darkest before the dawn - [meg]
May 10, 2012 3:16:10 GMT -5
Post by ✨ zozo. on May 10, 2012 3:16:10 GMT -5
I'm freezing.
Shaking, rattling, vibrating, chattering. My whole body is numb, my limbs rigid to keep my body from adjusting, skin reacting to the new blasts of cold. No matter how many times my worn, pink palms rub together, or how tightly I cling to my tshirt, I refrain from finding warmth. I guess it doesn't help that the concrete slab I'm perched on is like ice, and there's no shelter from the evening wind. I can feel my lips turning pink, then blue, then eventually purple. Maybe tonight, I'll freeze to death out here.
My knees knock together along with my teeth. Another 'punishment' for another crime I did not commit. According to them, I was the reason Career Boy lost his prized bow and arrows. I stole it, they accused. But if you rant and rave about how I can barely carry plates to the kitchen, then how on earth do you expect I'd use one of those? And what use would I have in it, everyone knows I'm useless
But who am I kidding - of course I will. I'm almost immortal. Sometimes I think that I cannot die. [/i] Maybe I'll grow older, but never age. Stuck in this small, tiny body whilst everyone around me shrivels and dies. Cursed with life, when so many say it's a blessing. Never able to grow close to anyone again, for the constant reminder that they'll all die, eventually. At least I'll be able to watch them rot away, the Career Boy and his father.[/i] But perhaps, after all they've put me through - after the bruises that blotch my skin purple, my body slowly turning the same shade as I sit here - I'll find some sympathy in my heart. They don't have sympathy. Mom always said I was everything they weren't.[/i] Then I must be sympathy, kindness, strength, goodness, warmth, bravery, honesty and trust. Yet when you're constantly told that you're worthless, you're nothing, it's hard to keep a hold of that thought. I may have more than just my mother's looks, but I cannot help thinking that those words sound more like her and less like myself every day.
Maybe I just need to keep fighting, like I always have, until I believe.[/i]
There's a clang of the lock in the door being fumbled with, and I jump at the sudden sound. It swings on it's hitches as my head does the same - and I'm being dragged out of the cold by the neck of my shirt into the house, scrabbling for balance with my feet as they graze across my previous seat into the house. I don't dare wince.[/i] Shoved inside with a glare and a slam of the door, Father Career spits a "I hope you've learnt your lesson - now stay here. I'm going out. You're brother's gone to the Career's Party." I nod silently, swallowing back a reply. It's best in these situations to say nothing at all - for now more than ever my words are my greatest downfall, no matter how polite or small they are when they exit my throat. "Clean up dinner. And don't you dare" he snarls, leaning down as he talks, a tower over me, "think about leaving this house. Got it?"
I nod, and he's gone with another slam of the door. It echoes through the hall, an eerie reminder of his once-presence, and how no matter where he is, at home or not, he still seems to have a watchful sneer on me with every step I take. Being in this household is like taking a step off of a boat into a storm, knowing you don't have a life jacket, or any means to save yourself, but you do it anyway. Because in my world, it's only the ocean and me. I'm terrified of the sea and I'm terrified of home, and my life line was stolen a long time ago. I just have to keep swimming and hope I'll find something in the debris.[/i]
For a while, I'm quite content by myself. But something irks inside of me, something stirred by my thoughts on the porch and the way my father looked at me with such hatred, and how badly I wanted to rebel. And then a thought strikes me, and a smile follows.[/i] The thought warps into an idea, and then a plan, and then I'm racing up the stairs to my tiny little room and pulling on the largest, warmest clothes I own and I'm out of the door, stumbling in too-large jumpers and too-long jeans and looking more like a boy than ever before.
I'm not quite sure where this party is - but the amount of boasting I've heard from Career Boy for the past week guides me in my search. A few wrong-turns later and nothing but common sense and listening out for party-like noises, I find myself in a bustling crowd, looking entirely out of place yet invisible at the same time. No-one would think I was his sister - not just because my attire is the furthest thing away from girl, but because I'd never dream of disobeying them. How wrong they all are. How wrong they've always been.[/i]
So I do what I do best, and stay invisible.
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describing ;; thinking ;; talking ;;
[/size]describing ;; thinking ;; talking ;;