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hesitatcs-blog · 8 years ago

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SHE DIDN'T ... | a drabble mostly meant to hurt @eyedisguised

IT’S BEEN AN HOUR since she found out. An hour since she told him that she knew everything . She had seen the deeds , the bank statement . Confirmed it all with her drifter uncle and several other ancient articles she had dredged up from the past . She even went to the bank and inquired about it -- sure enough it was all there .

The fortune . From Olaf’s inheritance , to kits , to the baudelaire’s , to hers . Ever single penny being passed around in some kind of misfortunate and never ending cycle . An ouroboros of the most venomous kind . Her eyes are still bleary with tears , but she is not shaking with grief . She is angry . She knew that the Baudelaire’s had kept secrets from her . She knew her world was one giant SILENCE KNOT that she had to unravel and unravel until she reached the frayed end of the yarn . She knew that she might not be happy with what she found there , twisted in all it’s ligaments . But she never , in her short time on this earth thus-far , imagined this .

Over and over again a scene that ( thankfully , readers ) will never take place plays out in her head . The image of gloved hands , grabbing her by her ankles and pulling her across a kitchen floor that is as cold as her mothers gaze . Her fist clenches and unclenches at it loops over and over again . Overlaying it is another moment in time , one that did take place , one that put these unfortunate events into motion long ago . The ring from this scene weighs heavy in her clenched hand -- leaving an indent there that she’s not sure will ever clear .

A quiet noise pulls her from her revery , smothered sniffing coming from the dining room where she had left him that fateful sixty minutes ago .

“ Bee , it’s not what you think , she wasn’t -- “ “ I need to be alone for a while . “

GOD , sorrow burrowed itself into every crack of this old house , didn’t it ? First Olaf’s , then the Baudelaire’s , now her own .

all because of her , all because of her , all because of HER .

A final rush of RAGE rushes through her veins as she marches beyond the threshold of her room , and right up to the Counts figure , hunched over a picture , old and and mangled . She crouches down to get his attention , and despite the hardness in her hues there are tears still springing forth , lining those orbs which looked so much like her mothers . Once his gaze meets hers she speaks , her words sure and unwavering .

“ She didn’t love ME ... She didn’t love Y O U ... she didn’t give a SHIT about anyone but herself . “

his eyes beg her to stop and she shakes her head in disgust , getting to her feet , intent on leaving the house -- she needs some fresh air , needs to shrug off the ghost of her mother that haunted every plank of wood she tread . Before she exits however she turns , giving what she could only describe now as her one true guardian an icy glare . Her last words spit forth without hesitation .

“ I’m glad she’s dead . “

#tagging #thousandseye #too bc why not #[ bee tag ]#[ drabble ]#eyedisguised

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hesitatcs-blog · 8 years ago

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[ eyedisguised | O. ] - !!

one morning a couple years ago when we were sunbathing by the edge of a large pool we couldn’t swim in, me and some friends of mine decided to make two lists of five items each. one was for the most pleasant feelings in the world and another for the most unpleasant. after a few minutes of suggestion and debacles, the lists were set as follows:

1) using the toilet after you’ve been waiting so long you’ve developed a stomach ache, 2) your first bite after feeling starved for a very long time and/or your first sip of water after being thirsty forjust as long, 3) petting a pet of your choosing though not necessarily yours,4) taking off a pair of very uncomfortable shoes and replacing them with your slippers, 5) curling up on your bed after an exhausting day.

1) being so in need of using the toilet youdevelop a stomach ache but no facilities being available near you, 2) starving and thirsting for so long you can feel every inch of your body weakening, 3) a pet’s bite, not as much from the teeth but the betrayal 4) walking or standing up on a pair of shoes so tight and uncomfortable your toes start to throb, 5) being sleepy but having nowhere and no time to sleep, closing your eyes and hanging your head so often your neck starts to hurt.

of course, at the moment the lists were written, all of us had lived extraordinarily simple lives and were only distressed by minor problems such as snacking, shoe wearing, and napping. i’m afraid my life hasn’t gotten any more interesting since, the only additions i could make to each list being ‘getting where i need to be on time’ and ‘three o’clock traffic’.

count olaf’s list,however, would be quite different. perhaps he would agree with some of our excellent points, since he happened to be quite fond of eating things up in one bite and wearing his smelly shoes to the ultimate of comforts, yet he would surely add ‘being all alone in the world’ or ‘having lost everything you care about to the point of not caringanymore’ to his unpleasantness list, and ‘being contacted by your true love’s daughter’ to his pleasantness list.

though he truly deserved his unpleasantness list to be much longer and experienced than his pleasantness list,he had allowed himself the privilege of following through with the latest item of one of them. maybe feeling queasy and nervous would figure on some people’s list, the headache from too much wine on other’s, and falling asleep on the cold sand of briny beach on a young girl’s. seeing the young girl and her all too familiar hair was something count olaf couldn’t catalog as pleasant or unpleasant, it did get him to stop his stubby, stumpy steps, and reconsider his usual method of waking sleeping children by kicking them around. instead, he tossed her around with the tip of his toe until she seemed awake enough.

“are you…” thud thud! he stubbed her a couple times more, his face going crinklier as he got a better look at her. thud thud! he lost balance for a second, so he finally quit it. “ … the child?”he dragged out the last two words with the crinkliest face, as if they were acid on his tongue.

HER DREAMS are as tremulous as the waves that she lost her guardians in , and she finds herself tossing and turning on the sand that serves as her bed ,

being nudged by the wav -- being nudged by , being nudged, being KICKED .

With a start she shoots up, brows furrowed as she looks wildly around her for the perpetrator. Her eyes settle on a bare ankle , the cuff of threadbare dress-pants hovering just above a tattoo of an eye -- an eye which she had seen the Baudelaire’s doodle in their common-place books all too many times. An eye that could mean only one thing.

he had found her.

Her eyes travel up the leg until her gaze meets that of the notorious unibrowed man. She had heard so many stories of his evil deeds yet as she looked upon him she could only find a ghost of villainy -- besides the smell, of course. But his eyes looked wary , sad , even a little bit scared.

Perhaps the years that had gone by since her birth had taken the malicious luster from them. Whatever the case, Beatrice is unfazed by his presence. She is far too tired to be scared or excited, and with how many times her guardians had outwitted him she was sure that if he tried anything she could wriggle her way from his grasp in an instant.

The girl rises to her feet with a grimace, dusting the sand from her skirt and shaking it from her curls. After a brief stretch and yawn she crosses his arms, pursing her lips at the man.

❝ First of all, I am not a child, I am ten. Second of all, it is very impolite to kick someone when they’re taking a nap. Third of all, you are EXCEPTIONALLY late and it is far past my bed time -- which I warned you about. And third of all ... yes. My name is Beatrice, Beatrice Baudelaire. Or Snicket. But I assume you dislike both those names so you, COUNT OLAF, can call me Bee. ❞

and with that she sticks her hand out, head tilted to the side, lips twisting into a sly smirk. ( here, with the moonlight casting shadows on her mischievous features, she is the s p i t t i n g image of her mother )

❝ How do you do. ❞

#tbt

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