electra kent ♤ one {wip}

electra kent ♤ one {wip} Oct 4, 2012 20:35:48 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Oct 4, 2012 20:35:48 GMT -5

~~omg the colours match her makeup~~

Yes, I feel a little bit nervous
Yes, I feel nervous and I cannot relax
How come they're out to get us?
How come they're out
When they don't know the facts?

wip xoxo

When I was a little girl, I dreamt of the stars.

Gliding around them, poised, taking graceful swirls towards the diamonds in the dark. Darting around, like a satellite that had gone off-course and bounced off the constellations instead. Now, my head is just worriedworriedworried, each thought that spirals out of control within seconds like sparks flying out of broken sockets, or a rocket crash-landing on the moon. A hungry flint for peace-of-mind drives my hands to keep searching, keep searching. I’m not crazy.

But the files in the steel case drawer say different. Never have I been allowed to see what lies amongst the pink folders and tabs, the paper-clips and stamped sheets of cardboard. My eyes light up and my heart begins to hammer in my chest as I spy CONFIDENTIAL - RE: ELECTRA sealed on the front of a paper tab. Secrets lie amongst these pages I have waited 18 years to read now cause my fingers to pause, my hands to hesitate. Only the constant reminder that someone's goingtogetmethey'regoingtocatchme pushes me onwards, opening up the folder as I fall to the floor.

ELECTRA MARIE KENT: AGE 6 yells in capital letters, with a picture of a little girl with wild dark hair, olive skin and a bubbly smile attached to the document beams up at me. Scanning the black and white letters, my head feasts on new words and information and things in my head I've never been able to put a finger on. SOCIAL STATUS: Good. Very chatty. No visible problems, eager to talk. Down the page I go, tracing a finger as I read. Reaching GENERAL HEALTH CHECK-UP, I race through HEARING: Excellent, RESPIRATORY: Excellent, CIRCULATORY: Good - pulse slightly faster than usual, but not uncommon for age until I reach what I'm looking for.

VISION: Please see next page.

"Dammit," I seethe as pages slip out onto the floor I sit on, scooping them back into a pile. Hurry hurry they're coming to get you. My fingers shake when I lift the papers up towards my face, darting over the words printed all those years ago. EYESIGHT: Check up and scan brought up issue with colour sensitively. Confirmed query of Mother - see drawing on back page - about ability to recognise colours. Frazzled, I hurry through the papers until I reach for a drawing of a pink house with a blue sky and blue grass and pink flower petals. I'd always wondered where it had disappeared off of the fridge to. The world is pink and blue, is it not?

"'Lectra, darling,"my mother chided to six-year-old me, all wide-eyed and bouncy pigtails and a cheeky grin. "Why on Earth aren't you drawing the grass green?"

My chin jutted upwards, discarding the crayon on the table with a frown. "I am," I replied, picking up the crayon and showing it to her - a darker shade of blue clutched between my little fingers. This sort of looked like what the teachers had told me was green - and I fiercely argued that no, it was most definitely blue. "See?"

She returned the frown, squinting at the crayon, then my drawing, then back to the crayon again. Opening her mouth as if to say something, she instead closed it and walked away, puzzled by my drawing. There was no room for mistakes in my family, not with my father, at least - and only then did I start to believe that I was wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

[/color]Test process: Shown a colour wheel and asked to list as many colours as she could. Then tried with UV light, sunglasses, normal glasses, dark light, bright light - all the same results. Picked up only blue, pink and slight variations of purple and red. Scanned eyes again - same result. I remember this: the too-bright smiles and holding my Daddy's hand down long hallways and machines that lit up and went blip. I didn't realise then that I see the world differently. The pulse in my arms makes my arms shake, hands dampen, breaths shaky.

RESULTS: CONFIRMED TRITANOPIA. My hands flourish, scrambling over the papers to the shelves of books, clawing for a dictionary. Tritanopia Tritanopia probably a disease Tritanopia. I pass Q's and R's and S's and Ta's and Th's and To's, until I land on Tr's and scramble through the pages until I find what I'm looking for.

[/size]tri•ta•no•pi•a
Noun: 1. A rare form of color-blindness resulting from insensitivity to blue light, causing confusion of greens and blues.
2. A visual defect characterized by the inability to discern blue and yellow

see also: eyes.

Slamming the book down, I turn to hunt through the rest of the files. No longer official documents - there are scans from books and notes scrawled in handwriting - my father's handwriting - breaking down this new discovery of mine. Hurry El, hurry hurry hurry or they'll catch you El Scratches of pen cut into the paper - mostly black, with the occasional flash of red circling notes or underlining words several times. A selective deficiency in blue (short wavelength) spectral sensitivity is characteristic of this disorder. Most patients retain the ability to see red and green colours, although several patients with both defects have been reported. Next to it, a Red - not green sliding up the margin of the paper.

And it clicks. The evening three years ago when I asked my Father why he looked so upset, why he'd stopped talking to me - what was wrong.

