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headoverhiddles · 4 years

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Wrapped In Plastic - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: The new kid at school intrigues you. He’s infatuated too, but beneath that scary exterior, you’ve got no idea what’s in store.

Notes: Era: Spooky Kids! Requested by anon: “High school Brian having a crush on you.”

There he is, sitting in front of the principal again. Brian Warner. You're surprised he hasn't been expelled yet, frankly, even though he just moved here to South Florida recently.

You watch from afar, sitting with your friends. He's making that face. That expression... or lack of expression. He doesn't give a fuck what he got in trouble for, and you, he and the principal know it.

"Hey. (y/n)," your best friend says, "What the hell? Are you listening?"

"Yeah," you mutter, glancing back into the office. God, he would probably fuck like an animal, taking you in some old haunted forest somewhere while spanking you and telling you you're his dirty little slut...

Your friend scoffs when she sees where you're looking.

"That guy is dangerous, quit fantasizing. That isn’t your picture perfect bad boy-- that’s like dating the next Son of Sam killer.”

Your other friend chimes in. “My sister told me she saw him and his pack of weirdos out lighting an abandoned house on fire. My sister’s friend said she hears him jerking off in the washroom every lunch hour. The whole school knows about it. Also apparently in creative writing, he turned in this story about this guy fucking his sister's corpse or something. Seriously weird, probably evil. He's gonna end up in jail, mark my words." You ignore your friend, but turn back into the conversation.

Eventually, the principal gives up, dismissing him. You see Brian join his friends outside the office door, who have been waiting-- Jeordie and Stephen, you think you've heard them called in class. The one with the brown comb-over is called Pogo outside of class, because of his fascination with serial killers. You think it's funny. Those guys just do whatever they want.

Your breath hitches. Brian tucks his long black hair behind his ear, looking up and grinning at his friends. He's describing what he did, and he looks like a gleeful child who just got away with murder as the other two bust out laughing and dig for details. How could anyone think he's evil?

Cold chills run through your body as he meets your eyes. Oh, fuck. He smirks a little bit your way, but you quickly look away. His features harden, and he turns back to his friends. You turn back to yours.

You can't help watching after him as he walks down the hall to fourth period, though... his head nearly reaches the ceiling, and that metal Planet Of The Apes lunchbox makes you smile. You've heard him make a threat or two to beat someone's ass with it, and you believe he'd do it. For every bully who promised him he'd be nothing, there's something about him that promised so much more.

The bell goes, and Brian sits down at the desk.

"She was looking at you."

"Yeah, she was talking to her friends about me," Brian mutters back.

"She looked like she was wetting her panties over you," Jeordie grins, "She looks like she wanted to suck your dick right there in front of Mr. Ogilvie!"

"That'd be the day," Brian sighs.

"Yeah, you'd have beat off material forever," Pogo laughs.

"But she wasn't," he said, "You guys are just fucking blind."

"I don't know, I got some blow job vibes from her,” Pogo says.

“You get blow job vibes from everyone.”

“I’ll blow you for lunch money,” Jeordie mentions. Pogo shrugs.

“I might take you up on that.” His obnoxious laughter rings out as you walk by the door. You recognize it immediately, and look back. Brian’s sitting there, knees tucked under the desk like his legs won’t fit. Shit. In your experience, being this preoccupied with someone meant you were into them... or at least, wanted to see more of them.

Brian looks up again, and sees you staring at him. This time, he frowns. You’re drawn away by your friend, who pulls you toward your next class. As you're walking, someone calls your name.

“Hey! (y/n), right?”

You turn as your friend keeps walking ahead. You scoff slightly as he approaches. “Like you don’t know my name.” You pause, backtrack. “I- sorry. That was mean."

“That’s okay. I’ve been known to be a little mean too,” he smirks, and he flips his hair out if his face. “I guess when you hang around a bunch of catty bitches all the time, it rubs off on you.” His voice is so deep and calm. It throws you off whenever he speaks, but does other things to you as well.

"Hanging out with a pair of delinquents can do the same." Your eyes dart inside the classroom to his friends, who are carving something into a desk. He gives a small smile.

"Touché."

“Speaking of rubbing off,” you raise an eyebrow, “Did you want to talk to me?”

He blushes, then forces his embarrassment away. “That rumor’s not true.”

“No?”

“Nah. I did light that abandoned house on fire though.” He grins, and you do as well, hugging your books closer to your chest.

“So. You’re a rebel, huh?”

“If not putting up with everybody’s bullshit counts as rebelling, then yeah. I guess so.”

“I can respect that,” you nod. “I feel the same way... but I’m not as fearless as you.”

“Are you saying you might commit arson with me, (y/n)?”

“Maybe. How did the conversation progress to lighting things on fire with you?”

He laughs, ducks his head nervously. “Well. Um, I saw you staring like a creep, and... I was wondering if you wanted to be creeps together. Y’know... hang out sometime? Come see my band, or...?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah, I am.”

You smile, poking his black shirt that read Christianity is Unnatural, Abnormal, and Perverse. “You’ve got balls, Brian.” You look at the clock, and back to his class. “What do you say we fuck off for the rest of the day?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You wanna skip class today?”

“Sorry,” you walk your fingers up his chest. “I know I’m not quite at your level of rebellion yet, but it’s a start.”

He laughs as he follows you to your locker.

---

“So. Do you have a car?”

“No.” He scratches his head. “We can walk back to my house, though. My parents aren’t home.”

Following that plan, you make it back to his house. For someone hailed as the Antichrist of the school, he's got a relatively normal looking home, white picket fence and everything. All that changes once you get to his room.

"Wow," you say, looking up at everything. He's got serial killer-like writing scrawled on the wall by his bed, lyrics that seem like they're straight out of a porno or a horror film, or both. There are pentagrams drawn on his bed posts, and posters of bands like Nine Inch Nails, Ozzy Osbourne, KISS on his walls.

"I know it's stupid, but I'd give anything to meet those guys," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's not stupid," you say, examining the edges of the posters, freyed from the move no doubt. "I actually think it's awesome. I love Ozzy."

"One day I'm gonna beat his record for most drugs consumed over a lifetime."

"Have you started practicing?" you tease.

"I... well, I haven't had the chance."

"Right. Let me know when you do." You smile, going over to sit on his bed. He looks down at you, seems to have a mini panic attack, then acts cool with it, playing with his lip ring and sitting beside you. You look around the messy floor. He's got a strange mix of stuff that oddly seems to perfectly fit his personality: leaking boxes of black hair dye, various lipsticks and nail polishes, a bag of weed, books on the rise of fascism and Carl Jung's red book, an antique-looking switchblade, a Willy Wonka hat, condoms with little angry faces drawn on them, an old deflated football with "FIGHT" written on it, and... "What's that?" you ask, leaning down. Brian coughs.

"Oh. Yearbook from last year."

You pick it up, looking at all the little drawings of candy, needles, Charles Manson and other doodles he's defaced the book with. "But you didn't go to this school last year."

"I traded my mom's diet pills for it."

"Huh. Hustling already. Must have been some good stuff." You hesitate. The page was open to the photos of you as the lead in the play last year. You smirk, pretending to squint. "Is that a cum stain I see on my face?"

"You wish," he huffs, but he's blushing, hair curtaining around his face. You give him a look, turning fully toward him.

"Why'd you really invite me over?"

"To tell you I hate you, knock you out, and bury you in my backyard." You laugh.

"I mean, if you think about it..."

"It's the perfect plan. Invite the girl you've got a crush on over, assume she's gonna make fun of you, lure her in, then get your revenge." You smile, laying back on his bed.

"You just admitted to having a crush on me."

"Wasn't it obvious?" he asks. "I only ever threaten to kill the people I really wanna fuck."

"And do you really wanna fuck me, Bri?" you ask coyly, crawling dangerously close to him. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his long, graceful throat. "You wanna fuck me right here, right now, while your parents aren't home, make me scream your name while you blare your favorite metal record and act like things'll never change?"

"That sounds good," he groans. His hands wander up your thigh, and you smile, bouncing on his leg. "...I also wanna share my music with you. Read a book over your shoulder. Maybe pop a few pills, key someone's car, grab a milkshake and look at the stars on Special K so we feel like we're floating, you know. Before I bang the shit out of you. Date stuff."

"Is this not our first date?" you ask. His tongue flicks up over his lip ring again.

"I guess you could say it is."

"Good. Cause I never fuck on a first date," you say, "Or so I tell people." He clenches his jaw, and braces a skinny arm beside your head, leaning down to capture your lips. His lips taste sweet, like mint and those sugary rocket candies. He takes his shirt off, and you rub your hands down, feeling a few scars. He lets out a whimpered noise at your touch, shuddering a little.

You make out and grind against one another for a few minutes, your hands pulling his hips closer by his black belt loops and his fingers tangling your hair. Your breath gets faster as he grinds harder, more desperately, and you reach a hand down to help him out, give him something to rut against.

"You feel so big," you moan, and he runs a hand through his hair, lips falling open.

"I'm gonna..." He makes another desperate noise, and you feel it right where you need him. But since all his condoms in here seem to be used or have faces drawn on them in scented marker, you opt for over the clothes stuff only.

"Use your fingers?" you breathe. He looks like he's about to cum, and you know it'll tip you over as well, what with all the times you had thought of him like this.

He reaches into your jeans, unzipping them, and messily finds your clit. For a teenage guy, he's not bad. He starts to rub, then reaches three fingers down to thrust them into you.

"Fuck, Bri! Three?!" you breathe. He looks into your eyes, not stopping.

"I thought girls were whores for that kind of thing!"

"It's..." you moan, "That's... oh... y-yeah... Jesus...” He really start to work them in, watching your reactions while rutting his clothed erection against your leg. "Fuck, Brian, grab my tits... yeah... this is just how I imagined it when I..."

He freezes for a second, and his whole body convulses. He gasps, and you see him reach down to cover his crotch, face going beet red. He doesn't stop, though. He keeps fingering you, and now that he's not worried about grinding, he can explore you in other ways. He attaches his lips to your neck, and sucks a hickie right below your ear.

“Brian... Bri, make me c--”

"Cum for me, you filthy little slut," he snarls, and you arch your back up, grinding down into his fingers as your orgasm hits. You rock through it, and he kisses you again, sloppy and hot. When he pulls away, he gives you your fingers to lick clean, which you do through a heated stare.

Things calm down into you laying back against his pillows with his stringy body tucked in a cramped position beside you. "I didn't know you were that..." you search for words. "Experienced?"

"What, you thought I was a virgin?”

You giggle. “I didn’t know what to think about you, to be honest. Kinky, inexperienced, I had no idea. Of course, I hoped that you were kinky.”

“I’ve been known to use restraints when asked,” he smirks.

“I’ve got that to look forward to. I thought you were cute too, though. I don’t care if you’re some devil worshipper who parents and teachers everywhere shiver at the thought of." He's quiet for a second.

"I thought you were scared of me."

"That too, a little bit. But what scares me turns me on." He rolls over to face you, a vulnerable position for him, you can tell.

"The way I dress is what I perceive to be beautiful. Looking like this, doing what I want to, it keeps the assholes who like to give my face their own version of plastic surgery away if they think I'm a Satanist who's gonna... cut off their mom's head or something if they fuck with me. Makes the hypocrites who call themselves teachers question their morals too, ‘teaching’ someone like me to be a good little boy and follow society’s rules. It’s all brainwashing, everything they feed us with their sugar and shit, and I’m the bad guy for standing up to it."

You stroke hair out of his face, and he looks up at you, lips pursed. "There’s always gotta be a scapegoat. I guess you fit that role.” You look beyond him. “You think it would ruin your image if those bullies found your poetry books?” He smiles.

“Nah. One day, I’m gonna grow up to be a big rock and roll star. I’ll use my own poetry and turn it into music, and I’ll look ten times more extreme than I do now. Then they can all say they knew me, and I’ll tell them to go to hell.”

You snuggle into him. "Mmm. Speaking of extreme... we should pull a Sandy and Danny. I'll come to school dressed all goth and shit Monday. Throw my friends for a loop."

"Does that mean I have to dress like a cheerleader?" he asks.

"You've got the ass for it."

He grins. "Stop it, you're making it very hard for me not to wanna fuck you for real right now."

"Here's the deal," you say, "I'll show you where I live this weekend. You tell me what your favorite fruit is, because that's a soul searching question. At that point we'll know each other better... and I'll be fair game."

He bites his lip. "I feel like I've known you forever."

"Yeah. Me too."

Just then, there's a knock at the bedroom door. Startled, you sit up quickly, and who you can only assume to be Brian's mom pops her head in. "When the fuck did you two get home?!" Brian blurts.

"About five minutes ago, honey. Don't worry, we didn't hear anything. Jeordie called, said he 'left the smoke bomb under the urinals.' I hope you aren't getting up to trouble like the last school, your father had a heck of a time getting you into this one.”

“Mom.”

“He had to switch jobs too, and with his back, you know how difficult long drives can be. Oh, how rude of me-- hello sweetie, you can call me Barb."

"Mom--"

"Brian, is this the sweet thing you had that dream about the other night?"

"MOM!"

“Hugh, Brian’s got a girlfriend over, we should turn the TV up to give them a little privacy.”

“GIRLFRIEND?!” a voice calls up, “GOOD ON YA, SON. THAT’S MY BOY!”

“Jesus fucking Christ...” Brian groans, burying his face in a pillow. You laugh so hard into his chest you nearly tumble off his bed. Most dangerous guy in school, your ass.

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aubergineanathema · 4 years

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By a hair’s breadth

Part 1 - The ruin in the clearing: Preface Part 2 - Whispers in darkness Part 3 - Käsdorf and Wulvosburg Part 4 - Secrets behind stone walls Part 5 - Wind chimes and wildflowers Part 6 - Beneath the hillock Part 7 - Evidence of a struggle Part 8 - Murder of crows Part 9 - A play in the distance

------

Part 10.

He did not know how long he had been running. His labored breath and waning strength only told him that he was running out of time. How much farther he could reasonably go, and any indication he was even going in the right direction was woefully unknown to him.

Lost. He was lost.

Wet branches scraped across his arms and face as he careened deeper and deeper into the unknown darkness of the forest. The road had been too open. He knew that was how the specter had taken Bertrand away so easily, and so he had run back into the inscrutable thicket, hoping against hope that might buy him time. Time for what? He did not know.

But he would try. For Bertrand, and for the others he had lost.

The forest was not his to run through. He did so, but only in desperation. The forest seemed to enclose itself around him, muffling all of the sounds from before, and only impressing upon him his isolation. He felt alone, as though maybe the fiend had stopped pursuing him, but with the rain and wind and thunder, along with his haggard breath and trampling footsteps, it was impossible to even hope to hear if that fiend still stalked him.

Where could even deign to be safe from a beast the likes of which he had seen? Ripping the throat of one, decapitating another, and spiriting yet another away entirely.

Or, almost entirely.

Even if he was alone here in this forest, he was still in danger. A sitting duck for that fiend should he return, or any other who might seek to snatch him up as a prize: be it wolf, or bear, or specter.

He panted hard, with no end in sight. And as the rain fell and chilled him, and his limbs grew numb with the effort and the exposure, lightning struck again as an ominous warning, and the only source of light in this dark place.

And then, there it was.

At that moment, Gunther could see his surroundings for an instant. There was a mad fluttering of wings above him, and what sounded almost like laughing, high above him.

He wondered, would at least be quick? Let it take off his head in an instant while he screamed one last time for his life--for his soul?

A palpable dread washed over him as he realized that he would not get even a pauper’s grave in some slum’s crowded cemetery. No one left alive even knew he existed, or where he was. And so too his friends, would never get the decency. In fact, he tried to remember the last time he had even been within the walls of a church, let alone had made confession, or taken communion--and could not recall it in recent memory. Not since he had been traveling with Bernard, anyway. And even before, he had never had more than a few coins to rub together, let alone enough to pay any tithes. It was always something other people did. Those who had had the luxury, or perhaps simply those with better sense than him.

When he had been very small, he did remember the poor brothers in brown rags. They would travel through the cities on a circuit, preaching and chanting and begging for food. They had even shared their food with him, and the other young children of the street on occasion.

Blessed are the poor. They had always said.

Was that true?

Or, as the great fearmongers had claimed from every street corner each time plague swept through the city, or war threatened, did only Hell await every man and woman who did not repent, and confess to them, and flagellate themselves in front of the tombs of long-dead martyrs?

He had never really understood how it was supposed to work. No one had ever bothered to teach him. And now he was out of time.

Suddenly, there was a loud fluttering across his right ear, and a sharp sting of pain as a talon sliced at his cheek.

“Christ--” He gasped and could hardly gather enough breath to even say the words. He found he could not remember a single prayer. “Please--have mercy on me. I know I’ve sinned--but please--oh please--”

And then the toe of his foot caught uneven ground. For a moment he felt weightless, before the ground surged to meet him.

A life of fighting and fleeing and beatings on the city streets had taught him well enough to make himself small. His legs came up and his arms covered his head as he tumbled across the stony ground for what seemed like too long to not encounter a tree or be caught in brambles. He skittered unhindered like a rock across water, until he finally slowed to a stop. His body still shook with the impact. He was winded and dazed, and easy prey.

He whimpered as his frozen bruising limbs stretched around him like cracking glass, certain that each moment now was his last one.

Instead, he heard an inhuman roar.

Gunther forced his eyes to open, and forced his throbbing body to sit up, confused and disoriented.

He found himself sitting not on the dirt floor of the forest, but hard stone. Around him he could see the faint outlines of stone walls, or at least, what was left of some of them. A crumbling wall lay in front of him in a gravelly pile. That had been his trajectory into this place. Lucky, because as rough as his fall had been, it had been better than colliding head on with the stone wall not three paces to his left. Above him, he saw no canopy, but only the quickly moving clouds, and even the outline of the moon beyond them. And out in the darkness of the clearing, a swarm of crows circled, but, perplexingly, did not attack.

Not feeling able to stand just then, Gunther crawled over to the crumbling wall, putting the stone slab between himself and the creature outside. After a moment, it was only pure confusion that drove him to look out at the creature again. Because, in spite of the roaring Gunther could still hear, and the clear line of sight, he still lived and breathed. As he watched them, the crows began again to coalesce into a single form, only a few feet away from him outside the structure. They swirled together and he saw again the pale mask-like face appear and then change still further. Its mouth still open in a shout, the face became more recognizably human, until Gunther was staring not at a monster but at what looked like a young man. He finished his devilish scream, and began instead to laugh.

This man wore a dark brown tunic and pants, and there was nothing that might have signaled to Gunther that he was not a human traveler. His face was angular, but not particularly pale, and nor was it particularly gaunt or menacing. There was even a little color in his cheeks, flushed from the chase. He had bright blue eyes and long blond hair, pulled into a knot at the back of his head. Only a few strands of hair were allowed to fall around his face in ringlets. And as his laughing finally subsided, Gunther could see two rows of remarkably straight, white, teeth, with canines just perhaps a little longer than they should be.

“How irritating! It is so tedious to hold those forms for conversing.” The man said loudly, clearly speaking to Gunther in his hiding place. “Suitable for the slaughter, fair enough, but do you have any idea how hard it is to use a crow’s mouth to speak?”

When the stranger spoke to Gunther, he ducked behind the wall again, too terrified to think of doing anything else.

The stranger grimaced with disdain and began to pace back and forth. “Oh, come now. I know exactly where you are. You fool yourself by pretending I don’t.”

Gunther slowly poked his head out again. The young man, appearing quite beautiful now, stood with an air of confidence. It was the air of a nobleman, and the clothing too. Gunther had seen enough of them these past few months to know. He could only stare mutely at this creature.

“You’ve evaded me by a hair’s breadth, you know.” He raised his hand in the air, seeming to wave it back and forth at no one. Nothing like the claw-talons from before, these hands were pale and smooth, and the nails were long, but well-manicured. “Some men have the Devil’s luck.”

Gunther stayed silent, and the creature seemed annoyed by the silence, so he continued. “Places like this,” He motioned towards the ruin, “are protected by a tenacious sort of magic, although based on the look on your face you have no idea what I’m talking about. The Devil’s luck indeed. Most humans can’t even sense the ancient barriers. I think Christians call it, hallowed ground?”

The nobleman eyed Gunther with a grimace as the young man took another floundering look about the place he had stumbled into. In the dim moonlight he saw an altar pushed off to the side, and remnants of a few old wooden benches strewn about.

“You c-can’t come in here?” Gunther’s exhausted voice crackled out the question.

“It’s insulting, really, that the power of these decaying things persists here. Barring me from spaces in my own territory.” The nobleman growled, and punched at the air as though an invisible force truly did obstruct him. “I could destroy them, desecrate them with a little ingenuity, no doubt. But under normal circumstances why would I bother exerting the effort?”

Gunther did not know how to answer the question. He just shook his head in disbelief at the continued ridiculousness of the situation. This beast that now looked like a man, that had just murdered his friends and chased him through the forest, was speaking to him now as plainly and as civilly as a bemused gossip.

“Not that it matters anyway. You will have to leave from there eventually. Mortals are so dependent on food and water, and the like.” He sighed and waved a dismissive hand. “And as soon as you do, I’ll be waiting.” He smiled his wide, perfect smile, and Gunther felt nauseous.

