guns hidden under our petticoats :: eckhart twins

Curiosity never helped anyone. It's only ever a curse that drives the nail further into the coffin which holds my life in. That was the only thought that pounced and rattled inside the rock hard cavern of a skull full of nothing but falsity. I never was an Eckhart; but I knew that. I was never a good person, damned from the very beginning. It all runs in the blood, like whiskey runs through that of a drunk. 

Tainted it is, my soul a wreck beyond repair. It's been shot twice from the cannon's that mark the change of sister, to martyr born from tears of ours and blood.  Too much fucking blood everywhere that it's drowning. Never since Jeq died had my heart yearned for anything but safety, and I had it. The armour was shattered the moment I heard her name, a dagger, twisting further and further until blood pours like an ocean.

And all that cannon did was push it straight out the other side. No one ever tells what it feels like to lose one part of the family. They don't tell you that it causes greivious harm. No one ever told me that I'd be wearing black like a widow hard coded into faith for life. Jeq was the contract made and filled. Amerika? Well she was the signature which sealed the fate. Elv is the only sameness I know, and yet we should never have been sad.

No matter how false our surname is, are these feelings false? Is the pain that my heart felt worth nothing? To fucking hell they do. This past was nothing that I wish to remember, it's a torture that was optional, that was caused through the turning of a key in a lock that was only made to stop Elv and I dying a thousand deaths of a history that we did not know, and we should never have known.

Yet it's the reason I have the cold cold barrel of a gun hidden deep under the layers of  coats too thick for wandering in a place too green to be natural and the ground beneath my  feet soft and silent, not hard and grey and too loud. Footsteps are our only friends out here, fingers creeping slowly closer to the cool metalwork which scares me as much as it calms me. It's a juxtaposed thing; a fearful confirmation of the past, a weary reliance on something that belonged to a pair of monsters. 

Yet the addictive quest for the knowledge is strong enough it pulls me so, a magnet so strong it draws my eyes around the forest, looking for a picture engrained upon my mind, like the wooden boxes that flock into my dreams like nothing less than abject horror drifting slowly into terror and turning slowly to agony. And all the images that I saw now were printed on yellowing paper; the corners of the page beginning to curl inwards after being locked in a box for fifteen years.

Slowly aged, yet aging too quickly for its elderly self. It would not yet last the journey out, yet the details, the initials imprinted on a tree but meters from that shack, the rock formation dropped into the shape of a heart. The broken crib that held nothing, yet the remanents of us. The two that got away, unmentioned by every single front page spread. We were the forgotten, and we ourselves had forgotten the dark dark truth that we want to forget.

If it had stayed forgotten I need not care. I would be Elettra Eckhart. Not Elettra Eckhart, the criminal couple's daughter, who carries a name which she does not deserve.

A metallic ting! echoed around the trees, and a spinning top of brass ricocheted against a rock, the brittle metal snapping like a twig underfoot. A shiver passed down my spine, a fearful recognisable sign. 

Our parents died here. This is the nearest I've ever felt to the ghosts that I know nothing before. My fingers dance around the cold sparce air, and grip the strength of Elvaina. We were born together, and we will learn together.

"Do you see the tree, Elv? Or the rock, or anything?" My heart accelerated, fear and excitement mixed with disbelief, a cocktail of nothing but adrenaline, adrenaline, adrenaline. 

"Did... did our parents breathe their last breath here?" 

And yet, it was only half asked.

wc: seven hundred and thirty six.