"YOU!" he'd suddenly called out, causing my whole body to jump backwards from his random outburst. "Everything's wrong with you!" My bottom lip trembled - half from the shock of how loud he was yelling, and half from his words like knives that struck me down. Yet I still stayed standing, letting his anger control my limbs.

"Mr. Kent?" I tried, voice scratchy and jittering, swallowing back tears. He said nothing, only looked down at the ground with fury. "Daddy?" I forced out in a cry - but before I could press on, he stormed off in a flourish towards his study and slammed the door behind him, creating a barrier between him and his odd imperfection of a daughter. The shadows first began to stir between the drawn curtains and the flickers of flame from the fire in the wall.
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But I knew that answer before I had even opened my mouth to ask.[/color]

He knew along. He's been researching. An odd sense of disbelief flows through me at this knowledge, sliding the papers away for a moment. All those years I kept quiet, all those years the teachers asked questions before I learnt how to guess shades, he knew. The sheer overwhelming feeling that all my efforts to keep my secrets below the surface of my parent's awareness were for nothing causes me to pause, take it in. Absorb it, let it process. And then I was fumbling through more paperwork, drinking in every little sentence and every single test result he had kept from me all of these years.

Older photographs of me appear, tracing a path of my growth. Bubbly smiles of white teeth and shining brown eyes I inherited from my mother, as well as her olive skin and button nose. As the girl in the photos grew, so did her arms and legs, and her ridiculously unmanageable hair. I remember brushing and brushing and brushing it for hours, but it still stayed as bouncy as ever. The sparks in her expressions seem to die down a little, flicking through each photograph one at a time with bitten-down, nervous hands. Don't leave fingerprints, they'll catch you they'll get you. Only when I reach a girl I finally recognise as me, amongst the endless blue and pink outfits and bows printed on glossy paper - with a dull, cautious expression and hair that found straighteners a year or two ago never quite focusing on the camera lens. Always watching something else, always ever present of her surroundings. Waiting for them to pounce and pull me under.

I take in what I can about my pink and blue world, W O R K I N P R O G R E S S !

rar stuff about genes here

then she finds the newer folders and it's all downhill from there.

[/size]par•a•noi•a
Noun: 1. A mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically worked...
2. Suspicion and mistrust of people or their actions without evidence or justification.

see also: fear, suspicion, mistrust, obsession, terror.

wip

Fingers flit through spindly, sharp pages. Corners threaten to slit the delicate skin of my fingertips, seeping little blood drops that could splash onto the paper. Smearing the page like drops of ink. I could craft a typewriter from my bones and ink out my mind onto my skin, a never-ending swirl of galaxies as complex and forever as the night sky. My flesh seems to be on fire, terrified that at any moment someone shall burst in through the door and snatch up the dictionary and the files spread out on the floor in front of me. There’s no-one home but you, Electra.

ob•ses•sion
Noun: 1. The state of being obsessed with someone or something.
2. An idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind.

see also: mania, fascination, fixation, passion.

I don't think I used to be this controlled. I tried to be perfect, tried to fit in. And I did - I had friends, I still do. Thriving on people, on laughter, of the way joy rattles through my bones and personalities float through the air and stimulate my mind. Pulling stupid faces and being a little gullible at times. Disguising the whispering shadows that leave me be when I wear my true self out to play. People think I'm funny and people think I'm smart. People don't think I'm crazed, obsessed, constantly watching and waiting for them to get me they're out to get me snatch me up steal me away for not being perfect for adding colour to a black and white world.

ma•ni•a
Noun: 1. Mental illness marked by periods of great excitement, euphoria, delusions, and overactivity.
2. An excessive enthusiasm or desire; an obsession: "our mania for details".

notes:

- baby doll is cray cray
- definition: extrovert (An outgoing, overtly expressive person)
- files and papers
- color blind omg hello muse!
- laughs
- silly faces
- they're coming coming coming for me
- shadow lurkers
- figure 8's
- "what's your favourite colour?" "this color, pink" "you mean yellow?" "what's yellow?" "the color you're pointing to, honey"
- definition: tritanopia (Absence of blue retinal receptors)
- papa can you hear me?
- "what's wrong?" "you! everything's wrong with you!"
- they're out to get me because i'm different
- living in the state of dreaming/living in fear and loathing

etc etc

in•for•ma•tion (other stuff you should know)
1. Face Claim; Marina Diamandis
2. Pallete; Hurts Like Heaven[/url]
3. Lyrics; Hurts Like Heaven by Coldplay

see also: my misfits[/url][/i][/color]

[/size]zo•ë (zo-wee) (like joey, but with a z)
Noun: 1. Roleplay Tutor, Character hoarder, Purple lover.
2. Dumb-ass, loud, tends to think she's Adele whilst in the shower.
3. Annoying, keyboard-smashing enthusiast who likes to bake, cry over television and make graphics: "zoe you are tumblr in human form" - clover.

see also: kiwi, zo-face, crazy cat-lady
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