More than that however, he felt a rising anger. “You killed my friends!” He shouted at the creature. “How could you? Why would you--and what--” He felt a sob catch in his throat as he realized the words he had spoken out loud. He shook as the emotion threatened to break upon him.

His friends were dead. And the thing in front of him was the cause.

“Well aren’t you curious?” The nobleman smirked, as though enjoying the display. “I thought I was pretty clear about why, actually. Those rabbits were not yours to hunt. But between you and me, I think I can be honest with you that I really enjoy the sport of it. Humans are just rabbits to me.”

“You’re a monster!” Gunther shouted back.

“I’m no more a monster than the wolf or the lion, little rabbit. Humans till a few fields and build a few castles and forget so quickly that they’re still just prey. ”

“I’ll kill you!”

“I encourage you to try!” The nobleman took a step back and smiled widely, beckoning Gunther to run at him.

Gunther thought about standing up and using the strange barrier the creature mentioned to his advantage. He had a dagger still on his belt. If he aimed right, he thought he might be able to wound the creature. But his body was still trembling all over, and he knew he did not have the strength.

He lowered his head and sat in a deflated heap, not having any fight left.

“How disappointing.” The creature suddenly seemed very bored. “It’s no fun if you give up--”

He paused mid-taunt to look at the sky, then turned his head to look sharply behind him into the wood. Gunther raised his weary head to see what might have been happening, but he saw nothing of note in either of the directions the creature was looking.

“Damn it!” He cursed angrily, and the bottom hems of his clothing began to explode outward with the silhouettes of crows once more. “It’s always something.

“Your luck will run out, little rabbit.” He spat at the ground in front of him, into the sacred ground of the hallowed circle. The spot where the liquid landed began to sizzle and fizz, blackening the grass there. “And when it does, I will come for you. I will smell out your blood wherever you might hide and claim what’s mine!”

His eyes flashed red as his body distorted, seeming to disintegrate into the crows about him. And then he was gone. And Gunther was again alone in the forest.

***

The rain had stopped, and the clearing was a little lighter now, as the clouds began to dissipate to allow the moonlight to shine through. Gunther did not know how long he stared at the spot where the fiend had been. But he did know when his teeth began to chatter that he needed to move.

If he didn’t, the wet and the cold would surely kill him before daylight.

He stayed within the ruin itself, too afraid to stray too far from the invisible circle that had apparently saved his life. He knew that it didn’t matter that the fiend had departed. He could return at any instant. Perhaps it was even waiting in the darkness now, lying in wait for him to try to make a run for it.

Waiting to strike.

So he stayed. He forced his tired, bruising body to move about the small square space, surveying the area. In the darkness, he was able to make out that one of the walls had partially collapsed, and that large parts of the roof had fallen in and was slowly rotting away. Even so, a large enough portion of the roof remained for him to find what he had been searching for. Littering the floor of the ruin were old leaves and twigs. With unsteady fingers, he collected up the driest of the detritus, those pieces which had been sheltered from the rain by the roof, and gathered them up into a pile.

He struggled to find enough dry tinder, and so he searched around a cracked altar off to the side of the chamber. Looking in crevices where leaves might get caught. Placed upon the top of the surface of the altar, he saw in the moonlight a small, unassuming amulet. He stared at it’s simple intricacy. Made of wood and polished stones of various colors, it was covered in markings he did not recognize.

As he stared, there was a sudden surge of noise. His heart nearly stopped as he could think only of the fiend returning and the flapping of crow wings. And as he whirled about flapping wings he did indeed hear--and shrill squeaking.

Bats.

Gunther cowered as they flew above him, flying in from somewhere else and piling into the rafters above him, loud and agitated that he was in their home. He stared at them for a long moment, and then allowed himself to breathe. Better to share spare with harmless beasts than risk an encounter with a demon, he supposed, as he continued to gather up stray dry leaves.

Finally, he collapsed beside the small pile he had carefully crafted. Every movement was difficult and painful. Exhausted as he was, he knew that he needed to finish his task before he dared to rest. He needed the warmth of a fire to dry his wet clothes and warm his sore bones. From his pouch, still on his belt, he retrieved a small simple metal tinderbox. Within was some charcloth, a hard flint stone, and an iron band--a flint steel Bertrand had given him.

As sorrow threatened to intrude, he forced it away, and focused on making his weary fingers grip the tools. Again and again he struck the stone to the iron, trying to strike off the tiny sparks onto the delicately shredded and charred linen from his tinderbox. He was usually pretty adept at starting fires, but he could not feel his fingertips after everything that had happened this night.

“Please, please oh--please...” He trembled all the more and just as he began to fear he would get no fire from his tinder after all, a small spark caught onto the fabric. Almost crying with joy, he breathed upon it, teeth still chattering, with as much care as he could manage, and soon he had a small blaze.

He sat stunned by the fire for awhile, until at long last he felt able to let his guard down a little. As he warmed his fingers and toes, he listened to the crackling flames and the wind in the leaves, and heard the soft chittering of bats in the rafters. He peeled off his jacket to attempt to dry it, and to get his frigid skin closer to the open flame--almost close enough to sear off his hair. And as his body warmed, he had hoped he would feel better, but he didn’t. Not inside. He was still stuck in this clearing and that monster has still vowed to stalk him. His friends were still dead.

Gunther sobbed quietly for a time, but was so exhausted that he could, in spite of everything, feel himself beginning to have difficulty staying awake. He had begun to believe he was truly safe here, at least for the night, and so he allowed himself to doze until he realized something.

He could no longer hear the bats chittering above him.

Opening his eyes warily, he glanced up into the rafters, and saw that there were no bats there at all.

In their place, he saw the rather indistinct, black-clad form perched upon the rotting beam of wood. The edges of it seemed to shimmer in and out of existence like the fluttering of a bat’s wings. At its center, a pale, human-like face with gray-blue eyes peered down at him. Scraggly dirty hair hung down across these features, obscuring only slightly.

And curved inside a small and solemn mouth, were the edges of sharp white teeth.

And fangs.

------ This has been Part 10. For more, see my Fiction Updates ------

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This part is thematically linked to Part 1, if the reader desires a refresher!

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Fractal Scarring

[Broadway Kids]

FINALLY THIS IS FINISHED. two days to write 12,000 words? that’s so shameful :/

also i hate writing in present tense

Word count: 12,029

Prompt: “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

Tw: Abuse, waterboarding

--------------

The sound of the doorbell ringing rudely interrupts the heated kiss between Lynn and her girlfriend, Estelle. Lynn pulls back with a growl of frustration, waiting a moment before leaning into Estelle again.

“You’re not going to get that?” Estelle asks.

“No need,” Lynn says dismissively. “It’s probably just the Amazon guy.”

“What did you order this time? More sneakers? Special energy drinks?” Estelle says teasingly.

“Oh, hush,” Lynn bats at her. “Just because I’m a coach doesn’t mean everything revolves around sports. You, for example.” And then she leans in again, locking her lips with Estelle’s and falling back into the warm, buzzing trance of kissing.

And then the doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again, until it was going off every second in a rapid fire cacophony of chiming.

“Persistent Amazon guy,” Estelle observes.

“Oh my god!!” Lynn yells. She rips off the blankets, nearly exposing her girlfriend’s own naked body in the process, snatches her robe from the bathroom door (although she had considered flashing the solicitors to scare them off), and marches to the front door. There was a glass window at the very top, but was too high to see who it was, so she had no idea who was ruining her time with her girlfriend until she yanks open the door with force.

“Sue?!”

Her student blinks at her from the stoop, trying very hard to not look at the white robe she was swathed in and put the pieces together. The way she clears her throat and then proceeds to say absolutely nothing didn’t help the situation be any less awkward, either. A halo of raindrops from the drizzle falling from the grey-blue sky twinkles on the crown of her head like dozens of silver spider eyes that seemed to stare straight through Lynn’s fluffy covering.

“What-” Lynn finds her voice, although it came out tight and strangled from embarrassment for a moment. “What are you DOING here?! How do you know where I LIVE?!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, Sue says, “Chris knows a guy.”

THAT Lynn didn’t doubt. She wonders if this “guy” was Billy Nolan or her father tracking her or someone else entirely. Feeling like there were several more eyes on her, Lynn shifts uncomfortably and pulls the laces around her stomach even tighter.

“Why are you here?” She demands with her Coach Voice. It made Sue jump, but then she realized that it wasn’t in fear like she was hoping, but some sort of jolt of remembrance.

“Oh! Right!” Sue looks over her shoulder. Dismayed, Lynn saw that Tommy was there, too, but he was halfway hunched in his Jeep, fumbling with something. “Miss Gardener, you are the most trusted adult we know. Something happened- something really bad, and we need you.”

Usually, Lynn would instantly mount the problem that one of her students was facing and bring it down, but right now, she really rather be mounting something else and be brought down on a bed, so this was not her top priority at the moment. If none of her loved ones were dead, then she really didn’t want to hear it.

“What about your PARENTS?” Lynn says, shooing Sue backwards. “Go to them!”

“No, Miss Gardener, you don’t understand!” Sue cries. “It’s Carrie!”

Lynn froze.

And, at that moment, Tommy pulled out a bloody, beaten Carrie out of the backseat of the Jeep and into sight.

“Bring her inside.” Lynn says without a shred of resistance. “Sue. Tell me everything.”

------

“How do I look?” Tommy asked. “Good? Good enough? Christian-like?”

Sue giggled. “You look great, you dork. There’s no need to worry. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It absolutely IS a big deal!” Tommy squawked.

It really was, Sue had to admit. It was the first time Carrie White was EVER having people over at her house.

She said she had begged her mother for hours, swearing up and down that she would be the best daughter and never ever complain ever again if she could have her friends over, and her mother had finally relented. So, now Tommy and Sue were parked outside a cottage as old as time itself. It’s swathed by tendrils of ivy climbing their way towards the roof that was missing several shingles and splotched with patches of emerald green moss. The weathered wood is a chalk color, paint peeling and flaking off, and black peppering along its breast. The windows are tinted a deep brown and covered up by drapes, many of them cracked. The yard was a sea of weeds and the walkway leading up to the house was lined with deceased trees; their ebony branches bore no leaves. The very age of the cottage is shown in its deterioration.

This was no place for any child to be raised.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The street was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the gentle rumble of the Jeep’s engine. Black tires trampled over the dead blades scattered on the edge of the poorly-kept street, the crunching of their filaments like bones beneath a hammer. A flurry of brown leaves swept across the windshield.

The couple slid out of Tommy’s car after Tommy checked his neatly-combed hair for the tenth time. He was acting like he did the day he met Sue’s parents for the first time in junior year, which was actually quite polite of him to do so. He was taking this very seriously.

Above, the sky was awash with low churning clouds. Towering trees with ebony branches reached down far, almost blocking the way. Their naked twigs grabbed like fingers, clawing at their faces as they trekked up the driveway. The brittle limbs snapped and fell as kindling onto the ground when brushed away. They too cracked beneath footfalls as Sue and Tommy made their way up to the stoop, across the cracked sidewalk and through reaching snarls of weeds sprouting from the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath their weight, and for a split second they feared it might cave in, but the old wood held together firmly despite its age. Tommy knocked on the door; there were cracks inside the frame and the hinges were green. It looked like it would fall over if the curved door knob was yanked too hard.

There was a shuffling sound from inside and the tumblers of a locking mechanism fell away with a grinding crack. When the front door was pulled open, the hinges protested with a deafening creak, sounding as though the rotten wood was splintering even as the heavy door scraped along the floor. Carrie peered out at them like a lime green macaw in a tunnel of darkness in the overalls she was wearing, beaming.

“Hello!” She greeted eagerly. “Come in!”

They stepped inside and entered a world that reeked of religion.

Wall-to-wall there were crosses ranging in various sizes and made of many different materials. There were wooden crosses, metal crosses, crosses made of twigs twisted together and crosses created from woven tangles of barbed wire. Among them were pictures of Bible scenes, like The Last Supper and Noah’s Ark and Jesus doing something with a staff and water- or was that Moses? Sue wasn’t very up to speed on Christianity, so she didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the bearded dude was definitely doing /something/ with water.

Aside from the paintings and crosses and some candles, there didn’t appear to be any other decorations. No photos of Carrie as a little girl, no potted plants, no big wooden letters spelling out “WHITE” on the wall- there were only religious adornments.

Carrie led Tommy and Sue through the cramped front room, passing a closet door and a small circular table with a single red candle on it, and into the living room. The smell of baking bread wafted strongly in this room, flowing from the nearby kitchen. A large crucifix was poised menacingly over the ancient fireplace mantle, Jesus’s face frozen in a permanent expression of agony. Each rivulet of blood, every cut opened up on his skull from the Crown of Thorns held so much detail that it almost looked like a real person nailed to the giant wooden cross instead of just precisely carved plastic.

There’s no TV, not that either Sue or Tommy were surprised, so the scuffed, fraying leather sofa taking up a large space in the room was just sitting in front of the fireplace with only a grotesque crucifix to watch. The coffee table in front of it held a Bible that looked like it would crumble into dust if picked up and a well kept nativity set of baby Jesus’s birth. It was probably the nicest thing in the living room, maybe even the entire house, with all the animals shined to perfection and the humans not bearing a single scratch upon their porcelain flesh. There was also a washed out velvet lounge chair with intricate golden designs across the fabric, where a woman sat sewing an article of clothing and watching the new arrivals intently.

Mrs. White was as mangy as her daughter, but not quite as filled out as Carrie was. She was thin and bony, with sunken facial features and spindly fingers like the hands of a skeleton. Tangles of chocolate brown hair were tied up in a messy ponytail, revealing her pale, narrow neck to the light of the several lit candles around the house, and Sue and Tommy both concluded that Carrie must have gotten most of her features from her father because she looked nothing like this banshee of a woman dressed in a grey-blue gown sitting before them. The only noticeable thing they had in common were their brown eyes, which were so dark they were nearly black. Mrs. White’s were piercing, yet tired and haunted, and she was looking at Tommy and Sue like she already hated them.

This woman had done terrible things that tormented her, Sue could tell.

------

“That definitely sounds like Margaret.”

Sue and Tommy’s head whip around, but Lynn’s whips faster. She stares at her girlfriend, fully dressed, standing in the hallway spitting out into the rest of the house from the master bedroom. Her blonde hair is combed neatly, leaving no evidence of...things...having been going on. Her grey eyes are troubled.

“You know Margaret White?” Sue asks.

“Who are you?” Tommy says at the same time.

“Estelle Horan,” Estelle answers the nosy teenagers. “And, yes, I knew her.”

She strides across the floor and into the living room. Carrie is lying on one of the couches, expression pinched even in unconsciousness. Sweat is beaded on her forehead and she breathes raggedly.

“How do you know her?” Sue prods further.

Estelle looks at her, then says, “I was their neighbor.”

A beat of silence passes. A pin dropping would be the loudest sound in the room. And then-

“WHAT?” Lynn yelps.

Estelle gives her an amused look. “Did I never tell you?”

“No!”

“Oh.” Estelle shrugs. “There wasn’t ever a good time to bring it up. And I’ve tried to put it out of my mind…” She trails off, a haunted expression flickering in her eyes, like something had shaken her. She looks at Carrie’s frail, bruised body and frowns. “I--never thought she would live this long.”

Lynn gets a terrified look on her face. She didn’t exactly like showing so much fear and weakness around her students, but she couldn’t help it. There’s no way Carrie’s life was as bad as everyone was making it out to be. There’s no way she had suffered so much for so long and she hadn’t done anything to help her.

“What-- what do you mean?” Tommy asks softly. His expression is a mix of horror and rage and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

Estelle reaches out and gently touches Carrie’s head. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew of Carrie’s treatment. But nobody did anything. And then, one day when I was seventeen, Carrie came up to me while I was tanning. She was five? Maybe six? Anyway, she-” She laughs, “-she pointed to my breasts and asked me what they were. I told her and she said she wished she had some and then said how good girls wouldn’t. She said that her mother was ‘bad when she made her.’ Margaret called them ‘dirty pillows’ or something stupid.”

Tommy snorts. Sue elbows him lightly. Estelle shoots him a quick, agreeing smile, then continues.

“Then her mother came out and snapped at her to come back inside. Margaret called me a whore, I called her a cow- I was a very mature and polite seventeen year old.” Estelle chuckles. Her expression soon darkens, however. “I could hear--her screams--from inside the house. After Margaret dragged her back in. Carrie started screaming and crying so loud that I could hear them from outside. Everyone started coming out, but--” She sighs, looking ashamed. “--we didn’t help. Not after the meteor shower. We all ran.”

“Wait-” Sue says. “Did you say ‘meteor shower’?”

“Yeah,” Estelle says. “These rocks just started falling from the sky, but they only hit the White’s house for some reason. It was so weird.”

Tommy and Sue exchange looks.

“Carrie mentioned something about stones…” Tommy says.

Estelle furrows her eyebrows. Lynn kneels down next to her and takes one of her hands, not caring about secrecy around her students anymore.

“Sue,” She says to the girl, “continue the story. What happened next?”

------

“Mama,” Carrie said, and the sound of her voice startled both Sue and Tommy. They don’t know why they had assumed Carrie would sign at home; her mother didn’t exactly seem like the type to put up with sign language. “These are my friends! Tommy and Sue!” She beamed at them both, radiating with pride. Her voice was so sweet and youthful.

“Hmm,” Mrs. White merely said. Her hands are still working a needle and thread through the pale purple fabric, and Sue can see muscles rippling beneath the skin.

Tommy stepped forward first, gathering his shoulders up into a straightened position and marching smoothly across the room. Carrie skittered after him and stood beside one side of the chair, and then Sue followed.

“Tommy Ross,” Tommy extended a hand and flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. White looked at Tommy’s hand with visible disgust, but she shook it firmly when Carrie nudged her arm. She did the same with Sue, but with less reluctance. Sue guessed that she probably had something against men, which was something she never had a problem with, there were MANY reasons to hate men, but this woman looked like she wanted to chop off the penis of every male in existence and violently choke them with it.

Or, perhaps, do something even worse.

“It’s nice to meet you both, too,” Mrs. White finally said in a voice that could crack an iceberg in two. She sized Tommy and Sue up silently, sneering at Sue’s skirt, which barely reached her knees, but didn’t comment about it. “It’s so...wonderful...to see my precious angel with people she can trust.” She lifted a hand and Carrie eagerly ducked her head beneath it. It was quite cute to see her blissfully get affection, but Sue got a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach when she noticed that the action made Carrie look like a trained dog. And Mrs. White was her owner.

“Carrie is a lot of fun to have around,” Tommy said, and Carrie grinned brightly at him. “Your daughter is amazing!”

“Hmm,” Mrs. White said again. She looked at Carrie and a smile tugged on her lips. “She is, isn’t she?” She patted Carrie’s cheek. “Run along, my darling. Go play.”

Carrie nodded and her face scrunched up adorably with giddiness when she got a kiss on the forehead. She jumped up a moment later, darting past Tommy and Sue and to the staircase. She waved to them to follow her eagerly, grinning her head off and doing a little dance on the first step.

“We’re coming, we’re coming!” Sue laughed as she and Tommy walked over. “Calm down!”

They ascended the stairs, and Sue could feel Margaret’s burning gaze scorch holes into her back with every step she took.

The first thing Sue and Tommy noticed upon entering the bedroom were the bars over the window.

Carrie’s room was plain. Plain cream walls, plain scuffed hardwood floor, plain white bed sheets and blankets (no pillow, as she had once mentioned before). There was a nightstand next to her bed with a lamp and a small Bible on it and a splintering bookshelf with very few books set up neatly. A chest at the end of the bed had ribbons of colorful fabric overflowing from the closed lid and a desk had a current sewing project spread out over its surface. A small table in the corner held a few old stuffed animals stacked neatly in a fuzzy pyramid.

“Welcome,” Carrie signed with a grand gesture with outstretched arms. She spun around once, looking around her room, then centered to Tommy and Sue again with a sheepish expression. “I--don’t know what to do now.”

Sue tilted her head, not understanding her hand movements, and Tommy translated. It made her pause in thought- what WAS there to do at Carrie’s house? There was no TV to watch movies on or teach her how to play video games like Tommy usually did. The place was actually quite...boring. Sue couldn’t bear to live in such a bare place.

“Sorry…” Carrie lowered her head in shame.

“Hey, no, it’s okay!” Tommy said quickly. “No worries!”

Sue looked around, trying to find something that would hopefully ease Carrie’s tension. She spotted the piece of fabric on the desk, which was a plum color with frills along the breast. She nodded at it.

“That’s pretty.” She said.

“Oh!” Carrie skittered over to it. “Thank you. It’s not finished yet, but it’s going to be a dress!”

Tommy translated her signs and Sue smiled. “Do you make all your clothes?”

“Most of them,” Carrie nodded.

“That’s so cool!” Sue said.

Carrie blushed. “Thank you.” She lightly brushed her project. “I can--teach you how to. If you want.”

------

“And then we started sewing,” Sue says. She stares into the cup of water Lynn had gotten for her with a deeply troubled look.

“I made a scarf.” Tommy states in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“It was supposed to be a sweater.” Sue manages a giggle, although it was tight and slightly strangled.

Lynn wants to smile, she really does, but as she is pressing a wet rag to a welt on her young student’s stomach, watching blood seep into the white fabric, such an action feels impossible.

