Post by 6f『 terra markov 』kait on Dec 2, 2019 22:53:24 GMT -5
The first time I killed someone, I was twelve.
I suppose it's worth noting now that the word 'first' is going to be important here; that I should probably tell you now that even though he was the first, he was by no means the last; that this is a long story about a girl and the darkness that inhabits her; that the murders never really end with me.
Post by 6f『 terra markov 』kait on Dec 11, 2019 22:50:23 GMT -5
It starts in the wild.
Is that how all creatures like you begin? With too much freedom? That can't be right, can it? That those who detach the most are those given the opportunity to as children? Surely there are those kids who are forced into corners who turn out just the same, the ones who are treated like stray dogs rather than mouths that deserve to be fed just because they breathe. Surely it wasn't the wild that turned you into a monster—surely that was all you.
I guess you'll never know.
Either way, the story ends.
At first, you never stay anywhere long, travel throughout Six and back through time and time again. At first, you barely notice the constant change, the never settling. You don't miss being able to watch first hand the ways people change slowly, don't realize that you only ever see change in big jumps and bursts. You'll go through one town, and then a year and a half later you'll be back and everything will be different, and yet it's all the same.
You always peek your head out from where you belong when you can, twist around until you think that maybe your eye is the only thing that's around the corner. You love to watch her work, trace the lines on people's palms, flip over the cards that you watched her paint herself. She always tells people something—sometimes they cry, sometimes they get mad.
Post by 6f『 terra markov 』kait on Dec 17, 2019 13:18:25 GMT -5
Your mom marries Stephen when you're eleven.
For the first time in your life, you're still.
You can't remember a time when you settled anywhere more than three months, have been on the move for your entire life, but suddenly you're being told to create a life here. It was like she had nullified everything you ever experienced, told you that those eleven years on the move were worthless, a waste of time, that all along they were taking her here to this moment.
"This is where we were meant to be, baby," she tells you when you ask her how long you're going to stay.
You never think to ask if she's doing that thing where she says what someone wants to hear, but later, years down the line, you wonder if that's not exactly what she was doing to herself—deluding herself into believing this was her fate by speaking it so.
"But he hits you, Mama," you reply once, and all it gets you is a hiding of your own.
"Don't talk about your father like that."
You wait until she's walked away to say anything in response.
Post by 6f『 terra markov 』kait on Dec 31, 2019 0:35:29 GMT -5
When the Peacekeepers come to collect Stephen's body, they declare it self-defense.
It's really a no brainer.
After all, what else were they supposed to say? You're only twelve when it happens, haven't even gone through puberty or your real growth spurt yet, are just a wafer-thin ghost-eyed girl made up of all the wrong angles, a collection of elbows and knees sharp enough to kill someone.
You didn't use your hands though. The Peacekeepers decided that you used a pair of scissors, dug them into his carotid artery when he came at you swinging. One of them looked at you funny, skeptical, as though he could see the violence already simmering underneath the surface, could see past the goofy smile you usually wore to see the razor sharp fangs behind it. But none of them wanted to send you to the detention center, didn't even want to send you to juvie.
Seems like he deserved it, one of them said.
You think about him a lot, years later, when the Peacekeepers are your enemy more than anything else. You think about that one who was on your side.
Post by 6f『 terra markov 』kait on Dec 31, 2019 0:39:36 GMT -5
It doesn't take long for you to run.
You get recruited not two years later, when one of the boss's little soldiers grabbed you in the street and told you that they knew what you did. At first, you were scared out of your mind, scared that the moment had come where the world would realize the things that hid under your skin, the twisted thoughts and terrible impulses. But they didn't.
We need someone like you, they had said. Someone with your skills.
You leave home two weeks later, move right into the bosses house. Fuck your mother, the woman who put you through all that bullshit for so long, dragged you from place to place, piss-poor home to home that smell like old piss.