always slept in. And she‘d merely gotten on with her life, as if nothing were wrong. She found a job, fixing the electrical units. The job wasn’t particularly appetizing, it could become quite dull, but Claustrum dealt with it. She needed money, and the job brought that. It wasn’t like Gabe and Diana were around to support her.
She pulled on her uniform, and leaving her hair unbrushed, seeing as it wouldn’t be tamed anyway, Claustrum left her apartment, on her way to breakfast. People cast her looks as they passed, either smiles or disapproving glances. The young family, that lived in the apartment across from hers, grinned as she walked alongside them. On contrary to her ever changing speeds, they took more practiced, even steps. However, their young son was the exception, running ahead, excitedly, disrupting those going past.
“Hi, Claustrum!” He said, brightly, having finally gotten her name right last week. Claustrum had long since stopped speculating about her name. Gabe, actually her uncle, had always told her stories about his family, some about his sister, Julianne, whom, at the time, Claustrum didn’t know was her mother. He told her of his father, Claudius, who was a no-nonsense sort of guy, before he died from an illness. However, he owned this device, an instrument, a long, rough wooden thing with strings on it, that when he had in his hands, he was serene. He was at ease with life, himself, and his instrument, which would emit the most gentle sounds. Gabe said he’d sit on the porch for hours, strumming away at that thing. He wouldn’t speak nor sing, but just play. The neighbors would come to listen, discreetly, always going about as if they were doing something when he looked up. But, Gabe always knew he liked the audience, and one might even witness a rare smile. Gabe had told her that when Julianne was young, she’d often climb up onto Claudius’s lap, and point her small hands at the instrument, which Claudius would struggle to juggle with the child on his lap as well. She’d always repeat the two same words, having not yet mastered her father‘s name, and having no intention of calling him “father”:
“Clau! Strum!”
Claustrum knew her mother had asked for her to be named Claustrum. She’d always speculated that one her deathbed, Julianne, muddled on drugs bent on keeping her alive, and halfway through the tunnel, had remembered that memory. They say when you’re dying, your life flashes before your eyes. Perhaps she’d looked up on her child, and seen herself, sitting upon her father’s lap, calling those two words. They’d most likely come together, and she’d uttered it aloud.
“Claustrum.” Claustrum imagined her looking up, at her brother with his wife, holding out her small child. “Name her Claustrum.” She saw her uncle taking the baby, and looking down at his young dying sister, tears in his eyes. Julianne must have smiled, a small, sorrowful smile, closed her eyes, and slipped off…The only thing that stumped her was when did her aunt and uncle decide it was a good idea to pass Claustrum off as their own? It flustered her, and she could feel the storm clouds rolling in. Let it go, Claustrum, she instructed herself…letting things go had never been easy for her. They made up the storm clouds that followed her, and storm clouds rained…therefore, Claustrum was constantly reminded. And therefore, she could not let go, especially to things most emotionally wrenching, and irritating things. Anyone who knew her could verify…just ask Rhoda Smith…
The enticing smell of breakfast pushed thoughts of the immature girl, Rhoda Smith, who’d been a nuisance to her for quite a long time, from her mind. Her mouth watered, and up until now, Claustrum hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She stomach growled as she went up, and got a tray of food. She took the first empty table she saw, and began to eat, barely regarding the clock, dreading 7:30, where she would have to go work on an electrical unit further underground. The electric units in the walls deeper down were much darker, more tight, and all together overwhelming. Claustrum felt trapped down there, locked up, and she could feel her hands shaking already. She quickly sat on them to stop the feeling. The waffles suddenly seemed to coat her throat, choking her, and she swallowed them down, feeling slightly queasy. She didn’t want to think of being in that dark, that close space, wondering whether or not she‘d ever escape. Her stomach churned, sweat beading on her upper lip. She needed to get out of here, run back to her room, and splash some water on her face to calm down a bit…
Claustrum stood up too quickly, her tray flying from her hands, and skidding off the table, food flying everywhere. The people around her leapt up, startled, as they were splattered with milk, and waffles. Claustrum felt the color rise to her face, as eyes turned in her direction, boring into her. She willed herself to be some place else. Some place she‘s only imagined of, not actually seen. If she thought hard enough, she could escape this stuffy room, all these faces, and fly away, to some hill, lying amongst the grass, letting the wind caress her skin. However, right now wasn‘t the time for her mind to run free, as much as she wanted it to. So, blushing furiously, and muttering “Sorry!”, Claustrum knelt down to clean up the mess.
If humiliation were rain, combined with Claustrum‘s storm clouds, there would have been a hurricane.