If Carrie had looked worrisome when Lynn first saw her, then the removal of most of her clothes has only increased that concern tenfold. The few injuries that had been visible when she first got there were bad enough, but the skin on her torso and back were splattered with impossibly dark colors that were split open in the center of each mark, like she had been beaten with a thin object. Cuts and scrapes marred her tanned skin, which was now horribly pale.

Carrie is stripped down to the black shorts and white tank top she had been wearing underneath her green overalls, which were stained in her blood (not that it was much of a loss- those things were hideous). Her face is tight with pain and all her muscles were tense as if she wanted to run, but couldn’t. Each breath she took came out shallow and ragged.

There’s too many wounds. There’s too many injuries on her little body. She isn’t going to live. Carrie will die.

A touch on her shoulder brought Lynn out of her morbid thoughts. She looks up to see Estelle, still kneeling next to her, a worried, but “I’m here for you” look on her face. She leans against her and a sick feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Her mind is a jumbled mess, a tornado of disconnected thoughts and overwhelming stress.

Sue takes a deep breath and all eyes turn to her again. She pries her gaze away from her cup, rests her head against Tommy’s shoulder for support, and begins the story again.

------

“WHAT is THAT?” Carrie signed.

“IT is a SCARF!” Tommy declared defensively, holding the long piece of red wool fabric as if it were a live snake. “And it’s very stylish!” He flicked it around his neck and lifted his nose in a very haughty, pompous manner. Carrie flopped backwards, giggling and kicking her legs in the air. Tommy looked delighted at her reaction.

“I thought we were making sweaters…” Sue said, blinking down at the misshapen purple blob in her hands. Carrie giggled louder.

She giggled and giggled, such a pleasant, relieving sound.

And then the bedroom door opened.

And a thunderous voice that could shatter a glacier spoke up.

“What is going on in here?”

Tommy, Sue, and Carrie all jumped and twisted around to see Mrs. White slithering inside, growing bigger and more menacing with every step she took. Tommy and Sue both straightened up, trying to look like model guests, while Carrie scrambled up off of her back and to her feet. She was still beaming, however.

“Hello, Mama,” She greeted sweetly. “I was just teaching Tommy and Sue how to sew! They’re not very good.”

“I made a scarf,” Tommy said, holding up the droopy ends of his silly creation for Mrs. White to see. She looked at it as if it were the serpent that had bewitched Eve. “Also, oi! Rude!” He poked Carrie in the leg, then glanced up at Mrs. White again, like he was saying, Look at how good I am with your daughter! Look at how nice I am to her! Please like me!

“Hmm.” Mrs. White merely said. She looked very suspicious of all three of them, even her own daughter. She looked around the room like she was searching for a shred of impurity that would give her a reason to throw Tommy and Sue out. This process, however, was halted when Carrie hopped forward and latched onto her arm.

“Mama, I finished the dress,” She said. She bumped her head against her mother’s shoulder and smiled up at her.

She really does love her mom. Sue thought. But does Mrs. White love her back?

“Did you?” Mrs. White said, half distracted. She was trying to not take her eyes off of the guests, Tommy the most in particular.

“Mhm!” Carrie ran and grabbed the dress she had finished while she was giving the sewing lessons. She presented it to Mrs. White proudly. “See?”

Mrs. White delicately ran her bony fingers along the stitching and frills. Then, she looked up and smiled at Carrie. “Very good, darling.”

That smile flickered away, however, when she looked back to her daughter’s friends. She frowned at Sue, who was rigid next to Tommy. She wasn’t trying to suck up to her like he was.

“You.” She said. “What are you making?”

“Oh, uh--” Sue looked down at the malformed, barely-sewn sweater flopped pathetically in her hands. “A-a sweater.” She wanted to kick herself for stammering. Why was she so nervous around this lady? “I think?”

“My scarf is better.” Tommy muttered, then flashed a smile at Mrs. White. She blinked at him slowly. Even she was curious about his adamant attempt to get on her good side.

Mrs. White sniffed. The edges of her eyes crinkled in distaste. “Maybe you should try lengthening that skirt. You’ll be burning in hell in no time looking like that.”

Sue stiffened. She suddenly felt like her clothes were paper thin--or maybe not even there at all. Mrs. White was staring at her like she had just finished having sex with every man in the entire world and was currently dripping semen all over her floor. Sue struggled not to squirm as silence descended upon the room.

At her side, Tommy’s mouth was half open in shock that an adult would talk to a kid, especially a guest in their house, like that. He kept looking from Sue, to Mrs. White, and then back to Sue, conflicted on whether he should defend his girlfriend and risk Mrs. White hating him even more or not say anything and have Sue possibly hate him (but she wouldn’t hate him. if it were him essentially being called a man slut, she would probably be too scared to say anything, too).

Mrs. White was stood up straight and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smirk. She may be thin and ragged, but she was alight with disgust, like a flame that would never go out. Beside her, Carrie was rigid, but didn’t seem very surprised by her mother’s comment. Her head was lowered, dark eyes flitting towards Sue with an apologetic look. And then, she moved, slotting herself between Sue and Mrs. White.

“Mama, Sue is the nicest girl I know.” She said, and Sue felt a flutter of guilt inside her stomach. At one point, she had participated in all the teasing Carrie got. She had been in on schemes to humiliate her and had looked at her like she was the most awful creature to ever walk the earth, and Carrie knew this, she had known it, and yet she still defended her. “If she doesn’t go to heaven, then heaven is wrong.”

Crack, went something in Mrs. White’s head.

Carrie noticed it first, the way her mother’s twisted expression twitched and rippled on her face like a melting wax mask, the way a diseased light flickered behind her eyes, the way her nostrils flared with a silent breath, and then Sue and Tommy followed. They could see it now, too, how Mrs. White still had the same look on her face as she had when she insulted Sue, but just slightly lopsided. It was like a wrinkled photograph cut from a magazine or a blurry movie still. There was something awful swimming behind those beetle-black eyes, and Carrie had accidentally awakened it.

Sue wondered for a fleeting second if she were infected with the same parasite as her mother.

Carrie was very tense, so much so that Sue could see the muscles in her neck bunching up and popping out painfully. Her knees were shaking and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face slowly. Sue and Tommy had both seen her scared before, but this was nothing like the fear that came from bullying at school or being called on in class or getting humiliated somehow.

Carrie looked terrified. Genuinely terrified. Like she thought she was going to die.

“Carrie.” Mrs. White said calmly, but they all still shivered. The weight of the fury in that one simple word--Sue hoped she would never have to hear anyone say her name like that. She might as well have called her daughter ‘Disappointment.’ “Dear. Come here.”

But Carrie didn’t move. Her breathing starts to become more ragged.

��No, mama,” She whispered, and Sue had never heard so much fear in her voice before.

Twitch, went something on Mrs. White’s expression.

“M-my friends--” Carrie went on shakily, trying to give a good reason for her to talk back. “Th-they’re here. C-can’t we wait…” But her words trailed off into meaninglessness when she met her mother’s sharp gaze and she fell into helpless silence.

Mrs. White stretched her neck to the left and there was a series of pops that reverberated around the room. She seemed to be swelling up like a venomous snake.

“Hey--” Tommy leapt to his feet, the tail of his sweater-scarf wagging lazily in front of him. “It’s not Carrie’s fault. She was just being a good friend.”

Mrs. White snapped her smoldering gaze over to Tommy, and that was enough to send him slamming right back to the floor in a rigid sitting position. Sue had never seen him obey so much like a trained dog before. It was horrifying how much this single woman could strike so much terror into all of them.

“Carietta Nancy White.” Mrs. White hissed, her voice dripping with icicles. “I will not tell you again.”

She knows she could just grab Carrie. Sue realized with a twist in her stomach. She wants the satisfaction of Carrie obeying her.

Carrie moved slowly, dragging her feet as if they were weighed down by chains, head bowed in a submissive way. The moment she was in reach, Mrs. White snatched her by the forearm and dug her nails in so deep tiny jewels of blood bubbled up around her fingers. Tommy twitched at Sue’s side, like he wanted to jump up and tackle Mrs. White, but his nerves were holding him back.

“I’m sorry…” Carrie whispered, although Sue doesn’t know if it’s directed to her and Tommy or to her mother. She’s briskly guided out of the room a moment later, so fast that she actually clipped her forehead on the doorframe, but Mrs. White doesn’t stop to let her recover. Their footsteps shuffle and stomp down the hallway, down the steps, and then disappear downstairs.

Silence.

Sue and Tommy waited for yelling, crashing, banging, fighting to break out, but there was nothing. They could only hear the distant sound of Mrs. White’s voice, but neither of them dared to move to listen closer. They just sat there in Carrie’s room, surrounded by scraps of colorful fabric and sewing needles, not speaking a word.

Mrs. White came to get them five minutes later. Her eyes were filled with disgust and hatred and her mouth was twisted in a sneer.

“Get out.” Was all she said in a voice filled with malice.

Sue and Tommy leapt to their feet and scampered out of the house with metaphorical tails tucked between their legs as fast they could. Mrs. White followed close behind them, like the devil on their heels, until they were out on the stoop. She slammed the door so hard Sue was surprised the entire house didn’t come crumbling down and they heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Silence.

“That...was eventful.” Sue said.

Tommy doesn’t answer. He just began to pace up and down the front walkway, crunching gravel and pebbles underneath his shoes.

“Tommy?”

“We have to do something.” Tommy blurted.

Surprised, Sue said, “What?”

“We can’t just leave her in there!” Tommy said, then quickly quieted his voice. He looked around. “We have to save her.”

Sue knew they had to, even if the thought scared her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep that night knowing Carrie was probably thrashed for the skirt her friend had been wearing.

The two of them wait a moment, then sneak around the side of the house, romping through overgrown weeds and grass and knowing full well that they’ll get hell rained upon them if they’re caught. Tommy peeked in through a back window with a crack in it and saw the fleeting figure of Margaret ascending the staircase, giving him and Sue a chance to slip in through the back door and re-enter the house.

Being inside that place felt wrong, like they were intruding on sacred grounds. But the house was anything but sacred, especially with the muffled sniffles echoing from somewhere they couldn’t see.

Sue and Tommy ducked into a small closet that was cluttered with moth-eaten blankets and boxes. They were at the end of the main downstairs hallway and it was dark enough for them to crack open the door and peek out without being seen. There, they waited, peering out of the barely-open door. Sue’s back was just starting to hurt from hunching over when footsteps stomped down the staircase. She and Tommy watched as Mrs. White unlocked what they thought had just been a coat closet, reached in, and pulled Carrie out.

“I’m sorry, Mama!” Carrie blurted instantly, as submissive as always.

Mrs. White answered in a low rumbling noise. She dragged Carrie into the den and out of sight.

“Mama, please talk to me.” Sue and Tommy heard Carrie beg. “Please, I’m sorry! I just-- they’re my friends and I don’t like when people are mean to them. I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

Mrs. White snorted. “Friends.” She repeated the word as if it were a curse. “They aren’t your friends.”

“They are!” Carrie said. “They are, Mama! And they’re really nice, too, you’ll see!”

Mrs. White huffed out a breath and Sue thought she may be shaking her head. “Nobody is friends with you, Carrie. You don’t have friends. You know why.”

Sue winced. That felt like it was needlessly cruel to the poor girl.

“No, Mama,” Carrie said, this time much softer.

“If I told them what you are--what you can do, they’ll run for the hills. Or worse: they’d lock you up and use your gifts. But me? I’ve always accepted and loved you the way you are, my sweet girl.” Mrs. White crooned. “You’re different, Carrie. And you know people love to destroy what is not like them.”

“I don’t have to be,” Carrie said. “Tommy says I can be whoever I want!”

“Oh. That BOY.” Mrs. White said with great disgust. “You know how boys are, Carrie. Do I need to remind you of your father?”

“No, Mama.” Carrie replied with a shudder in her voice.

Sue and Tommy exchanged looks. They had both wondered on their own about Carrie’s father, but neither ever brought it up to her. By the sound of it, whatever happened to him wasn’t very good.

“They’re good, Mama,” Carrie was saying when focus was brought back to the conversation. “I promise! I’m sorry for talking back, but Tommy and Sue are good people!”

“They’ve entranced you,” Mrs. White said, not even listening to her daughters. “They are imps sent from the devil!”

“No, Mama!” There’s a rustle of fabric and the scuffing of feet against the floor- Carrie must have been standing up. “They aren’t! Don’t you dare say that about them! They’re not imps, YOU are!”

The sound of a hand smashing against flesh filled the house; Carrie’s body fell backwards into sight on her stomach. She’s frozen in shock for a moment before pushing herself up on her hands. A second later, one of her legs was grappled and she was dragged backwards into the den, screaming and clawing helplessly at the floor.

It was like a scene ripped straight out of a horror movie.

“Mama, stop! Stop it, Mama! I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to repent, you vile little beast--”

Another slap reverberated through the house, followed by a sharp yelp reminiscent of a puppy getting its foot stepped on.

“Mama! Mama, no! Please, no! I’m sorry!”

“You must be washed clean of the filth they put on you.”

There’s the sound of fabric scraping against the floor that traveled into the kitchen. A clatter of a body being thrown into a chair echoed from that room, followed by a stern, “Stay.”

“Mama, please,” Carrie pleaded. “I don’t want to, Mama, I don’t want to be cleaned--”

Sue heard the sink running in the kitchen. What was going on?

A hand yanked her head backwards by the hair. Water hit the over her face cloth- small drips and then a heavy torrent. It flooded into her nose. She instinctively opened her mouth to gasp for a breath, and the water poured in. Her heart was racing, and her whole body was frozen. She could feel the freezing water trickling down her throat. She tried to toss her head to escape the torrent, but she couldn't even twitch. The only part of her that was moving was her chest as her body fought frantically to cough, to escape, to breathe, to survive.

“Don’t like that, do you?” Mama’s voice was crowing as she lifted the cloth. She smirked at the way her daughter gasped for air, taking in quick, rapid breaths to soothe her lungs. “No, you don’t.” She felt her shake her hand beneath her hand. “Admit it, my darling. Admit that that boy and girl are sent from the devil and dirtied you. Admit it and it will end.”

Desperate to retain at least a shred of her dignity, Carrie said, “No.”

The cloth drops back down over her face with a wet plop.

She felt the moment the water hit her lungs this time around- there was a lot more poured over her. There was a sickening chill, so at odds with the burning pain. And then her arms and legs were tugging against the ropes as sheer panic enveloped her. She wasn't thinking of twisting her wrists to try to free them; her arms moved of their own accord, tearing the skin. She wasn't thinking of kicking out with all her strength; her legs jerked and tugged against the restraints, wrenching their own muscles. She wasn't thinking of trying to get away from whatever was pinning her down; her body writhed and shifted as panic and fear pulsed through it.

When Mama lifted the cloth again, water was spit up from Carrie’s lips. She lowered it, not giving her much room to breathe. She whined sharply, pathetically when she just inhaled a wet rag.

“Please, please, Mama...” Carrie begged through breathless sobs.

“Tell me the truth. Admit it. You know you want to. You want to damn their souls to hell for cursing you.”

“No, Mama, I don’t--”

Carrie cut herself off with a horrid gag and water rushed down her throat, choking her.

Dying. Dying. Dying. She could feel it. Her very bones were vibrating with the knowledge that she couldn't survive. That oxygen, held away from her by nothing more than a piece of fabric, was still too far away for her to reach. That every frantic heave of her chest was drawing the water further and further down, pulling in more and more liquid.

Every fiber of her being wanted to fight, was trying to fight, but it wasn't a fight she could win. There was nothing she could do.

Unless…

“I--”

Carrie’s squeal ended in an intense dry heave that twisted her stomach so badly she began to feel nauseous. Her head spun and the crying was adding to the extreme pain that infected her chest and abdomen.

“Mama--”

A whimper, a whine, a keen of helplessness as Carrie’s limbs began to go limp.

“I do!”

The bowl clattered to the ground. Mama removed the rag from her face, stared deep into her teary eyes.

“What was that?”

“I--” A weak sob shook Carrie, “I do. I do want to send them to hell. They made me dirty.”

She thought she’s having to lie to get out alive, but her mind is too fuzzy to know for sure... Maybe she does want them to burn for all eternity in hell.

“You do?”

“Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama.” Carrie bobbed her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry. I should have listened.”

Mama knelt down beside her and began wiping her face off with a dry cloth. When fresh tears streamed from her eyes, she gently dabbed them away. Carrie couldn’t help but press into his touch.

“Is this the truth, Carietta? Are you really sorry?”

“Yes, Mama,” Carrie said with a sob. “Yes, yes, I am. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“Good girl,” Mama crooned, continuing to dry off her face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, I’m glad you know to tell the truth, but that doesn’t change what you did.”

Ice cold fear shot through Carrie’s veins.

“I took your gun.” She was desperate now.

“You still have to be punished, little jade.”

She lets out a whimper.

“You know what you did.”

The dry cloth is put over her face.

Water sloshed above her.

She wanted to say she was sorry. She was sorry. She was so sorry. She wanted to be a good, obedient daughter. She wanted to make Mama happy. She wanted her to be proud.

Drip-drip-drip

The cloth soaked up the water, slowly this time, to drag out her punishment. Carrie took a shuddering breath of air, fills her lungs as far as they can go, fills them so full she feels like they’re going to burst.

Mama’s voice echoed.

You need to be punished

The water soaked the cloth. The cloth clung to Carrie’s nose as she inhaled, clung when she exhaled, and the panic exploded in her chest. Water slid down her throat, over her neck and into her hair, over her shoulders. So cold it burns.

She’s drowning. She’s dying. She’s suffocating.

Screaming.

Her throat hurts. There’s no air in her mouth, in her lungs. She can feel the water trickling into her nose. Can’t breathe. No air. No air. No air.

The ropes on her arms loosen and then are gone. She wanted to die. She can’t breathe past the panic in her chest. She was shaking. She was dying. She wanted it to end.

Oh god, please keep pouring. Please. Please. Please. You can kill me right now.

But then the faces of Tommy and Sue and Miss Gardener flash in her head and she thought, Do I really want to die?

Sue and Tommy didn’t think anything could get worse than Mrs. White waterboarding her own child, but then she raised a wicked-looking switch when Carrie lurched out of the chair she had been punished in. She coughed violently and slipped in the water coating the kitchen floor, falling to her hands and knees, but jolted forward as the switch swung down at her. It just barely missed her left leg.

“I’ll thrash the devil out of you!!” Mrs. White screeched.

Carrie catapulted herself over the dining room table to get away from her and her switch. Sue and Tommy watched as she clambered over the top, scattering porcelain plates and cups, before tipping over in a very ungraceful landing. After hitting the ground, she scrambled up again to flee, but her mother was already upon her.

“Ma--!!”

Before she could get the word completely out, the switch connected with her back with a horrible CRACK.

Carrie doesn’t scream, but she does whine sharply at the burning sensation that had to be blazing through her shoulder blades, even with her shirt on. She scampered around like a mouse below Mrs. White, as she had easily been sent to her knees by the blow. She’s fidgeting and fumbling, trying to speak up without sounding pained, as that would make her seem even weaker.

“Mama, please, I--”

Another lash streaked across her lower back and Carrie gritted her teeth through the pain. Her fingernails claw and catch into the floorboards, but she would have much preferred splinters uprooting her nails than this beating.

“Worthless girl! When will you learn to obey me?!” Mrs. White roared overhead before cracking the switch against her daughter’s waist.

Carrie’s arms gave in and she toppled over onto her side. She squirmed helplessly, pushing her heels against the ground in an attempt to get away, mouth agape as she watched Mrs. White raised her arm yet again.

“Mama--”

This time, Carrie does scream.

She does scream because the switch lashed right across her belly. Her head threw itself backwards, knocking her skull against the floorboards, but it’s not enough to lessen the searing sensation burning itself through her midsection. For a moment, she can only choke and cry out, but then the incomprehensible wail turns into words.

“MOMMY, STOP IT!! PLEASE, MOMMY, STOP!!!”

But Mrs. White doesn’t stop. She just kept on lashing her daughter until blood is soaking through green overalls and Carrie is a shuddering, whimpering ball at her feet. Even then, she does not stop.

Not until a voice cried out.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!!” Tommy barreled out into the den, absolutely fuming and seeing red. It surprised Sue, who had been recording the abuse on her phone in shocked silence. She followed after him quickly.

“Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” Tommy warned. His fingers were clenched and shaking, teeth bared, eyes alight with rage.

“Tommy,” Carrie coughed out weakly.

Tommy looked down at Carrie and his eyes softened instantly. He looked anguished about how he wasn’t able to go to her, not with Mrs. White poising the switch over her back.

“I’m here, Caz,” He murmured. “I’m here.”

Carrie made a feeble whimpering sound. She tried to look up at him, blinking through tears and water and sweat and blood, but she was exhausted from the beating and her head flopped uselessly to the ground. She panted heavily, trying to curl away from her mother.

“I thought I threw you both out.” Mrs. White said.

“We would never leave Carrie.” Tommy said. “Not so devilish now, huh?”

Mrs. White snorted. “You think this proves anything? I know what you people are like.”

“I got what you did on video,” Sue said, holding up her phone. “Just so you know.”

Mrs. White laughed an awful laugh. “Oh, you empty-headed whore,” She cackled. “You think evidence is going to change anything? Everyone in the neighborhood, new and old, have heard Carrie’s cries for years and they have never done anything. Not even when police are called. Nothing is ever done, and you want to know why?” She smirked wickedly. “It’s because nobody cares.”

Sue felt a sinking feeling of dread. Would really nothing be done to save Carrie even with video evidence?

“I care.” Tommy said. “Sue cares. So does Miss Gardener.”

------

“I do,” Lynn murmurs, gently touching one of Carrie’s hands. Tommy and Sue both give her tight smiles, then Sue continues telling the story.

------

Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “No you don’t! You’re lying!” She nudged Carrie with her foot and Carrie moaned weakly in response. Her daughter rolled over slightly, blood squelching beneath her, and gave her her full attention, even after being beaten to a bloody pulp. “I’m the only one who cares about you. No one will ever love you except me. You’ll always be a monster to everyone else.”

Sue shivered. It sounded like some kind of chant or curse, like something Mrs. White had repeated this to Carrie several times before.

Carrie whimpered. She craned her neck slowly, wincing in pain, and looked at Sue and Tommy desperately. Mrs. White nudged her again, prodding her foot against one of the cuts along her lower back and making her look back at her.

“She’s not a monster.” Sue spoke up, glaring at Mrs. White.

Mrs. White barked a laugh. She looked down at Carrie quivering beneath her. “Is that what you’ve made them think? That you’re just some shy, innocent little mouse?” She laughed again and turned her blistering gaze back to Tommy and Sue. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into, children.”

What did she do? Sue thought. What has Carrie done to make her own mother call her a monster?

And will she do the same thing to us?

“Don’t you DARE talk about Carrie like that!” Tommy growled. “You have no right!”

“I have every right,” Mrs. White said airily. “I am her mother.” She spread her arms in a grand gesture. Droplets of sparkling red blood twinkle on the edges of the switch she was still holding. “And I am just trying to cleanse the little devil he put inside of me.”

A tense silence descended upon the den, only broken by Carrie’s soft gasps and sniffles.

“Who?” Sue asked quietly, reluctantly.

Mrs. White began to pace around the room, swinging the switch at her side and sending blood flying through the air in glittering crimson arcs. “I didn’t want him to put it in me. I tried to fight him.” She said.

“Mama, please don’t,” Carrie begged weakly. She covered her ears and curled up tighter.

“But he didn’t listen.” Mrs. White hissed, ignoring her daughter’s pleas. “He made me enjoy it. Satan gave him sin and, in return, he put a devil child inside of me.”

Oh. Sue realized with a jolt. She was raped.

Mrs. White shook her head. “I don’t hate Carrie. Far from it. If I did, she would be long dead.” She looked down at her daughter with a strange look in her eyes. “I just...have to cleanse her. Remove all her sin.” She tilted her head like Carrie was a new plastic body to decorate the crucifixes with. “And then--she will be--perfect.”

There was something very, very wrong with Margaret White. And Sue didn’t feel safe being around her any longer.

How could Carrie live with such a mother?

Mrs. White looked up at Tommy and Sue, scrutinizing them. “Does that make sense?”

Sue nodded a tiny bit and Mrs. White gave her an appraising look. Tommy, however, only fumed even more.

“What the fuck?” He seethed. “No! Not only no, but HELL NO!” He glared at Mrs. White. “You are fucking psychotic! You can’t treat people like that! Why did I want you to like me? You’re insane!”

Mrs. White glared right back at him. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Men.” She nudged Carrie, who tentatively removed her hands from her ears. “Why don’t I show you why purification is necessary? Carrie, my darling little creature, show them.”

Carrie doesn’t move. Mrs. White exasperatedly rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the top of the head, throwing her to Sue and Tommy’s feet. Carrie landed with a heavy thud and a soft grunt. She looked up at the pair with guilty black-brown eyes so eerily like her mother’s. Sue shivered, finding it difficult to look at her anymore.

“Go on.” Mrs. White waved a hand.

“No, Mama,” Carrie whispered. She tried to make herself as small as possible.

“Why not?” Mrs. White smirked. “Is it because you know they’ll hate you for it?”

Carrie whimpered. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She began to rock herself back and forth on her knees.

“Look at that,” Mrs. White mused. “She doesn’t trust either of you at all. How sad. Some great friends you are if she can’t tell secrets to you.”

Sue felt a smudge of betrayal streak through her. What was so important that Carrie couldn’t tell her and Tommy about? Did the best friend's oath she once made them take mean nothing? She looked to Tommy to see his reaction, but there wasn’t a hint of hurt on his face. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Mrs. White.

“It’s her business,” He said. “She can tell us when she’s ready. I wouldn’t admit anything while being pressured, either.”

I should have reacted like that, Sue thought with a twist of guilt. Not immediately assume Carrie is a bad person. She looked at Mrs. White. She’s...so cunning. And convincing. It’s scary.

“Tommy,” Carrie gasped from below. She gripped tightly to one of his pant legs. “Tommy, it hurts.”

Tommy dropped to his knees in front of Carrie and bundled her protectively in his arms. Blood smeared against his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to care much. Mrs. White watched with a murderous look in her eyes.

“Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Tommy whispered to her soothingly.

“And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” She spat.

Tommy glared right back up at her. “I’m protecting her from you.” He said.

“Foolish boy,” Mrs. White shook her head. “You don’t know what she could do to you.”

“Carrie would never hurt me.” Tommy said.

Mrs. White laughed. “That’s what you think! But she could! She easily could!”

“Mama,” Carrie wheedled.

“Release my daughter.” Mrs. White said. “This instant.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her and said, “No.”

Mrs. White’s face twisted in fury. She gripped the switch in her hands tightly and, for a moment, Sue worried she was going to strike Tommy with it.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t move.

“Mama, please stop.” Carrie begged. She had her head twisted around to stare at her mother. Most of her wounds have stopped bleeding by now; dried blood clashed horribly with her green overalls.

“You devil,” Mrs. White hissed lowly.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Mama.” Carrie whispered. Her body had gone worryingly cold in Tommy’s arms. Her voice was the sound of dead leaves rustling against pavement. “Please don’t make me hurt you…”

Mrs. White was stiff in her spot, arm half raised. The muscles were contracted tightly beneath her skin. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she scared of Carrie? And if so...why? Carrie was anything but threatening.

The next words Carrie spoke made her mother go deathly pale.

“I’ll bring the stones again.”

Mrs. White staggered backwards, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.” She whispered.

Thunder rumbled deeply, then cracked across the darkening sky outside like a warning. Lightning flickered in through the tightly-drawn drapes, illuminating Carrie’s eyes like ebony flames, and Sue realized they weren’t as black as she thought. There were hues of amber and red-brown, and they glowed intensely in her skull. Her gaze was hard and cold.

“I will, Mama.” Carrie said. Her voice was drained and dry; she sounded so tired. “If you touch them-- If you dare--” She was shaking like a newborn baby goat in Tommy’s arms. She looked up at her mother with the same diseased light that had been in her mother’s eyes. “I will bring the fire down on you.”

Mrs. White dropped to her knees, falling like a bird with broken wings. She clasped her hands together and began to pray loudly, although her words were wavering and slurring together. She rocked back and forth, shaking her head like she was trying to ward off sinful thoughts from worming their way into her brain.

Carrie sucked in a sharp breath, her body shuddering in an awful, bone-shattering way. Her head flopped limply onto one of Tommy’s shoulders, panting heavily. Sweat was soaking her brow and a feverish expression contorted her face.

“Tommy,” She gasped weakly.

“Grab her.” Sue ordered. “Grab her, Tommy! Let’s go!”

Tommy scooped Carrie up into his arms and ran for the door, Sue tailing right behind him.

Mrs. White did not stop them.

------

“And then we got in the car and drove here.” Sue concludes with a frown.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the house, only broken by the pattering of rain on the window and low rumbles of thunder. Tommy shifts closer to the couch, casting Carrie yet another worried glance. His gaze practically screamed, Wake up. Please wake up.

“That can’t--that can’t be true,” Lynn whispers. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror. There was just no way. No parent could possibly be that cruel to their own child. She didn’t want to believe it.

“It is.” Sue says sadly. She slips her phone out of her pocket and hands it to Lynn. Estelle leans over her shoulder to see. A video is displayed on the screen. With a quaking finger, Lynn presses the play button.

And it all fell away.

Hope that the story wasn’t true, hope that Margaret wasn’t as bad as Sue and Tommy made her out to be, hope that Carrie wasn’t getting brutally abused this whole time, right under her nose, and she never did anything to help her.

Because on the screen, clear as day, is Margaret White lashing her young daughter with a whip-thin switch, splattering blood everywhere. And the agonized yowls of Carrie will echo in her ears, haunt her nightmares, for years to come, always reminding her that it was very, very real.

Lynn’s vision blurs and she realizes she is tearing up. She blinks and claws away the tears hopefully before anyone would notice, trying her best to be strong, trying to not let her facade fall and reveal that she was actually horrified. Horrified and sickened and shocked and livid. She would not let her mask fall, and not just because she was supposed to be a tough-as-nails gym coach that would make numerous students vomit during Suicides and never flinch when bones broke savagely during games. But because she has to be strong for Carrie’s sake.

And then she looks up and sees blank onyx eyes peering at her blankly and tears cloud her vision all over again.

“Carrie!”

Tommy is the first one to react, lunging to his friend’s side in an instant, nearly falling face-first into the rug in the process. He clasps one of her hands with both of his.

“Carrie,” He says again, this time quieter. “How are you feeling?”

“Everything hurts,” Carrie replies in a soft, hoarse voice. She sighs. “But what else is new?”

She...doesn’t sound very surprised, Lynn realizes with an awful twist in her stomach. Like this has happened before.

Like she’s gotten used to it. Waking up in pain.

Carrie lifts her head slightly, wincing, and looks around the room. “Where am I? Why is Miss Gardener here?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Lynn smiles at her warmly.

“We brought you here.” Sue says.

“Oh.” Carrie’s dark eyes dart around again, searching, and then fall on Estelle. Her brow pinches together. “I know you.” She whispers.

Estelle moves closer. “Hello, Carrie. It’s been a long time.”

“You were my neighbor,” Carrie says. “I asked you what breasts were. Estelle.”

Despite the situation, light laughter ripples through the room. It almost, almost eases the weight pressing on Lynn’s heart.

“Yes, that’s me,” Estelle chuckles. “It’s good to see you again, Carrie.”

“You called Mama a cow,” Carrie muses, slightly dazed. Sue gets up to grab the painkillers Lynn left on the kitchen counter.

Lynn gives Estelle a look that says, “You what?” Estelle returns with a crooked smile.

“Where is she?” Carrie asks. She’s looking around more fervently now and trying to get up. “Where’s my Mama?”

Lynn feels that awful twist in her heart again. Even after what Margaret did to her, Carrie is still so attached to her mother. But after living with such a treatment all her life, she must have gotten used to it. Maybe she even learns to overlook it.

“She’s at your house, Caz.” Tommy says, brushing back a loose fringe of hair from Carrie’s face.

“Is she alive?” Carrie asks. Then, more softly, “Did I hurt her?”

The beat of silence and exchange of worried glances is just a bit too long; Carrie begins to whimper and cry. Tommy soothes her quickly, brushing her tears away with gentle hands.

“She’s okay, Caz. She’s alive, I promise.” He assures her. “Shh… It’s okay.”

Carrie looks up at him and calms slightly. Lynn is impressed- out of everyone in the room, she would have thought Tommy would be the least comforting, but here he was, treating Carrie so tenderly. Perhaps the most awkward one with comfort, at least with Carrie, would be Sue, who was standing listlessly with the bottle of Ibuprofen gripped tightly in her hands. Lynn takes it from her and she and Tommy are able to convince Carrie to swallow two of the pills.

“They’ll make you feel better,” Tommy tells her, stroking her hair.

“Do you ever take medicine?” Sue asks curiously.

Carrie shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. Mama didn’t--believe--in that kind of stuff.”

With weak arms, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, despite the several arguments for her to stay laying down. She sucks in a sharp breath, the cuts along her belly straining and stinging in the open air, and she stubbornly tugs her shirt back down to shield the expanse of scarred flesh. Lynn makes a clucking noise of disapproval.

“You shouldn’t have your clothes covering them,” She says. “They could get infected.”

Carrie gives her a wry smile, “I haven’t got any awful infections yet, have I?”

Lynn’s heart wrenched once again, like a claw was dug inside her chest and turning it to mush. Carrie looks so used to this, so used to getting up and shaking off wounds from abuse, and she hates it. She wants to take her away from that kind of lifestyle so badly.

For a long few minutes, the house is silent. Carrie is looking down, her eyes clouded and haunted; Sue is over near the window, hands gripping the sill firmly, peering out at the storm with a deeply troubled expression, like she was considering leaping out into the tempest so the rain could wash away the chill rattling through her body; Tommy has climbed up onto the couch beside Carrie and kept squeezing her hand like he was trying to remind himself that she was still there with him and still alive; Estelle’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s considering Carrie in thoughtful silence, most likely straining her memories back to the days when she was the White’s neighbor; Lynn is currently getting her heart turned into pulp, emotions tumbling over themselves in the whirlwind that was her mind- anger, guilt, shock, fear, maternal instincts, anger again, then guilt...it was all mixing together.

Everyone was lost in their individual thoughts, listlessly wandering the winding corridors of their own minds.

The one who speaks first is Sue.

“Carrie,” She says slowly, turning away from the window, “why do you love your mother?”

“Sue!” Tommy hisses, then whips his head around to see Carrie’s reaction.

For just a moment, there is a flash of anger, and Lynn so badly wants to see it come out. She wants to see Carrie get mad at her mother for the treatment she got. But it is chased off by deep sadness and confusion, like Carrie herself didn’t know why she was so attached to such a wicked woman.

“How much do you know about her?” Carrie asks instead of answering. She looks around, including everyone in the question. “Aside from her being an extremist, how much do you know?”

Looks were exchanged as minds were dug through for any information on Margaret White that weren’t rumors. Carrie waits patiently, a tiny, sad smile ghosting her lips.

“You once said,” Estelle starts slowly, “that she was ‘bad when she made you.’”

Carrie nods, her smile twitching up a little more. “My Mama,” She says, “is a delusional, accursed witch.”

Stunned silence. Carrie tilts her head at them, as if to say, “What? I thought you were waiting for me to say something mean about her?” She shakes herself out, like she was getting rid of evil spirits clinging to her, then went on, “She hates everything about the world. Men, most girls, people who follow different religions, even churches. She doesn’t trust them, so we hold our own ceremonies at the house. She’s the preacher, I’m the congregation…” She splays open her hands and looks at them as if they had nails lanced through the palms. “She hates my father the most, I think. Even though I believe she does love him still, despite what happened. And that makes her hate him even more.” She closes her fists and looks up with dark eyes. “She hates me, too. She says she doesn’t but I know. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I remind her of him.”

“Have you seen him before?” Sue asks softly. “Your dad?”

“Only once,” Carrie answers. “In a picture. I look like him.”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie runs a hand thoughtfully over her bottom jaw, looking horrifyingly calm while speaking of her home life. But there was fear in her eyes. Lynn could see it flickering in her hugely dilated red-brown-black pupils, very much there, but being stamped down. It was honestly quite startling to see her young student, who would flinch when someone simply raised their hand to ask a question, who always tried to make herself seem smaller when teams were picked for games, who had to use sign language to speak to people because she was too anxious to even verbally talk, be so reserved and nonchalant.

That was another thing- Carrie speaking so many words. Lynn doesn’t think she’s ever heard her talk so much before. She’s wanted to hear her talk, yes, but not like this.

“If a prayer was said just a little wrong,” Carrie begins again, “if a cross was bumped and became crooked, it all fell apart for her.” She leans back, staring out the window. What is that look in her eyes? Disdain, fear, anxiety, relief about finally telling about this? “And she took it out on me over...”

“…and over…”

Carrie’s eyes became vacant, darkening until they looked completely black, lost in the abuse that gripped her so tightly. The calm demeanor only then breaks and is replaced by intense terror and anxiety. At her side, Tommy is too stunned to react, so Lynn lunges forward, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. As soon as contact is made, Carrie begins to thrash and cries out, “…AND OVER!”

Lynn’s grip on Carrie’s shoulders does not break, even when the girl swats fearfully at her arms in a panic. She could only stare as she seized out of control. It was like watching an exorcism happen right in front of her.

“Carrie, stop!” Tommy pleads.

With a start, Carrie stops breathing and tightens every muscle in her body. Prolonged contact with someone who wouldn’t hurt her is starting to have an effect. Her eyes close and her spasms slow. Silence fell around the group.

Then, Carrie expels her breath and sucks in another. She grasps Lynn’s hands and gently pries them away from her shoulders; her touch is like ice.

Sue beseeches her, “What happened to you?”

And on the inside, Lynn thinks, “Is this the girl I want to take in?”

Carrie didn’t look at anyone. Shame carves deep grooves in her face.

“Mama says I’m different,” Carrie smolders. “That I was born from my father’s sin and that’s why--I’m the way I am. And she believes that she has to purify me and remove the devil from inside of me.”

After a second, Carrie turns her head back ever so slightly and peers at the group around her out of the corner of her vision. There was pain in that bloody ebony eye.

Her next three words were tight with humiliation.

“She broke me.”

The pit in Lynn’s stomach dropped until it was a chasm. She can’t speak. Nobody could speak. Carrie looks away again, hiding her disgrace from sight.

“My Mama damaged me in a way that cannot ever be repaired. No matter how many decades pass, I will always be just as broken as I am now. I can’t become whole again.” Her voice cracked as she mourned. “She passed her sickness onto me.”

Tommy reaches over, slowly bridging the gap between him and his dear little sister figure, but Carrie shrinks away from the hand, shaking her head and whimpering, “It’s like a curse that spreads from people to people.”

Tommy swiftly retracts his hand, and the speed at which he does so causes guilt to bloom all over his face. Carrie looks up at him with an understanding frown.

“I will never let anyone share in my sickness. I can’t.” She shakes her head miserably. “I have to--stay away--from people. To protect them. That’s what Mama says.” She clenches her fingers into claws and anger, pain, longing, shame all flash in her eyes.

“But Carrie, how could you pass that sickness onto other people? Onto us?” Tommy asks. “You wouldn’t hurt us!”

Suddenly, a guilt-ridden sob tears out of Carrie’s throat and she doubles over, face buried in her hands.

Quivering, Tommy whispers, “You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

Carrie wails.

Everything is falling to pieces, to ashes. Lynn is frozen, unable to think straight. At her side, Estelle is frowning--like she’s seen this before.

“You don’t want to hurt us.” Estelle says. “You don’t want to hurt anyone at all.”

Carrie sniffles and looks up from her hands. She looks absolutely miserable.

“Would it matter if I did?” She shakes her head and looks at her hands with so much hatred. “I’m a monster. Just like Mama always says.” She covers her face again and sobs.

Lynn can see it now: Carrie wasn’t just shy and anxious and socially awkward, she was fragile, too--too fragile for the awful things she’s been through.

“Oh, Carrie,” Tommy murmurs. Despite what had been said, he pulls Carrie securely into his arms and she lets him, curling into his warmth. “Carrie. Carrie, I love you anyway. I don’t care.”

And Carrie cries.

She cries and cries and cries for a long time. She cries until she’s reduced to weak sniffles and hiccups and can barely lift her head from Tommy’s chest. She looks absolutely exhausted by the end of it, completely drained. She is feeling the full effect of her wounds, now, and whimpers softly.

“I have a spare bedroom,” Lynn says. “She can sleep there. She’s tired.” She frowns at Carrie’s pale face.

Tommy nods silently and carefully picks Carrie up. Lynn leads him to the guest bedroom and he sets Carrie down beneath the blankets. Her eyelids are fluttering as sleep--or maybe unconsciousness--begins to take hold of her. Tommy kisses her forehead.

“Sleep well, Caz,” He murmurs.

Silence descends upon the house once again. Lynn, Estelle, Tommy, and Sue all sit at the dining room table with mugs of peppermint tea Estelle had made. They didn’t look at each other for a long time.

“What are we gonna do?”

Everyone looks up. Like before, it was Sue who spoke first.

“About Carrie.” Sue states, but it wasn’t really necessary. They all knew who she was referring to.

“She can’t go back home,” Tommy says.

“But she also needs help.” Sue says. “I’m not-- I don’t know if it’s the best idea, but there’s a mental hospital in--”

“No.” Tommy growled. “Hell no.”

“Tommy, she needs help!” Sue says.

“She wouldn’t last a day in a place like that!” Tommy reprimands. “You know that. And mental hospitals aren’t exactly well known for actually helping people. Locking Carrie up with batshit insane people isn’t going to fix her, it’s just going to make her worse.”

“He’s right,” Estelle nods. “I have a cousin who was in a mental hospital for a few days. He said that both suicidal people and homicidal people were put together. So there would be someone who tries to kill themselves with any object they could get their hands on and then someone who loudly talks about wanting to kill everyone in the place in the same room. Not exactly very comforting.” She shakes her head. “What Carrie needs is a stable place to live with sane people who can take care of her. Does she have any relatives?”

“Doubt it.” Tommy sighs.

“She can stay here.”

All eyes turn to Lynn. Her jaw is set and she looks confident in what she said.

“Really?” Tommy’s eyes lit up slightly in hope.

“Yes, really,” Lynn says. “As Estelle said, she needs someone who will take care of her. I can. I /will/. And I want to.”

“That’s a really sweet thing for you to do, Lynnie,” Estelle coos.

“Ooooo, Lynnie?” Sue and Tommy tease simultaneously. For the first time in hours, they had real, wide smiles on their faces.

Lynn rolls her eyes. “Watch it, Snell. I’m still your coach. I can make you run until your legs give out.”

“But you’re not mine.” Tommy says, puffing out his chest.

“You doubt my ability to make kids run Suicides.” Lynn smirked at him.

For just a moment, things felt good again. And maybe they would continue to be good, because if Lynn had her way, Margaret White was never going to see her daughter ever again.

#carrie #carrie the musical #broadway kids carrie #carrie white #tommy ross #sue snell #rita desjardin #lynn gardener #estelle horan #margaret white #carrie fanfiction #carrie fanfic #my writing #tw: abuse #tw: waterboarding #fractal scarring

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idv-oletusarchives · 4 years

Note

❤

“A story about love? I have…none of my own,but… Brooke Rose told me one once - her kind can convey stories in interestingways, and I was able to write it down in a sort of novel form. Does a storyabout protecting loved ones count as a story about love?” The Archivist opens a tome pulled from the shelf, opening it to a page marked with a purpleribbon.

—-

“They’re late…” Sturdy handspaused in the washing of a pan, their owner looking to the brown-haired wisp ofa woman. She eyed the road that lead up to their quaint cottage at the edge ofthe wood just beyond the town’s defined edge. She tilted her chin, trying tosee around the bend. Her lips pursed lightly together at whatever she saw.

“But they are coming.” He didn’t need to ask. Heknew the answer; her predictions were never wrong. Not ones like this. Hewaited. She hadn’t answered yet. Setting the pan aside out of the sink, heturned to her and called for her softly. “Rose?” Her head turned, and starryvoids flicked across to his tawny eyes. He felt a tightness in his chest.

“Without a doubt.”

She seemed so frail in that moment - the most she’dever been. She’d always been such a strong woman, even when her health tried tofail her. But the Sight took a hefty toll on her - her mind, her body - leavingher a shadow of herself in the aftermath of its offerings. Were the gift topass on, could it be kinder to-

“What about him?” Her eyes grew misty, and hershoulders sagged. He shook his head, slowly at first, then with the firmness ofstubborn denial. “They- They wouldn’t… He’s just a child, Rose. Hehasn’t had a chance yet - they can’t.” Her breath jumped in her throat, and heheld her tightly, running a hand over her hair. “Is there anything we can do?Any-”

Their heads turned towards the window at the owl’scall. The air was stirring. Motion started in the distance of the winding road.She gripped him by the arms as she worried her bottom lip, then squeezed forhis attention, which he gave instantly. “When do the feathers change?”

“At…this rate, not for another year and a half…perhapslonger if…” His brow furrowed as he tried to follow where the question wasleading to. “Why…?” She nodded, firmly, pulling away from him and gatheringitems from the kitchen: herbs, berries, her mortar and pestle, a small brush.His eyes followed her urgently. “Rose?”

“They won’t kill him,” she promised. That was allshe was certain of. “I don’t know what they’ll do, but they won’t kill him.”Her items gathered, she already set to work, barely pausing her craft to turn apleading gaze to him. “If he inherits my sight, he’ll have no defense. This isthe best I can do.” She pulls in a breath, blinking back tears. “Can you buy metime?”

He enveloped her in his arms for a short moment, hiswarmth seeping into her, his forest scent grounding her in the task she neededto perform. He pulled away and held her by the shoulders to meet her eyes. “I’llgive you as long as I can.”

“I won’t waste a second.” They squeezed each other’shands, then she went to work, hands diligent as she called upon a patron she rarely ever uttered the name of: “Ibeseech thee, Lord Has-” The words faded from his ears as he went to the door,though a curious warble and a tug on his shirt gave him pause. He didn’t haveto look down to know how wide the child’s already big eyes were. He knelt down,ruffling fluffy white locks and nuzzling the child, to the smaller one’sdelightful giggling.

“Mind your mother.” The little one deflated, mouthdipping into a pout. “She’ll need your help in a moment. With her magic.” Hewiggled his fingers, and the little boy perked up almost instantly. He ruffledhis hair again and steered him towards the kitchen. “Hurry on, don’t keep herwaiting.” As the child tottered through to the kitchen, he tugged open thefront door, yanking a charm from the coat hook and pulling the leather cordover his neck.

Just in time.

He met them at the edge of the garden, quicklytaking in the sight of over a dozen men wielding sickles and harvesting toolsfor weapons. One man carried a torch. Each face was etched with fear but more sowith determination and, in some places, anger. He knew this, all too well. He’dseen it many times, but never once had he imagined that apprehension would beaimed towards his own home. Gods save them…

The pastor, only a few years his senior, stood atthe head of the group, ramrod straight and eyes burning like coals that refusedto be smothered. He held no instrument of physical harm in his hands, butinstead clutched a Christian Bible to his chest. He - that is, the man of thehouse - did not look upon it with disdain but rather a sort of sad, wretchedgaze. He knew what came next.

“Father Samuel.” By no means would he abandondecorum, of course.

“I don’t think I need to tell you why I’m here, Finnian,”he answered, abrupt and stoic in his tone. The crowd behind him shifted restlessly,tools clattering, feet shuffling in the dirt. Rose had just cleaned that path,too.

“No, I don’t believe you do, Father. However, I do believeit better to take this crowd of yours back to town. Doesn’t the sermon startsoon? An hour from now, yes?” Father Samuel narrowed his eyes and shook hishead fiercely at Finnian’s placating smile.

“Don’t you try to get her out of this, Finnian. Thatwoman is a witch, and we’ve the accounts to prove it.” Murmurs and cries ofassent came from behind him to which he raised a hand, silencing them quite effectively.

“That woman?” The gall of these people. Helooked at them, his neighbors, people he had called his friends before this day.“Rose is not some nameless hag; you know her!”

“That woman has you bewitched you,” a voice criedfrom the crowd. Others chimed in, hawking on about his corruption and the perceivedsin against their god. The Conqueror God, as his family and ancestors knew it.The people carried on and on until Father Samuel’s voice rose above them all: “Renounceher in the name of the Lord God and be saved!”

“That’s my wife you’re talking about!” Thistime it was his own voice that silenced the crowd, and they looked startled,for to them he had always been a mild-mannered fellow. “Samuel, you were at ourwedding-”

“Yes, she had us all fooled to believe she was agodly woman,” the pastor interrupted shrewdly. “As her kind are wont to do -lie and deceive to get in the good graces of the people they leech off of forpower.”

“You have no idea how this works, do you?” Finnianalmost laughed in hysteria. These people-

“I know that God condemns those who practicewitchcraft and commands that they be put to death - that is all that matters.” FatherSamuel took a bold step forward over the border of their property, smearing thethin salt line sprinkled there. “Now step aside, Finnian, or be put to deathalongside her.” Finnian, a loyal husband and protective father, widened hisstance, staring the man down with a fierce gaze, and felt his own bones creakwith anticipation, just waiting for the shift.

It was not entirely his own voice that spoke, but that of his innerCreature, bold and powerful, that spoke in tandem with him.

“I will not let you destroy my family in the name of such a hatefulgod.”

The story stops very abruptly, unfinished, and theLibrarian speaks: “The man died that day, protecting his family, and hiswife shortly after. They intended to stone her, as dictated in Leviticus, butthey instead trapped her within the house and…” The Librarian pauses, a strangethought seeming to occur to him. He shakes his head and shelves the book again. “As for the child, Brooke Rose tells me he still lives. That is all Iknow of his fate.“

#flowwerpot #asknumenseer #ask meme #writing #text only #long post under cut #hints: this one's important #correlations #stories #Hints; About the Past

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snarkybluechristian · 6 years

Text

Hazbin Hotel: Satan’s Plan Part 8 (Collab with Dinobot King)

Version:1.0 StartHTML:000000203 EndHTML:002012161 StartFragment:001971031 EndFragment:002012129 StartSelection:001971031 EndSelection:002012125 SourceURL:https://www.fanfiction.net/docs/docs.php

The room’s walls were colored pink with glitter almost everywhere. There were chairs arranged in a circle with a red rug covering the floor.

From what Sir Pentious could see, the crowd was diverse.

There was a small, chubby dark-skinned female demon with black eyes with hot pink pupils wearing a short purple dress and a purple necklace who was eating from a box of donuts.

There was a gray-blue-skinned demon with dark blue fins on the side of his face and running along his spine until it reached the angler fish lure on the top of his head wearing a blue lab coat, black gloves, and black boots who was sitting shyly alone in his chair.

Then finally, there was a white dog demon covered in black spots with a black leg, ears pierced multiple times, yellow and red eyes, and blond and pink hair wearing a spiked dog collar, a pink dress with a skull on it, black fingerless gloves, and a black short-sleeved jacket who was curled up sleeping on the floor in the center of the circle.

“Crymini, wake up!” Vaggie yelled.

“Dammit, woman,” Crymini groaned groggily as she woke up. “What’s your deal?”

“Hey, kid, you do not give me back sass!” Vaggie retorted.

“For the last time, I died when I was 19,” Crymini growled getting in her face. “I am not a kid.”

“Ladies, please, let’s calm down,” Charlie said as she pulled a reluctant Sir Pentious into the room behind her.

“It’s not my fault this bitch was being rude,” Vaggie replied irritably before she noticed the tall snake demon being pulled into the room behind Charlie.

“What is he doing here?” Vaggie asked defensively.

“Well, you’re not particularly welcoming,” Sir Pentious said as Charlie let go of his hands and he crossed his arms defensively. “I thought this was supposed to be a rehab center.”

“Hey!” Vaggie retorted. “I don’t tell you how to do your job!”

“Alright, Vaggie,” Charlie said in a calm tone in an effort to calm everyone down before she started speaking up to begin the meeting. “How about we get this meeting started? Hello, everyone! This is the Happy Hotel’s newest patient, Sir Pentious! Woo!”

Sir Pentious glanced at the group and rolled his eyes at them.

“Hello, Pentious,” Angel said swinging the door open and shutting it behind him.

“What are you doing here, Dust?” Sir Pentious hissed.

“Sir Pentious, he’s part of the group, too,” Charlie said calmly.

“So, what did I miss?” Angel asked as he slid into his chair. “Did Sir Pentious bear his soul yet?”

“You were almost late,” Vaggie chided quietly sitting herself in a chair beside him. “What the hell were you doing?”

“Relax, doll,” Angel said. “I merely had some personal business to attend to. So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“Our new member was just introducing himself, but it seems that you two already know each other,” Mimzy said sliding her box under her chair.

“Everyone knows who he is,” Baxter chimed in as he sipped from a cup of water. “Aren’t you the snake demon who’s always trying to take over hell? What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, did the incident with Cherri Bomb finally make you quit or somethin’?” Crymini asked sitting back in her chair and scratching her ear.

Sir Pentious crossed his arms defensively and said sarcastically, “Hello, fellow scum of the earth. I look forward to avoiding all of you as much as possible.”

“Well, bud, looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” Angel quipped. “This is a no bullying zone, so if you have a problem with us, I suggest you pack your bags and scram.”

Vaggie smirked while Charlie facepalmed in frustration.

“Ok, Angel, that’s enough,” Charlie said bringing the group back to focus and sliding into her chair. “Alright, Sir Pentious, would you like to tell us the story of your life?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Sir Pentious retorted. “It’s none of your business.”

“Why?” Charlie asked. “Does it have anything to do with why you’re constantly trying to take over hell?”

“God, how long is this session?” Sir Pentious responded with annoyance.

“As long as you make it,” Vaggie retorted.

“Okay, fine,” Sir Pentious said sarcastically. “I lived in London. I wanted to be king, but the royals said no and I drank myself to death. There, happy now? I’m going back to my room. I need to talk to my Egg Bois…”

Sir Pentious tried to get up from his chair, but Charlie grabbed his tail and forced him to sit back down.

“Sir Pentious, you have to be honest with yourself and everyone else to achieve redemption,” Charlie said getting back into her chair. “You have to get in touch with what it is that is making you depressed, sad, or angry.”

“I don’t want to and you can’t make me,” Sir Pentious said rising from his chair again. “I’ll achieve redemption on my own…”

“No, you don’t, mister,” Charlie said pushing Sir Pentious back onto the chair and handcuffing his left hand to the chair he was sitting on.

“Hey!” Angel complained. “I told ya to stay out of my stash, Charlie!”

“Bloody hell, woman!” Sir Pentious shouted. “What in the hell is wrong with you? Uncuff me this instant!”

“No way!” Charlie said getting close enough for him to see her clipboard. “Not until you start talking about your life!”

“I don’t have to say anything,” Sir Pentious said turning away.

Vaggie twitched her eyes, growled, got in his face, and yelled, “Come on! You came here because you wanted to be rehabilitated. So, what is it? Why do you want to be the Devil?”

“Vaggie, get out of his face!” Charlie pleaded.

Sir Pentious glared and Vaggie reluctantly backed down as Angel said, “It really ain’t that hard, snake. What is eating you? Mommy issues? Daddy issues? Were you lonely? Were you poor? Were you a user? Or, was it something else entirely?”

“Angel…” Charlie pleaded as Angel lit a cigarette.

Sir Pentious’ glare intensified as Angel kept goading, “You know what I think? I think you had it easy in your life. I think you always got everything you wanted in life and when you died you had to work like the rest of us and couldn’t stand it. And now that you can’t get what you want here, you want to make amends with God so you can move on to Paradise and have it easy again. Typical. I could never stand rich bastards like you who had it easy. No offense to you, Charlie. You’re different. You’re trying to do something. People like Pentious here don’t give a shit. Try to tell me I’m wrong.”

Sir Pentious scoffed and hissed, “What are you talking about?! I know what your family was! We’re cut from the same cloth, ya bloody hypocrite!”

“I left those bastards long ago,” Angel argued back before taking a drag from his cigarette. “What’s your excuse?”

“THEY NEVER GAVE ME WHAT I DESERVED!” Sir Pentious finally screamed. “I WAS TORMENTED AND REJECTED BY EVERYONE! I WORKED HARDER THAN THEY DID AND WAS BARELY TOLERATED! WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE, YOU HAD ACCEPTANCE AND SOCIAL STANDING! I WAS REJECTED BY OWN BLOOD RELATIVES AND MY OWN SOCIETY ALL BECAUSE I WAS A ‘HALF-BREED!’”

Everyone went silent except Angel who asked, “What the hell does that mean?”

“That means that unlike you I’m not white,” Sir Pentious hissed more quietly. “I’m only half-English. The other half comes from India, from my mother’s people.”

Sir Pentious noticed the clipboard that Charlie had placed on the ground. He used his hat to signal to his Egg Bois to pick it up while a flood of restored memories started flowing his way.

“Uh, Sir Pentious, do you care to expand on that?” Charlie asked.

Sir Pentious looked at her and felt the kindness behind her voice. It touched him.

So, Sir Pentious began his tale, “My father was the child of a wealthy English inventor who along with his wife was radically Christian and progressive for his time. My mother was the daughter of Indian merchants who were like-minded. When my father moved with his parents to India, he fell in love with that daughter. My grandparents were close friends and approved of their union without hesitation. Soon after that, I was born. My skin was lighter because of my father, but I looked very much like my mother. I had brown skin, black hair, and steely brown-gray eyes just like hers, just like a cobra’s. That’s what they would all say. I grew up in India knowing the values of the West and the East. I had grandparents and parents who loved me and my many cousins on my mother’s side to play with. I was never considered different from any of them. I was loved, and I was happy. They all shielded me from the world’s prejudice. My grandparents both died happy. My father was happy too until my mother died. She fell ill during her pregnancy with my younger sibling. I was only nine, and from then on, everything went straight to hell…”

Sir Pentious was surprised to see tears falling down his face. Charlie walked away from her chair and wrapped an arm around Sir Pentious. The Egg Bois continued sneaking towards the chair, but Sir Pentious was too lost in his memories to notice.

“My grandfather’s business partners forced my father to return to the homeland. He didn’t want to, but his kind and gentle heart was heartbroken and he didn’t have the strength to keep resisting. So, we both returned to London.

“Upon our arrival to London, his biological family refused to acknowledge me. They couldn’t bear the fact that my father had married an Indian woman, so he rejected them. My father was a true Christian man whose progressive values made him an outcast, but we were not alone. My father had a spiritual family in the church he grew up in. They were all radicals who were as progressive as my father if not more and were also considered outcasts in their own families. They were the righteous people who campaigned for justice locally and abroad. They ran organizations to help the poor. They sponsored abolitionists. They even campaigned for women’s suffrage. They loved their neighbors as themselves, and they accepted us without a second thought.

“My father and his friends protected me as much as they could. They raised me as much as he did. They all taught me many things, including how to play the organ, and gave me a loving environment, but even so, I knew I was an outcast. I could see it in the glances of passersby when we were out in public. I could hear it in the comments others made. I could feel it in our small insular world. My holy family always stood up for me. My father encouraged me and taught me how to stand strong. He even kept up correspondence with my family in India for me. We went to visit them whenever we were on holiday to escape, but it all wasn’t enough. I could still feel the hatred of the world I grew up in…”

Every single misfit was focused on Sir Pentious’ story. Not even Vaggie noticed when one Egg Boi picked up the documents while the other Egg Boi took pictures on his smart phone.

“Then when I was old enough to go to boarding school, I felt that hatred in its full force,” Sir Pentious continued. “Without guardians to protect me, the school tore me apart. They housed me in a room by myself as if I were some sort of animal. The other students bullied me mercilessly. They stole my possessions. They mocked me relentlessly. They called me a ‘half-breed’ and tormented me daily. None of the adults did anything to make it stop. They punished me whenever I spoke up against it. They joined in the bullying. I constantly received harsh punishments for minor infractions and rules I didn’t break. They accused me of cheating because they could never believe that a ‘half-breed’ could be more intelligent than any other white student. They marked my grades as low as they could get away with for the slightest error. The only one who was kind to me there was the colored groundskeeper who defended me whenever he could. I tried to stay strong and keep my torment a secret from my father and his friends. I excelled in my studies despite their best efforts, but the bullying only grew worse until one day the aggression got physical.

“The strongest players from my school’s rugby team were plastered. I was walking back to my dormitory room after studying in the library all evening. They found me and beat me within an inch of my life. They left me beaten and bruised and almost too hurt to move. The groundskeeper found me, got me help, and stayed with me at the hospital while my father was called for. If I was found any later, I would have died due to the severity of my injuries.

“When my father arrived, I told him everything. He was furious. He brought multiple lawsuits against the school and brought criminal charges against the people who beat me and left me for dead. His lawyer friends helped him as much as they could, but ultimately, the school had friends in higher places. They forced my father to agree to a settlement and those bastards who almost killed me never faced a single disciplinary action…”

Sir Pentious’ frill spread out and he started shaking in fury at the restored memories.

“I left that school and started attending classes in another college while living at home and apprenticing under my father. My father and his godly friends counseled me as much as they could, but I couldn’t let go of my anger or my hate. Their cruelty had poisoned me, but it had destroyed my father more than I ever knew. He slipped into a depression that neither I or his friends could counsel him out of. When I graduated, we worked together making inventions and bonded more closely than ever. I thought he was getting better, but one morning, I found him dead. He had drunk himself to death. It turned out that he had been drinking for a long time. The world had broken his heart.

“In his will, my father left everything to me. During his funeral, all his friends of the church, much of my mother’s family, and even the groundskeeper came to bid him farewell, to mourn with me, and to comfort me in my time of sorrow. Many of them even accompanied me to take his ashes to India. But no one in my father’s family came. Not a single person would even approach me or acknowledge my existence or pay tribute to my father. And for what? All because he had fallen in love with an Indian woman…”

Sir Pentious started shedding angry tears and his voice raised in his fury as he continued, “That was the straw that broke the camels back. I realized then that the world was a horrid place where the good and the righteous like my father and his friends couldn’t triumph because of the corrupt, racist, unjust, and white-washed vermin who crushed anyone who dared to defy their corruption! That world had broken my kind and gentle-hearted father because he refused to abandon me, so I decided that I would break it back! I could no longer turn the other cheek! I had to destroy the world that destroyed my poor father and me so that good men could triumph!

“So, instead of returning to India to live with my mother’s family away from the prejudice of England, I stayed behind and became a villain. I created inventions that I sold for profit to fund underground terrorists the world over. Anarchists. The Irish Republican Army. The freedom fighters among my mother’s people. Extreme abolitionists. All of them came to me and relied on my funding and eventually my inventions to help their causes, and I was glad to give it. I saved my assistant Toulouse from a workhouse and got his help going even further. I began carrying out terroristic missions myself. I let my black hair grow long enough to flow down my back like a hood. The survivors started calling me ‘the serpent’ in all the newspapers, so that’s who I became. ‘The serpent,’ the karmic snake in the grass that would carry out God’s wrath and rebalance the world!”

Tears flooded Sir Pentious’ eyes as he stared at the floor and relived his restored memories once again. The Egg Bois took the last of their pictures, slid the clipboard back under the chair, and gave a thumbs up to their boss. The hat saw it, but Sir Pentious didn’t respond.

“I didn’t get what I wanted,” Sir Pentious sobbed. “I got vengeance, but I didn’t see my work completed. I contracted tuberculosis at the age of 48. I died in my sick bed with Toulouse right beside me. It was so unfair…”

Charlie walked over to Sir Pentious, gave him a big hug, and said, “It’s okay, Sir Pentious. Just let it out.”

And for a few minutes, that’s just what he did.

All the misfits sat in silence except for Angel who finally broke the silence and said, “That explains why you’re obsessed with takin’ over hell…”

“Angel!” Vaggie snapped.

“What?” Angel replied. “It does. He wants to take over hell so he can finish his work of bringing down those who make the world a shitty place. It makes sense.”

“He’s not wrong,” Crymini chimed in scratching her ear with her back leg.

The two Egg Bois scampered onto their boss’ lap and gave him the biggest hugs they could.

“You’re going to be just fine, boss,” Austen said.

“Yeah,” Thrys agreed.

Sir Pentious smiled as conflicting emotions rose inside him and rested in his chest. On one hand, he felt relief at sharing his story. On the other hand, Sir Pentious felt the same odd emotion that he had felt when he saw Delilah that morning. Guilt. He had just distracted them so his Egg Bois could steal their information…

“That was a wonderful share, Sir Pentious,” Charlie said finally letting go of him.

“Thanks,” Sir Pentious replied genuinely. “Could you take the handcuffs off now?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Charlie said digging the key out of her pocket and unlocking the handcuff around Sir Pentious’ wrist.

“I’ll be taking that back,” Angel said in annoyance as he unlocked the handcuffs off the chair and stuffed them in his pocket. “Say, Sir Pentious, where did those eggs come from?”

“Huh?” Thrys asked. “What do you mean?”

“I think he’s asking where you guys came from and how you know Sir Pentious,” Charlie said.

“Oh,” Austen replied. “Well, the only one of us who knows that story completely is Toulouse. All we have our bits and pieces of his memories. Only the original has every memory, so you’d have to ask our boss.”

“Well?” Angel asked curiously.

“If you must know, I found Toulouse when I was searching my local workhouse for an assistant,” Sir Pentious replied. “Ordinarily, anyone else would have just taken out an ad in the newspaper, but I knew that very few employees would be willing to take orders from a ‘half-breed,’ especially in London. So, I searched the workhouse instead for someone I knew would be grateful to serve me. That is when I met Toulouse.

“Toulouse was the only child of two French farmers. Their farm failed when his father died of illness, and his naïve mother thought they’d have a better chance of starting over in London. But they ended up in the workhouse instead.

“Those workhouse bastards were beyond cruel to him. Toulouse was a French immigrant who only came there to save the life of his sick mother and had no idea what he was getting into. He was only 15. He couldn't have. He didn't speak a word of English.

“The moment his mother died, he was taken back to be forcefully bathed, had his clothes taken from him, was placed in a uniform, locked away, and given a number. Number 22. He had to hide his few possessions so they wouldn't be taken from him and sold. They put him in the mentally ill ward of the workhouse with other maniacs because he was slow, depressed, and too frightened to speak.

“Modern medical literature would describe Toulouse's mental condition as a mix of high-functioning autism and attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder, but back then, the doctors simply described him as a mentally deficient imbecile. It was horrible. I can't imagine how scared he must have been or how horribly those calloused monsters must have treated him.

“He slept on straw beds and ate rationed food. Toulouse was starved and isolated fairly often because he taught himself how to pick locks and frequently tried to escape that prison. Can you blame him? They put him through hell. Those monsters didn't do anything to comfort him or help him. They embezzled much of the money used to help the inmates and cut corners whenever they could!

“The day I came, Toulouse was trying to run away in a straitjacket. They were sending him to an institution so that their colleagues would receive more government money and they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. It made me sick. I had to do something.

“So, I gave them a bigger bribe to let me take Toulouse in myself. He was in such bad shape. He was starved, scared almost to the point of mania, and unbelievably lacking in social graces. I was the only one who could speak to him or calm him down since I learned French in school and practiced it regularly in business. I had to teach him how to read, write, and speak in English. I had to teach him how to behave in formal company. I had to practically raise him. But Toulouse surprised me. He learned pretty readily. He was not stupid or mentally deficient after all. He only needed guidance, a steady hand, and a structured yet nurturing environment and he prospered. Wish I could say the same of his clones...”

“So, you’re a kinder person than you seem,” Angel said with a smile.

“No,” Sir Pentious said defensively. “I knew he’d be the perfect assistant…”

“Your Eggheads don’t look like perfect assistants to me,” Angel retorted. “Admit it. You did it out of the kindness of your heart. You became the kid’s family and he devoted his life to you, like a son.”

“Awwwww!” the Egg Bois said hugging their boss more closely.

“So, what if I did?” Sir Pentious retorted. “They were going to send a mentally disordered but perfectly capable young man to prison! It would have been a waste!”

“Whatever you say,” Angel said. “Ya big softie!”

Sir Pentious only glared at Angel for a moment before he returned to his own thoughts.

“Alright, guys! The meeting is over, and now…” Charlie said cheerfully grabbing her tuxedo and ripping it off to reveal a black and white bikini under it. “It’s time to go swimming!”

Sir Pentious’ mouth dropped open in shock as all the other misfits pushed the doors open and rushed into the pool area. Meanwhile, Austen got a call on his smartphone.

“Hey, Sir Pentious!” Charlie said cheerfully. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Yeah, Pent-y!” Angel yelled from outside wearing nothing but his booty shorts. “Come play with us!”

“I…uh…” Sir Pentious said searching for the right words in his embarrassment.

“Boss,” Austen interrupted. “It’s Toulouse.”

Sir Pentious took the phone and said, “Toulouse, what is…? Oh, God! I’m coming.”

“Sorry, princess,” Sir Pentious said quickly slithering backwards and trying to hide his relief. “I have something urgent I need to take care of at home! Cheerio!”

“Uh, okay…” Charlie said hesitantly walking outside. “See you later. Don’t forget curfew.”

Sir Pentious turned around and slithered quickly out of the room with the Egg Bois riding on his tail.

“Boss, what is it?” Thrys asked.

“Delilah’s gone,” Sir Pentious replied. “Remind me to thank her later.”

#hazbinhotel #sir pentious #eggbois

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creepingsharia · 6 years

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Michigan: New mosque in former Lutheran church...a not-so-open ‘open house’

An update on this Michigan church about to become yet another mosque in the rapidly Islamization of Sterling Heights.

Source: New Michigan mosque: A not-so-open ‘open house’? – LeoHohmann.com

By HELEN ABOUSAMRA

On a dreary, rainy Sunday in Southeast Michigan, my husband and I decided, after attending church in Troy, that we would drive over to nearby Sterling Heights where the former St. Mark Lutheran Church is being converted into a Sunni mosque.

A group of Pakistanis had circulated flyers in the community advertising an “Open House” from 12-6 p.m. on July 22. We thought we’d take them up on it.

Upon turning into the long driveway that led to the church, we were greeted by a rather lonely-looking, tiny house that seemed out of place, as if it were set down as an afterthought. There were no trees or shrubs adorning it. We learned later that this will be the new home of the mosque’s imam. The church building itself was about 80 feet beyond it.

Only six cars dotted the parking lot. We sat for a few minutes hoping more would arrive. We prayed, asking the Lord to give us His wisdom.

If this was an open door, we hoped to speak to a few of the Muslims regarding not only their plans for the church buildings but perhaps engage them in an honest theological conversation. I placed my beloved pocket New Testament in my purse just in case, and we ventured past a group of five kufi and thobe-wearing Pakistanis speaking with what appeared to be a Muslim man who was not wearing the garb.

When we entered the building, I noticed a tall, non-Muslim American standing at a wooden counter poring over hand-drawn configurations of the property. He was the Realtor, and he eagerly and excitedly told us the specifics of the property itself. The existing developed property is 460 feet, and there’s an additional 900 feet of dense woods behind the parking lot. The lot itself is narrow yet deep. Right next door, to the east, is a large Romanian Pentecostal Church. I wondered what the folks in that church thought of their soon-to-be new neighbors, or if they were even aware of them.

Next to the Realtor’s stack of papers and drawings, I saw a large quantity of pristine open-house invitation postcards, like the one below:

I’m guessing they wanted monetary donations not just a “Hi, welcome to the neighborhood” speech.

While we spoke with the Realtor, three Muslim men (there were no women present) made a beeline for us. Their hollow eyes said, “You’re not Muslim …Why are you here?”

We answered their unspoken question with, “A friend of a friend received one of your open-house invitations and since we were in the area we thought we’d stop by and ask what your plans are for the property.”

They responded that they were “converting this church to a mosque.”

“Where do you attend now?” I asked them.

Two of the men said they are members of the Islamic Association of Greater Detroit [IAGD] in Rochester Hills. The third did not answer.

“There are several mosques here in Sterling Heights,” the man in the navy thobe said with a big grin, and he proudly gave the locations of them, including a Shia mosque that has yet to celebrate a ground-breaking.

“We live near the IAGD in Rochester Hills,” my husband told them, “and that’s not far from the Ahmadyya mosque.”

“We do not accept them,” they all chimed. “They believe there are prophets after Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him.”

“May I ask you a question?” I asked the talkative, younger man dressed in drab olive-green. “I have a friend who is Shia, and she insists her Quran is a different translation from the Sunni Quran. Is that correct?”

They all looked at each other, then replied nearly in unison with, “Oh, no!”

“There is only one Quran and it can never be changed and has never been changed,” said the man who earlier flashed the big grin.

“I have memorized the entire Quran!” declared the 50-something man dressed in a beautifully embroidered light-gray thobe. Instinctively, his chest puffed out.

Knowing that such a feat has significant salvific merit for Muslims, I gave him a nod, then addressed them all, “And just exactly where are your Quranic manuscripts, you know, like the early manuscripts of the Quran? Where are they?”

The youngest one straightened his back and said, “The Quran is perfectly preserved.”

“OK,” I said, “But I didn’t ask you that. I’m asking you where are the manuscripts that you could actually hold in your hands and read?”

They all stood stone-faced.

“Did you know,” I continued, “that there are thousands upon thousands of early Old Testament and New Testament manuscripts that have been copied so accurately with such meticulous care that they have little if any variation over centuries of being copied, and that if you wanted to, you could actually see them and hold those in your hands?”

The youngest one in drab olive-green turned on his heel and walked into the sanctuary.

The man in the navy thobe reaffirmed that there had never been any changes to the Quran, “even down to a letter marking.”

“If all the Qurans were destroyed, the entire Quran could be perfectly reconstructed because billions of Muslims have it all memorized,” the guy in gray added.

“Billions?” I thought but didn’t challenge him.

He continued, “This can be done because we have it in our hearts.”

These thoughts flashed like lightning through my brain: I wonder if all our Bibles were destroyed, could my church get together and rewrite the entire Old and New Testament, or even just the New Testament? And how would I do at that task?

My questions about Quranic authenticity remained unanswered. Afterwards I regretted not asking the follow-up question, “If you don’t have thousands of manuscripts to compare, then how do you know that the Quran has never been changed?”

We know in fact that the Quran has been changed many times, that there are only six manuscripts intact today and those are late, and that a final standardized copy of the Quran was not forthcoming until 1924. Sadly, Muslims believe what they’re told and do not investigate.

After this exchange, the conversation went flat, and I wandered into the church auditorium while my husband talked with the Realtor, who had suddenly appeared again in the very small lobby where we were standing.

The sanctuary was small too, approximately 40 by 80 feet. The floor was shiny beige linoleum. The walls were cinder block, painted off-white. A large wooden cross hung on the wall behind the pulpit area. I noticed that the pulpit was missing. There were two sections of pews. I could tell many of the pews had been removed, no doubt from the previous occupants, because there was a large empty space behind them. On a side wall in the empty space hung a large white board on which a picture of the bowed head of a crucified, crown of thorns-wearing man was drawn in all red. Written beside the picture were multiple Arabic words. I got my cell phone, took a picture of it and sent it to an Arabic-speaking friend who later informed me that the words said, “Allah” over and over again.

One tall, white-bearded man dressed in a bright cranberry-colored thobe sat statue-like in a back pew with his knees nearly in the air looking pensively toward the cross in the front of the auditorium. He won’t have to worry about being in an uncomfortable pew, I thought. All pews will be removed during renovation.

A group of about 10 pre-teen and young teenage boys, all dressed in kufi and thobe, were in the back pew of the other section, across from the old man. They were chatting slightly loudly and were restless as most boys are at that age and were obviously curious when they saw me, especially when I took my picture. I’m a mother to four boys – men now – and I have a special love in my heart for that age.

What will the future hold for these kids? I thought.

I sauntered up to them and as I approached they became even more animated. “How are you all doing today?!” I asked loudly with a big smile, trying to look each of them in the eye. They all put their heads down simultaneously. The old man turned and gave me a frown.

I returned back to my husband who had just finished speaking with the Realtor. It was then I looked down the short hallway beside the auditorium and noticed around 12 boxes of pizza on a side counter next to the back door of the church. I remember thinking this surely was not like any “Open House” we would hold in our Western culture.

Where were the tables of goodies, coffee, tea and punch, and where were the warm, friendly faces of the happy ladies serving them?

Where were the visitor cards?

Where was the, “Thanks so much for coming out on such a rainy day!” and “We hope to see you visit us again!” and “Here’s an information packet about us” that one would expect from a church open house?

We walked out the glass double-doors and immediately were met by two men, one very short and the other quite tall. I smiled at them as my husband told them why we came.

“Hi! What’s your name?” I inquired of the shorter one.

“My name is Muhammad, and I am the imam here.” he said. I don’t know why I asked, but I pressed for his last name.

“It’s Islam.” he answered. I remember thinking that was an incredible name; was he telling me the truth? I had no reason to doubt him, but I still did. He was decidedly unfriendly. His eyes seemed cold and dead and looked totally vacant.

My husband asked what the plans were for the property. Muhammad told us that all necessary changes would occur to the property to turn it into a mosque. We knew that meant removing all pews, all traces of crosses and anything else that smacked of Christianity.

“Do you have future plans for a day school here? Or even a college someday?” my husband questioned.

“Oh, no,” he said, “Nothing like that. We will have Sunday School here to teach the children and young people all about Islam.”

“Will you be building residences on the undeveloped portion of the property?” my husband asked. Muhammad gave a vague, nearly inaudible response and didn’t say yes or no to the question.

The taller man was older, sported a longish white beard and wore an ornate kufi. His light red thobe seemed too short for his frame. He volunteered that he attended the IAGD when he heard we lived in Rochester Hills and that his name was Abdul. He seemed much more open to speaking with us.

I decided to ask what would seem to him to be dumb questions.

“I’m curious about something in Islam. Would you say that you believe that Muhammad never sinned?” I asked, looking at him intently.

Abdul seemed to not understand my question, so I asked a different way, “I mean, would you say he was perfect and never did anything wrong?”

He gave a slight jerk with his head and answered with a definite, “No! Muhammad could not do anything that was wrong. Everything he did was willed by Allah.

“OK, so you are telling me that Muhammad was perfect, therefore sinless, which would then make him equal with Allah?”

He lowered his gaze at me and narrowed his eyes, “You mean God,” he corrected me.

“Well, no, Allah; Allah is your god, right?”

“No, you mean to say God.” he answered. I was later informed that the problem here was that I uttered the name “Allah” and that as an infidel this was punishable by death under Shariah Law.

Read it all. Then watch this.

youtube

#Creeping Sharia #islam #law #Legal #Life #Media #Muslim #News #Politics #Random #Religion #Sharia #travel #mosque

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sayofchains88 · 3 years

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Chapter Two: The capture and the new clan. by OrangeLetters88~

The two look outwards toward the sky. "Yes...I have done her a terrible evil. Unfortunately, I don't know what to do anymore. Do I give up, but that's why this happened in the first place." Alex replies softly. "Can you believe I trusted an appalling clan mate?" Alex starts to cry grabbing and tugging on Christian's shirt as he plummets down to his knees.

Christian sighs unable to give an answer. He puts his hands on Alex's head who continues to cry. "You sure must have a lot pent up inside of you...it's okay to let it out."

Christian pushes down Alex onto the sidewalk into a deep hug. "I must ask, how did Alice get turned? Why did you do it if you are like this?"

"You see I was dying. I also was too weak, but she decided to push herself on to me. I turned her fully when my clan leader came looking for me. He taught me how to create new younglings in case I make a clan..." Alex was saying till he noticed Christian looks at him engulfed in his words.

"You have the ability to turn?" Christian chimes excited.

"I mean yes. Oh wait are you asking me to turn you??" Alex shouts holding his hands out at Christian as he tries to push him aside.

"Let me help you! Let me protect you and Alice!" Christian begs. Alex gets up and starts to walk elsewhere.

"Where is your car Christian?" Alex inquires. Christian jumps ahead of him to open the door.

Alex grabs Christians face in the car. "What is wrong with you people? Seriously, can't you think of nothing else? Can't you help me without turning? The human spirit is tainted by fantasy and drama!" Alex argues without hesitation slightly ashamed Christian turns silent.

"So there is literally nothing I can say to convince you?" Christian replies feeling the heat of defeat.

"Okay...how we make a deal then. We rescue Alice. You talk to her. If you still feel the same after then I will grant you to be the second to my clan, alright?" Alex retorts conquered.

"Alright, let's do this!" Christian revs the engine and they pull out.

"I will show you where to go. We're going to my clans place." Alex types it into Alice's phone. Alex drives as fast as he can. From a far they observe a person with zip tied hands behind their back being led into the building.

"And you want to go inside?" Alex looks at Christian with an annoyed glance. "Do you have anything to defend yourself?"

Christian opens his trunk to find a hunting rifle and a jack wrench. "The hunting rifle has no bullets though. Tire wrench it is."

"Maybe I should have turned you into a vampire...were only two and even I can only do so much before they well you saw with just one." Alex says embarrassed.

"We will do our best with we got. I will hold you to your word to the end even if this means the end of us." Christian responds happily. He clasps Alex's hand a little before letting go.

They make their way into the building. Alex knocks. No answer at first later slowly the door opens. Christian is wide eyed with intimidation. All the people in the room laughing, legs kicking in the air and slapping their knees in hilarity almost as though they saw this coming; Alex walks in before Christian halting his progress by the extension of his arm.

"You really just knocked on the door? You kill us Alex?" Thompson laughs, but still signals to tie them up; Alex and Christian decide to not fight it as they realize they are out numbered.

"I am here for Alice. I also am amazed how you go and kidnap my own kin, but not go after Pappy. You are a disgraceful assistant." Alex denounces everyone in the room. They are forced to their knees to the boastful pride of capture from his detractors.

"You also bring a human to our door? Is he asking for a death wish?" Samantha hissed licking her fangs. The lust on her face was the look of euphoria.

"He is going to be my second of kin! No one gets to touch him or I will kill you." Alex tries to persuade while the group and sight of many new faces circle them both.

"We don't care about Pappy or that he is gone. We will turn Alice against you. She will rip your throat out and we will kill this human. Just throw him in a room and lock the door already. If you have to piss do it in your pants...better yet. Throw them in separate rooms. Bring them out for the ceremony. Alex maybe if we starve you long enough you will desire to kill your human friend eh?" Thompson says kicking him in the face many times.

Alex and Christian are crudely thrown into two small rooms with nothing in them. Quickly they lock the room behind them. Alex knows his room as he helped build them with Pappy. A small window looking into the next room in the back of them so they can view inside.

Alex's door opens up to see someone glower at him for a moment pushing him against the wall out of spite. "Tell me where is Dawn? She surely is the most sane here I can talk too."

The member shoots back at him. "Too late...she already left...she was looking for you. We let her go without a fight. She is scary for a woman not even Cooper could fight her if he tried. Now look ahead a head and enjoy the show, he departs slamming the door.

Right away he peers into it to window with alarm. Alice screams as she tries to kick the man away dressed in all black. Her hands zip tied to a pipe above her.

She is draped in a long flowing white night gown. "We caught your boyfriend and some other human he brought along. Soon you will do your first feeding. You will no longer struggle against us I promise." The voice reports to Alice who is anxious of her impending fate in the hands of Alex's clan who seems like nothing, but strangers to her. Fussy she bashes the pipes to cause a ruckus. The door opens and the man looks back. "Oh it's you Cooper."

Instantaneously she kicks the man in the face. "Stop harassing Alice. She is plenty scared enough as it is. My lady I am very sorry. I need you to follow me please." Cooper asks cutting the ties. "Idiot, do something proper and prepare the two already."

Cooper looks in Alex's direction. He slides down quick as possible, but knows he has been seen. He can feel the sweat drip down his face. So many new faces now occupy the clan. Cooper by far has come off the most to subdue him only for now.

Sitting on the floor in an isolated prison, he knows he will grow hungry for blood again very soon and without it. He fears he will hurt Christian or worse. He came in time to their preparations.

With that he will be able to produce some sort of quick thought or he hopes deep inside. Hours pass, he finds all he can do is rest. The door unlocks. Someone grabs him by the collar of his shirt once again requires him to get on his feet with the order to move. Regardless of their actions he stays quiet going down a long foyer to their ceremony hall.

Christian is tethered to the spot on his knees. He is closer to another person who was brought in much earlier. She is wailing. Christian looks over her direction in sympathy reacting when they decide to whip her often for being upset; a stage above is where Alice is seated in a large wicker chair.

Alex is pushed onto the stage. Most of the hall is empty otherwise. Cooper spots Alex on stage and slams his head into the ground. His legs lay flat onto the ground unable to position himself so he stays. "Traitors don't deserve to sit anywhere near me. The ground is where you belong."

Laying an awkward angle, Cooper gestures to bring over Christian. Alice and Christians eyes meet. Alice stands up in shock. "Sir I can't do this. Please allow me to another. He is my friend. I beg you!" Alice objects.

"Defiant are we? Your clan leader lies on the ground. Do you wish me to kill him? I can be kind Alice or I can be scary. I am asking you chose my mood." Copper yells as he kicks the wicker chair on its side. "I am kind enough to not allow the members to ogle you. They are away. It is just us here. Do not test my patience."

Hastily she dips to the ground. A tear wells in the corner of her eyes, Christian's mouth has been tied with a white cloth. Alex uncertain why they needed to shave his hair in the back viewing this in the distance, he struggles to be okay with this situation not even closing his eyes could help the horrible feeling he was getting in his stomach right now. The feeling he could die makes him shake looking up at Alice's face before accepting the debacle he allowed himself to get into.

Alice bites into his neck on command she trembles in the act of her sharp fangs burying into his neck. He no longer could keep in his position slumping over. Alex breaks the ties keeping him captive to thrust Alice out of the way to catch Christian no longer conscious. The scent of blood had him hold a moment while he comes to his senses.

Cooper claps at Alex. "What a sight to see. I wondered when you would break those ties, but I cannot let you leave." Cooper states. Alice seems in a trance. Her eyes blank staring out at the ceiling, her arms limp to her side.

A flashback of his first taste while he watches Alice in a stupor from afar, but knows he is significantly in danger. Concerned he jumps up to the rafters. Christian being a bit heavy makes this all the harder for him. He knows he needs to think fast albeit he looks around the room.

He listens for Christian's heartbeat. Only faintly, but Cooper was not going to allow it catching up to him with a striking blow of his fists. Alex easily vaults to another spot away to dig his teeth into his neck to consume the rest of the blood in Christian's system.

"You have no other choice it seems. If I hadn't known better you didn't originally have plans to turn him." Cooper laughs. Alex gives the middle finger then rips into his own arm to feed Christian enough before dropping down like an acrobat to lay him on the ground next to Alice who wakes out of it when Alex slightly touches her.

"Alex? Where am I?" She asks abruptly. Alex avoids answering.

"Cooper what can I do to leave? I detect you don't plan to fight me." Alex shouts with both hands open wide.

Walking up the stairs slowly Cooper whacking Alex across the face with enough force. "I am not allowing you or your friends to go. You are a heathen bastard. No matter how many kin you make you will still be worthless."

Christian dry heaves before standing up. Looking down at his hands flexing his fingers to work them out, he feels agility ignite in his body when he out of nowhere he punches Cooper in the stomach. "That is for my friend Alex." Interrupting Coopers abuse, Christian grabs Alice pushing through the door hearing the lock break under pressure.

Alex face palms, but he walks behind quickly. Christian throws Alice into Alex's arms picking the dropped tire wrench smashing Thompson's hands and stomach all while bursting the main doors off its hinges brandishing it like a flail or morning star swinging it multiple times almost as though it was a boomerang.

"Where the hell is all this energy coming from?" Alex yells as the door opens. Cooper catches up at the door way pulling back Alice by her long gown with a clear glare. Alex and Christian outside inch back.

Exhausted Cooper comes through the door breaking pieces up from where tire wrench destroyed the door in which falls to the ground before Alice could break away with her nightgown Cooper reaches for her hair. She wails with each tug of his hand like reigns on a horse.

The sun coming up on the horizon Christian tosses Alex the keys. He starts it up the moment Christian decides to once again wield the tire jack retrieving it from the ground. However the entire clan catches on pulling Alice deep into their crowd. "CHRISTIAN! ALEX!" She screams the further back she is swung.

Coopers arms folded smugly. He sneers his laughter echoes. "It seems you are the fastest I ever seen coming too I will admit, but you will not make it any further."

The adrenaline no longer hitting him; his eyes change back to normal. A wave of sadness has him stick his arm out at Cooper. Alex gets out of the car to drag him away from touching Cooper's hand.

Dunking his head under to not hit the top of the car he drives off fast as possible. "Hey, hey Christian, are you okay buddy?"

Christians head darts back in the seat titling upwards. "No..." his words slur all the while feeling sick he closes his eyes, Alex puts his hand on his shoulder.

"But you got us out of there. You have impressive strength and agility." Alex trying to convince him it was the right thing to do.

"You have the worst bartering skills. You cannot barter monsters! Pull over please!" Christian pleads getting out when they park on a side with grass visible. Barely making it before continuously throwing up everything in his stomach; Alex pats his back softly. "How are we going to get Alice back when you are not capable mean bone in your body? Jesus knows I am going to hell now...but it's not like I was any good a person before that..."

Alex felt like he wanted to input, but stopped in mid thought putting his head down. "I have been alive since 1900's, but I did not become one till the steels strikes that happened. I piggy backed off a group of small workers boys. We turned due to an offer to never be hungry again well not in the same way anyways. Was I wrong taking that strangers hand that day?" Alex illustrates his past to Christian. "I am starting to think Cooper is one of those worker boys like I was. He has grown cruel, but that is probably how he views the world now."

"What will they do to Alice?" Christian demands to know.

"They may force indoctrination on her. We must expect anything the next time." Alex responds solemnly.

Christian huffs wiping from his mouth hurdled over. Nearly six am the sky almost day. "We need to go back home. Alex I am dizzy as fuck."

Alex helps Christian back into the car. Making sure to seat him properly, Christian pushes down the visor and pushes back the seat. "How long does it take to get used to this?" he says closing his eyes.

"Eventually, I can't say..."Alex drives back slowly; his aim is not to catch attention. They reach the hill to notice a crowd of people outside of Alice's home. Alex determines to park far down away from other cars. He shakes Christian. "Christian, Christian wake up, we got a situation!"

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/269037735/write/1067445706 If you like what you see please support me on wattpad~

#original story #vampires #drama

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dfroza · 3 years

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An act of rebirth that we are to conserve

to share it with all of beautiful earth.

and this is the pure significance of having it written down for all to be able to read and to personally choose for themselves to “believe...”

for only the True illumination of the Son promises us rebirth of the heart (inside, Anew) as well as the rebirth of the body when it will be made eternal. death will no longer exist at some point.

and Love invites us into Light as to not force love to be, since it can never be forced to be True. for we are first chosen as a call of the Spirit that is seen by our own, but we still have to open the heart to reply... to believe inside and to speak through a body of earth and time. it is life’s purest treasure to be known as a child (a son or a daughter) of our heavenly Father.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the closing chapter of the book of Mark:

At the rising of the sun, after the Sabbath on the first day of the week, the two Marys and Salome brought sweet-smelling spices they had purchased to the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus. Along the way, they wondered to themselves how they would roll the heavy stone away from the opening. But when they arrived, the stone was already rolled away in spite of its weight and size.

Stepping through the opening, they were startled to see a young man in a white robe seated inside and to the right.

Man in White: Don’t be afraid. You came seeking Jesus of Nazareth, the One who was crucified. He is gone. He has risen. See the place where His body was laid. Go back, and tell Peter and His disciples that He goes before you into Galilee, just as He said. You will see Him there when you arrive.

The women went out quickly; and when they were outside the tomb, they ran away trembling and astonished. Along their way, they didn’t stop to say anything to anyone because they were too afraid.

[After He rose from the dead early on Sunday, Jesus appeared first to Mary Magdalene, a woman out of whom He had cast seven demons. She brought this news back to all those who had followed Him and were still mourning and weeping, but they refused to believe she had seen Jesus alive.

After that, Jesus appeared in a different form to two of them as they walked through the countryside, and again the others did not believe it.

The eleven did not believe until Jesus appeared to them all as they sat at dinner. He rebuked them for their hard hearts—for their lack of faith—because they had failed to believe those witnesses who had seen Him after He had risen.

Jesus: Go out into the world and share the good news with all of creation. Anyone who believes this good news and is ceremonially washed will be rescued, but anyone who does not believe it will be condemned. And these signs will follow those who believe: they will be able to cast out demons in My name, speak with new tongues, take up serpents, drink poison without being harmed, and lay their hands on the sick to heal them.

After the Lord Jesus had charged the disciples in this way, He was taken up into heaven and seated at the right hand of God. The disciples went out proclaiming the good news; and the risen Lord continued working through them, confirming every word they spoke with the signs He performed through them.]

[And the women did everything they had been told to do, speaking to Peter and the other disciples. Later Jesus Himself commissioned the disciples to take this sacred and eternal message of salvation far to the East and the West.]

The Book of Mark, Chapter 16 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 8th chapter of the book of Job where Bildad chimes in:

Then the second of Job’s three friends, Bildad the Shuhite, addressed Job.

Bildad: How long will you say these things,

your words whipping through air like a powerful wind?

Does God corrupt justice,

or does the Highest One corrupt the good?

If your children sinned against Him,

He merely administered the punishment due them for those sins.

But if you search for God

and make your appeal to the Highest One,

If you are pure and righteous,

I have no doubt He will arise for you and restore you to your righteous place.

From your modest beginnings,

the future will be bright before you.

Ask those who have come and gone!

Explore what their fathers learned and taught them.

For we are not of ages past, nor even of years gone by.

We are ignorant creatures of yesterday,

and our time on earth is only a shadow.

But the ancients are not similarly bound, are they?

Won’t they speak to and instruct you?

Won’t they draw up words from deep within?

Can papyrus grow tall without a marsh?

Can reeds flourish without water?

Even if they are hardy and unbroken,

without water they will dry up before any other plant.

So it goes with any who forget God.

The hope of the godless soon withers and dies.

His confidence breaks,

for he trusts in the tenuous threads of a spider’s web.

When he leans into his house of silken threads for support,

it won’t hold;

Though his arms grab to steady him,

it will break—he will fall and never get back up.

Still the godless appears to be a hardy plant,

thriving in full sun, sending his shoots across the garden.

The roots twine and grip the stone heap

and search for a home among the rocks.

If he is pulled up, the place will disown him saying,

“I have never seen you.”

See, his sole joy consists of this:

knowing that others will spring from the earth to take his place.

Do you see it? God will not reject the innocent;

He will not reject you or support agents of evil.

He will fill your mouth with laughter;

your lips will spill over into cries of delight.

Those who hate you will don the garment of shame,

and the home of the wicked will disappear.

The Book of Job, Chapter 8 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, April 15 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about being welcomed by Love:

"The Son of Man came ... and they say, 'Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!'" (Matt. 11:19). People, especially the religious people, were scandalized by Yeshua because he was a “friend of tax collectors and sinners!” Yet what sickness of heart is this, to despise those who are sick? It is a sorrow of heart to realize that religion often creates an “in-group” mentality that attains its status at the expense of the “outsider,” the “stranger,” the “sinner,” and so on... The prayer of the self-righteous is always: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other people: extortionists, unrighteous people, adulterers – or even like this tax collector" (Luke 18:11).

The religious leaders of Yeshua's day were offended because he "welcomed sinners" and enjoyed eating meals with them (Luke 15:2). We can almost hear their disapproving whispers and their dismissive accusations: "How could a good Jew behave like this? Does he not understand the call to personal holiness? Does he not know the Torah of "clean" and "unclean"? If a man is known by the company he keeps, we know enough about Yeshua to know that he's not truly pious..." And to this very day the self-righteous find offensive the idea that God welcomes the sinful, the needy, the broken, the despised, and the "outsider" into His presence... As Yeshua said, "those who are well have no need of a physician," and indeed offering them God's cure will always be regarded as a kind of poison...

We greatly rejoice that God indeed is the friend of sinners; He is the Good Shepherd who seeks and saves the lost. Thank the Lord that he comes not for the “righteous” but for those who are brokenhearted, for those mortally wounded by their own sin... Any so-called theology or religion that repudiates or minimizes God’s love for the sinful, the needy, the broken, is little more than a shrine to human pride and vanity... On the contrary: the heart of the Compassionate One always welcomes a sinner who sincerely turns to Him. [Hebrew for Christians]

4.15.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 15, 2021

The Trumpet of God

“And when the voice of the trumpet sounded long, and waxed louder and louder, Moses spake, and God answered him by a voice.” (Exodus 19:19)

This is the first reference to trumpets in the Bible, and it is significant that the “voice” of the trumpet was coming not from man but from God. The setting was the awesome scene at Mount Sinai, when the Lord gave Moses the Ten Commandments for His people.

The last reference in the Old Testament to trumpets again refers to God’s trumpet. “And the LORD shall be seen over them, and his arrow shall go forth as the lightning: and the LORD God shall blow the trumpet, and shall go with whirlwinds of the south” (Zechariah 9:14).

The trumpet as used in Israel (Hebrew shofar) was made of rams’ horns and was used on many important occasions. One of the most notable was when the Israelites finally entered the Promised Land at Jericho. “So the people shouted when the priests blew with the trumpets: and...the wall fell down flat,...and they took the city” (Joshua 6:20). These were human trumpets, of course, but they were sounded with the authority of God, and God gave the victory.

We also today can speak with the authority of God if we speak His Word plainly and clearly. But “if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?” (1 Corinthians 14:8).

We ourselves may soon hear the trumpet of God, for the return of Christ is drawing near. “For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven...with the trump of God” (1 Thessalonians 4:16). As we are caught up to meet the Lord in the air, we (like John long ago) will hear a voice “as it were of a trumpet,” saying, “Come up hither” (Revelation 4:1), and then “shall we ever be with the Lord” (1 Thessalonians 4:17). HMM

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guide-to-dragons-blog · 7 years

Text

1. Greet a Dragon with Respect

"Suuuummer, it's hooooooot!"

It was summer in Pine Valley, meaning that there was an annual early heatwave. It's ridiculously hot for June, which is normal but still stupid, considering how we lived next to a massive pine forest. According to Summer, pine trees grow better in wet, cold climates, except for this one obscure type that I've never bothered to remember the name of. I leave that sort of nerd thing to Summer.

"I know," she agreed, fanning herself with the book she's abandoned. That's how you know it's serious: Summer never puts down a book she likes except under extreme circumstances. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up friends with a bookworm like her. "I could ask my parents if we can go to the pool?"

"Hey, yeah! That's a great- Mmmm..." I squinted at her from under the arm shielding my eyes. Her glasses glinted in the sun. "There'll be a lot of people," I warned.

Summer frowned, crossing her legs uncomfortably. "I'll be fine. There won't be that many people." I've never exactly gotten her deal with people. She's funny and super smart, so she'd be really popular if she'd just open up. It might've also helped if I wasn't her best friend, but whatever. I digress.

"This ain't exactly Cali, dude. No one has a pool in their backyard." It gets too cold in the winter for that. "Everyone will be at the public one."

She scowled. "I hate it when you're right. I thought I was supposed to be the reasonable one here. You're supposed to be the daredevil who gets us in trouble."

"The heat's fried your brain," I teased, reaching out to poke her knee. The brunette seemed to frown harder. We got quiet again, trying to think of other ways to get out of the heat. I let my eyes drift over to the left, coming to stare at the forest looming in the distance. Hmm. Lots of tall, thick trees all bunched together in one place, which means lots of shade. Not to mention the breeze and-

I sat up quickly, startling her into dropping her book. "That's it! The lake!" I rushed into the house, grinning wildly. This had to be my best idea yet.

"The lake?" Summer echoed, running after me. Incredulously,sthe said, "You mean the lake in the middle of the off-limits woods?"

"Unless you know any other lakes around here," I chirped cheerfully, grabbing my bag and darting into the bathroom to grab a towel. I poked my head out to look at her. "Think your parents would mind if I stole one of your towels?"

"To go swimming in the off-limits lake? Yes, I think they would," she drawled, crossing her arms disapprovingly. "Really, Cascade, I know you have this whole 'daredevil' thing going on, but don't you think this is stretching it? I mean..." She shifted from mother hen to nervous wreck, glancing out the window worriedly. "Those fences are there for a reason, you know."

I stopped shoving the two towels into the bag to lean on the counter and gave her a flat stare. "What, you mean the dragons that live there?"

It was sort of a town joke/superstition. The founder, a guy named Christian Dike, came here when he was run out of his old town. He found a couple of nice people to help him make a new settlement here and thus, Pine Valley was born. However, according to some of his old journals, the nice people weren't the only ones who helped him make it. Dike claimed that somewhere in the woods was an entire lair of dragons who helped construct the place, so the woods were off-limits, apparently to give them their privacy or whatever. There were a few weirdos who believed it and either stayed away from it or went searching, but most people just stayed out because of all the wild animals likely running around.

Summer flushed and scowled at me. "You know that's not the reason! There's just too much wilderness. We could get hurt! Or worse, we could get caught!"

"...How is that worse than getting hurt?"

"Permanent records Cascade. You can't get into a good college with a criminal record!"

I sighed, walking over and grabbing her shoulders. "Summer. I know, like, seven people who have gone to that lake, and none of them have been caught. No police or anything ever goes in there, okay? Come on, it's just for an hour or something. Don't you wanna be cool?" I enticed, grinning again. I could see the struggle in her eyes. Any minute now she was gonna break.

With a long-suffering groan, her resolve disintegrated, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Alright, alright, you win! Let's go swim in the forbidden lake." She shot me a dirty look when I started dancing in celebration. "Dad was right about you. You're a terrible influence," she informed me.

I cackled, crooning, "But a fun one~ C'mon, let's go grab your suit!" She let me dance past her up the stairs, sighing loudly behind me. I looked at the pictures on the wall leading up, grinning at the little family. More than a few of them were dorky pictures of Summer and I growing up.

Summer's room was at the very end of the hall, cut off by a girlishly decorated door. Summer had been meaning to take off some of the stickers for years, but somehow it never happened (it was entirely my fault. I distracted her every time she talked about it until she just gave up). The room itself was much more mature, with bare pale blue walls save for bookshelves. She had a twin bed with a plain navy blue blanket, a white fluffy blanket, and two blue and white striped pillows. She had a nightstand at the left side with a small lamp. Her dresser was white and not very big, across the room from her door. She had a floor to ceiling bookshelf full of books, and one of the shelves was full of baubles and trinkets she adored. She also had a work desk she used to read and do any sort of work at, with a tall lamp to the right of it.

As I leafed through her drawers, I considered the old rumor. It would be pretty cool if dragons were real. When I was younger, I constantly pretended to be a dragon or to see dragons. My shelves were lined with tons of books ranging from rpg guides to stories about them. It drove my aunt and uncle crazy for a while, but at least I was easy to shop for. If there really were dragons in the forest, I wanted to meet them.

Of course, I'd come to the realization years ago that dragons and such didn't actually exist, so like all children I gave up on that dream and just thought back on them with fondness.

"I can look for my own suit, you know," Summer chimed, watching me from her bed.

"Yeah, I know, but I got up here first, so therefor I get to rifle through your drawers." I peeked at her over my shoulder, grinning evilly. "What'sa matter, Summer? Got something scandalous in here?" I teased.

Summer flushed at the taunt, scowling at me. She reached out and grabbed an empty Sprite bottle off the floor (oops, I probably left that the last time I was here) and chucked it at me as I cackled again. I turned back and grabbed the article of clothing I was looking for, tossing it at her. "There we go. Go change and we're all set!"

"Aren't you forgetting your suit, smart one?" Summer snarked, grabbing the suit as she stood up.

"Nah, I'll just go in this," I replied, gesturing to my tee-shirt and shorts. "House is too far away for walking to right now."

Summer sighed and headed for the bathroom, leaving me to myself. Humming idly, I headed downstairs, rummaging through the fridge for something to drink. They always had extra water bottles in the very bottom during summer so we could stay hydrated. It was very convenient for when we wanted to go places but it was hot out. Grabbing a pair of bottles, I hurried up the stairs, depositing them in the bag.

Summer emerged just then, an orange tee-shirt pulled on over her top and sandals on her feet. She raised an eyebrow at the bottles, clearly not having expected that I be the responsible one. I shrugged. "I had nothing else to do."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head at me. "Whatever you say, Cascade. Are we ready?"

"When you are!" I confirmed, shouldering the bag with a grin. We headed down the stairs together, a spring in my step and carefully hidden excitement in hers. As rule-oriented as Summer was, she was still my friend, and anyone crazy enough to stick with me for as long as she had needed a little bit of an adventurous streak.

It might have been my imagination, but I think it actually got hotter in the short while we had headed in. I was sweating about as soon as I stepped out. We might have started running to the trees if not for the fact that it was too hot to do more than trudge miserably down the road, wishing it was just a little bit cooler.

We couldn't reach the fence fast enough. The fence was at least eight feet high, which was definitely taller than me or Summer. It had been put up by Dike way back when to keep people out and it had stayed there, mostly because the people in town were too lazy to take it down. Nowadays it served as a deterrent to delinquents and lawbreakers, not that it did much to stop them. Maybe they should set up an electric fence instead.

"How are we gonna get over that?" Summer whispered, eyeing the metal warily.

I rolled my eyes playfully. "There's this thing that we can do called climbing, and it helps people get over things like this."

She glared at me for a moment, which I simply beamed at cheerfully, and then the look melted into the familiar pane of anxiety. "You know, maybe this is a bad idea. I mean, they have a fence and signs up for a reason, you know? Maybe there really is something big in there that we don't want to meet."

It was obvious that we weren't going to get anywhere like this, so I sighed and squared my shoulders. I took a few steps back, catching her relieved face, and planted my feet. Relief was replaced with confusion as I grabbed the straps of the bag with both hands, eyeing the top of the fence with a determined set to my jaw. Horrified realization hit her as I began to swing my arms, building up as much momentum as I could. Before she had a chance to say anything, I gave it one last swing and let it fly. The bag sailed up, up, up... and landed with a satisfying thunk on the other side of the fence.

I gave her a smug grin and swaggered back up to the fence, reaching up to grip the first few links. Summer made a sputtering noise as I hefted myself up, carefully scaling the cold obstruction. The metal dug uncomfortably into my palms and knees but I ignored it in favor of reaching the top of the wall. I was just trying to work my way over the fence when Summer finally found her wits again and yelled, "Please be careful Cascade! Falls from that height could really hurt you!"

"Summer my dear, I think you forget that I am the same person who once climbed up to your window after it rained. I'm not gonna fall," I yelled down at her, swinging my legs over so I was hanging from the top. I began to casually work my way down, smiling at her triumphantly. "See? What'd I tell you? You got nothing to worry about, I'm a natural-"

My foot slipped.

Summer screamed as I dropped the last four of five feet, landing hard on my back. I stared up at the overhanging branches, my head spinning and heart pounding. I expected to be significantly more winded and in more pain than what I was, and then I felt the squishy thing beneath me. Rolling over, I found that I'd landed on the bag, which was noticeably more compact than it had been.

"Are you okay?" Summer asked desperately, clinging hard to the fence and watching me with worry.

"Surprisingly, yes," I replied, grinning again as I reached out to pat the trusty bag. "Luckily I had this convenient bag to break my fall."

She let out a deep breath, face contorting into a mix of anger and relief. "You are so lucky that bag caught you Cascade. You could have broken something! I swear, when I get over there I'm going to throttle you! How dare you make me worry!"

"So you're coming over?" I asked impishly, grinning as she gave an irritated groan and began clumsily scaling the fence. My amusement waned a little as I watched her. It was fine when I did it, but Summer didn't have the experience that I did. It would be even easier for her to hurt herself. I couldn't stop myself from coaching her a little. "Keep your body closer to the fence. I know it's a little uncomfortable, but it'll help you hang on better."

"Cascade," she said in a mock-surprised voice, sounding out of breath already. "Are you... worried about... me? I'm a n-natural," she huffed, shaking as her hand slipped a bit. She was almost to the top.

"Ha ha, you're so funny, now stop talking and focus on where you're putting your hands. Your dad may be a doctor, but I'm not. If you crack your skull open you're toast," I threatened, subconsciously raising my hands as though to catch her.

"You know, you're.... You're not making this any easier," she huffed, pausing at the top to catch her breath. "You're actually kind of making this worse."

"I could just start making my way to the lake if that makes you feel better," I replied carelessly, reaching down to grab the bag and sling it back over my shoulder.

Her eyes grew wide, grip turning white-knuckled with terror. "You wouldn't dare," she hissed, leaning forward slightly.

I hid my evil grin and turned away, taking a few joking steps into the forest. Her dismayed squawk sent me giggling and I turned back, dropping the bag again. "I'm insulted. You look like you were actually expecting me to leave you here!" I teased, stepping back over and craning my head back to look up at her.

Summer looked like she was actually debating the benefits of throttling me once she found a way to get down. I just smiled at her sweetly and made a "come hither" motion, eager to get back on the way. The heat was sinking in once again and I wanted to get going. She sighed heavily and began descending, thankfully without any of the issues I had.

As soon as her feet touched ground she whirled around and punched my arm, which might have had more of an impact if not for the fact that it lacked any strength. I clutched my arm theatrically and wailed, "Ah, oh no! The pain, the pain! It hurts so much! I may never recover again!"

"I will hit you again, and this time it will hurt," Summer grumbled, snatching the bag and stomping into the forest ahead of me.

I laughed and hurried to catch up to her, taking the lead. I had only been to the lake once before this, but the way was clear. Other teens had left convenient little hints that you could find if you payed attention: a blue scarf tied around a tree, a carved arrow or a spray-painted picture, things like that. Summer frowned at a few of them, muttering about laws and the environment. I sighed good-naturedly, more amused with her mumbled tirade than anything else.

Walking in the forest brought a strange feeling of peace to me. Maybe it was just the massive difference in temperature now that we were in the shade, or the gentle breeze, but whatever it was, it felt really nice just to walk through here. I think Summer felt the same, because the longer we walked the quieter her complaints got. I glanced back to see that she was staring up at the trees serenely, looking right at home.

A particularly strong breeze stole my attention, bringing the scent of water our way. Grinning at Summer, I broke into a run, beckoning her to do the same. The trees stopped abruptly, fading from grass to sand. The lake stretched out into the distant set of mountains, glimmering in the summer heat.

I laughed and paused just long enough to slip off my shoes before I was charging into the water. Cold water splashed up around my legs, soaking me almost instantly. I ducked under the water, relishing in the feeling of water rushing around me. I resurfaced, turning around to see Summer standing on the bank still, watching me with a grin. "Well don't just stand there silly, come in! The water feels amazing!" I called, waving her in excitedly.

She set the bag down and pulled off the top, wading into the water hesitantly and shivering at the sudden temperature change. I rolled my eyes again-they were really getting a workout today it seemed-and swam closer, watching her with unimpressed eyes. She looked down at the water hesitantly. "This doesn't look very clean, Cascade. Is is alright to go swimming in it?"

"Of course it is. This is what we're supposed to swim in, Summer! Not those shallow pools of chlorinated water, but real, pure lake water! Filled with fish and crawdads and natural life!" I enthused, laughing as I splashed her playfully and she shied away.

"Sometimes I think you were a fish in your past life," Summer commented, finally wading in deeper than her waist. She sighed as the water flowed over her shoulders, giving me a shy grin. "You're right though, this does feel really nice."

I grinned, reaching out to pull her further into the lake. "See? Now aren't you glad that I talked you into this?"

"Yes, yes, I get it," she replied, giggling as she began to tread water. A devious look entered her eyes and she brought her hands up, slapping them into the water forcefully. I yelped, trying in vain to shield myself from her assault. She smiled evilly. "That's for the fence, Cade." "Oh, is that how it's gonna be? I hope you know what you're getting into!" I cackled, initiating the Great Splash War.

We played around for about fifteen minutes, laughing as we dunked one another. When we got tired, Summer moved back to shore to laze on her towel while I floated. I swam out into the darker parts of the lake and ducked under, swimming down as far as I could go and peering around me. The water was clearer down at the bottom, easily letting me see all the different kinds of fish and lake species. I trailed my hands through the fronds on the bottom and swam up for air.

I glanced around, noticing that I'd drifted out much farther than intended, and quickly began heading back to shore. Summer was reading yet again, lounging in the shade as she dried off. I chuckled and hurried back over, intending to rope her into a game of Marco Polo.

The day had other plans though. As soon as I had stumbled back onto land, unused to the sudden heaviness in my limbs, I heard someone yell in the direction we'd come from. I stiffened, eyes going wide as I heard them tromping through the undergrowth. The voice was older and gruff, so there was definitely no hope that it was another teenager coming to enjoy the lake on a hot summer day.

Summer looked up at me, panicked. They were awfully close now. "What should we do?" she whisper-yelled, staggering to her feet and gripping my sleeve anxiously.

"We make a run for it!" I replied, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into the trees again.

"W-wait a minute, Cascade, what about the towels?" Summer yelped, trying to tug her wrist out of my grip.

I stifled a groan. "We don't have time for that right now! We gotta get out of here! We'll get them later!"

"Th-those are my mom's favorite though!"

"Permanent record Summer."

That shut her up.

Sticks and stones dug into my exposed feet, branches ripping at my hair. I growled, making a note to ask Aunt Julie for a haircut later. The man had given chase it sounded like, possibly following the sound of our less-than-graceful retreat. He kept yelling things like "get back here!" and "you're in a lot of trouble youngsters!" and "wait until your parents here about this!"

I was tiring fast, and from the way Summer kept stumbling and lagging, I figured it was the same for her. We had to change tactics somehow. Instead of running, maybe we should try hiding. My eyes narrowed as I scanned the forest for a decent nook to lose him in. I had no idea anymore where I was, only that it was much farther into the forest than most people generally went.

The was a flash of grey in the corner of my vision. I whipped my head around, quickly glancing over it. It looked like it was some kind of stone cave, relatively low to the ground, but hiding there would provide a little bit of cover. Breathing hard, I changed course and made a beeline for the cave, Summer yelping in surprise behind me. I dragged her with me into the darkness.

Unfortunately, the ground was not flat. It slanted abruptly, making a semi-steep slope. My feet slipped on a rock and suddenly I was sliding down into an even darker part of the cave, Summer tumbling after me. We landed in a stunned tangle of limbs at the bottom of the incline, breathing frantic. I glanced up, listening to the sound of heavy boots crashing through the bushes. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling Summer cling to my arm desperately.

The footsteps stopped overhead. The man cursed and I heard a loud rustle, like he was rifling through a bag or his pockets. A glowing circle of light hit the wall across from us, dancing around the dirt. The man sighed heavily and the light disappeared again as I heard the man mutter, "I'm gettin' too old for things like this..." He set off into the forest again, leaves crunching as he went.

Summer and I sat in silence until we couldn't hear him any more, at which point I began laughing maniacally, not caring that the cackling echoed down the cave. Summer didn't seem to share my hysterics, clutching her heart and breathing heavily. She looked like her whole life was flashing before her eyes. When she recovered, she smacked my arm, only succeeding in making me laugh harder. "Cascade! This isn't funny! We were almost caught!" she hissed, glaring at me furiously. "Would you please stop laughing already?"

"I-I'm sorry," I choked out, not sorry at all. "I-I... I just- I can't believe that h-happened." Summer continued to stew in silence, arms crossed, while I got my breathing back under control, sighing deeply. I brushed a tear from my eye. "Whew, man, that was a rush!"

"I am never letting you talk me into anything ever again," Summer stated hotly, gesturing wildly with her arms. "Look at us! We're disgusting! And trespassing! If that man had put just a little more effort into his search, we would have been toast."

I glanced down at myself thoughtfully. I was coated in dirt and still dripping lake water, twigs and leaves clung to my clothes, and my hair was a helpless mess of tangles and weeds. I noticed for the first time that my feet hurt pretty badly and my legs were scraped up. "Hmm. Maybe next time we should pack an extra set of clothes."

"No Cascade, you will not pack an extra set of clothes, because there will not be a next time! There will never be a next time because it's illegal and dangerous and-" Her tirade stopped abruptly, eyes going wide as she peered into the cave. Her voice dropped several levels as she whispered, "Did you hear that?"

"I couldn't hear anything over the sound of you yelling at me," I replied drily, frowning at her. "Really, Summer, you need to lighten up. Worrying is bad fo-"

She clapped a hand over my mouth. "Shh! Listen!"

I gave her an exasperated glare but did as I was told, listening to the silence in the cave. It took a moment, but I was suddenly aware of a strange noise, like something was dragging along the walls. The weird noise was accompanied by an eerie rattling, like someone had taken a handful of bones and shaken them.

Summer whimpered. From deep within the darkness came a low rumble in reply, and suddenly the dragging noise got louder. I spotted a brief flicker of light far out in front of us, catching the outline of... something really big. The ground began to tremble slightly as whatever it was grew closer.

Heart humming in my ears, I turned to Summer and whispered, "We gotta get out of here. Hurry up the slope as fast as you can."

She nodded fearfully, struck mute with terror. Despite my instructions to move quickly, she stood up slowly and began trying to scramble up the mound behind us. It was a lot steeper than I first thought, apparently. I looked away from her progress to eye the thing coming closer. Another burst of light briefly revealed horns and an angular head, and now I could make out a pair of gleaming red eyes. They didn't need any light to shine, glowing with a violent inner fire. I turned back to Summer franticly. "Hurry it up Sum, that thing's almost here!"

"You try c-climbing this any faster," she stammered, scrambling with renewed vigor.

"Here, let's do this." I turned, twining my fingers together, making a little basket out of my hands. "Hurry up and climb," I ushered urgently, sparing another look at the creature-it couldn't be what I wanted to call it, that was impossible-and frowned. It was sure taking its sweet time eating us.

"A-are you sure? I don't want to hurt you," she worried.

"Summer, I'm a little bit more concerned with the giant animal coming to eat us than with you standing on my hands."

"F-fair enough." She lightly put her foot on my joined palms, grabbing my shoulders to stabilize herself.

The creature seemed to take that as its cue, letting out a low bellow as it released a steady stream of fire. Summer's scream overlapped mine as we cowered against the wall, feeling the searing heat flood the small area. It was even hotter than the summer sun outside. I could have sworn I felt some hairs singe.

Either it had awful aim or it wasn't trying to barbecue us, because when the actual fire stopped flying we were miraculously unharmed, if not very shaken. Instead, a previously-unseen torch was flickering steadily on either wall, illuminating the immediate area and the creature that had just given us a heart attack.

The creature was so tall that its long, pearly white horns scraped the ceiling. Its body was long and pitch back, with very obvious muscles and dangerously curved claws. It was littered with bones, which meant that my guess earlier had been right. Finishing it off was the malicious pair of blood-red eyes and a spine of white spikes that could easily be mistaken for more bones. It was the most metal thing I'd ever seen and I might have been a little in love, but this also proved one other thing.

It was undeniably a dragon.

Dragons were real.

"Summer," I whispered, staring up at it in awe. "Summer that's a freaking dragon."

Summer made a nonsensical whimpering noise, looking like she was going to either pass out or cry, or maybe both.

The dragon seemed almost smug as it leaned down, bringing its head within touching distance. I was very tempted to reach out and stroke its scaled nose, but somehow I got the impression that it would bite off my hand. Its lips pulled back, revealing a full maw of impossibly sharp teeth, each of them probably a little bigger than my forearm, and it growled threateningly.

My nose scrunched up as the hot air rushed over my face and I raised my arm to cover my nose. "Whoa, dude, your breath reeks. Have you ever heard of dental hygiene? Some mouthwash might do you some good."

In hindsight, insulting a giant beast of legend that was six or seven times my size was probably a really bad idea, but current me wasn't thinking of that. Current me was just thinking that the giant dragon really needed a good flossing, because I was pretty sure I could see bits of its last meal sticking out of its teeth.

The dragon didn't seem to take that so well, because it opened it massive mouth, roared in my face, and lunged toward me.

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fanofafan2ff · 7 years

Text

50: Plus One

Madison

I cried over everything these days.

Stress. Swollen feet. Chris being gone too long. Everybody being busy. My bridesmaid dress barely fitting. Weight gain. Christian growing up too fast. All in all, I was a complete mess. When they said pregnancies would be different, I had no doubt in my mind they were right. I never acted this way with Christian.

I knew deep down Chris was really tired of this shit. He was ready for me to drop this baby. Shit, so was I. Little baby Brown was killing me. I couldn’t say he or she, because we had yet to find out the sex. I was well over the 16 week mark, but we chose to withhold the gender.

With me being seven and a half months pregnant, Mel’s wedding in three weeks, and everything else with work that had been going on between Chris and I, in addition to our overly active three year old- it was a lot going on. I wasn’t even sure I was gonna be able to have a baby shower anymore. At this point, I was starting to believe that I’d find out the gender of baby number two when I gave birth.

But, leave it up to my friends, family, and boyfriend to lie to me about going to Miami three weeks early to make sure everything was “set for Mel’s wedding.” We left California three days ago to come to Miami. Her wedding was gonna be in downtown Miami at the Conrad Miami. The place was beautiful.

Mel had put a lot into this wedding, even though it wasn’t going to be a big wedding, about 100 guests or so. Between Mel, Ashley, Kaya, and my pregnant ass, we were getting shit done for this wedding. With the occasional chime in from Mijo.

So, imagine all our distress when someone from the Conrad called saying they had a problem. For whatever reason, they double booked the venue and now Mel would have to find another. She was going off. She only calmed down when they let her know that they had another venue open and would make sure she got a discounted price. She accepted and they let her know that she had to come and see the space as soon as possible.

We all got dressed, and an hour later, we were downtown. “Girl, you are extremely too calm for me.” I watched Mel text quickly on her phone. “Huh? Oh girl, if I get angry I’m canceling the whole wedding. So I’m just trying to stay calm.” She let me know. She was still texting fiercely on her phone. Hm, probably letting Mijo know.

Knowing this might go on longer than we though, I opted for an off the shoulder maternity dress and a pair of comfortable sandals. I felt as big as a house these days and dresses were the only things I felt comfortable in now. Those and a pair of panties and a big tee shirt.

“The manager says we can meet in the ballroom.” Mel let us all know. We all trekked inside, and as soon as we did, I got the sensation to pee. We approached the front desk and the concierge asked for a second before we made our way to the ballroom. “I gotta pee first.” I announced. “Oh, the rest room is down the hall to the left.” She let me know.

“Okay. Thank you. Y’all can start without me. I’ll be there in a sec.” I said. “Okay. The ballroom is right around the corner whenever you’re ready.” She said. I thanked her and Kaya chose to tag along with me. She held my bag while I quickly retreated into one of the stalls. She laughed as I sighed as soon as I started to pee.

“Not funny!” I called as I peed for what felt like forever. I finished, wiped, and readjusted my clothes before walking out. While I was washing my hands, I watched as Kaya just watched me. “What?” I laughed. “You’re glowing.” I rolled my eyes. “I feel like trash.” Swollen feet, fat ass nose, along with a chubby ass face. Yeah, I felt like a real princess.

“I hope we haven’t missed too much.” I thanked Kaya for holding my bag and we exited the bathroom. We followed the directions for ballroom that the concierge had given us. We arrived at a set of brown double doors. “After you, preggers.” Kaya smiled. I rolled my eyes and pushed the door open. It was dark, and I was confused.

“What the hell? Wh-” “SURPRISE!” The lights flipped on and I spotted a room full of friends and family. The room was decorated in all white decor, little accents of pink and blue everywhere. It was beautiful. One side of the room housed what I was praying weren’t gifts, considering there were so many. The other had food items, either blue or pink. The DJ was set up in another.

I stood there, heart jumping out my chest, and tears rolling down my cheeks as everyone clapped. My friends bummed rushed me, making sure we all gathered in a group hug. “I hate y’all.” I laughed through my tears. “Aww, we love you too big mama.” That nickname had spread like wild fire thanks to Chris, and I hated everything about it. We all released each other and Ashley handed me a tissue for my tears.

“Thank you. This is beautiful y’all. Thank you!” I said looking around the room. “Girl, thank your man. It was his idea. And his money.” She muttered the last part making me laugh. “Nah, seriously. He’s been planning this for weeks. He wanted everything to be perfect for you.” Mel clued me in.

I looked over at him laughing it up with my dad and step mom. I thought back to the amount of phone calls he’d been taking for the past weeks and shook my head. I’m guessing this was the “business” he had to take care of. I swear I loved him from the moon and back.

I excused myself from my friends and made it a mission to go around and thank everybody for coming. At most, it was around 50 people, so it didn’t take as long as I thought it would. The last people I had to say thank you too was our parents. I hugged Mama J, Mr. Brown, Terry, Tasha, and my dad.

“I don’t know why I feel like you two knew all about this and didn’t say a word.” I pointed at Mama J and my daddy. “The boy swore me to secrecy.” My daddy shrugged and I rolled my eyes. It was kind of cute how close my dad and Chris had been getting lately. Since we had gotten to Miami They went golfing yesterday? I didn’t even know Chris’s tall ass could golf.

“So was I!” Mama J agreed. I shook my head at them, but smiled none the less. “I could have given birth right here. My heart is still pounding.” I admitted. “Girl, you’re fine. Just enjoy the party.” Tasha rubbed over my stomach. I nodded, knowing she was right.

I spotted my baby daddy across the room, with Mijo. I made my way over to him, and I swear if I could have, I would just into his arms. Instead I opted for a bear hug, which probably didn’t look like much since he was so much taller than me.

“Do you know how much I love you?” I asked. “Nah, considering you tell me how much you can’t stand me everyday.” He chuckled as he looked down at me. “Cause I can’t.” I let him know. “But, I still love you so much. You make me so happy. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“Stop thanking me for shit I’m supposed to do. You been stressed, and I just wanted to do something nice. I just want you to enjoy today baby.” He rubbed over my back. Without saying another word, I got on my tippy toes and puckered my lips.

“You thought.” He put his hand over my face while chuckling. See why I couldn’t stand him? I bit him and he pulled back his hand quickly. “Thank me later.” He smirked as he gripped my ass. Surprisingly, sex wasn’t something that we gave up during this pregnancy. Chris said I felt different, and he loved it. I was more sensitive too, so I was all for it.

I smirked right back at him and this time he puckered his lips. “You thought.” I repeated, placing my hand over his face this time. Instead of biting me back, he only laughed and removed my hand, before leaning down to kiss me.

“Mm, that’s why y’all got two kids now.” We both heard the voice over a microphone. We pulled away to see Lytrell shaking her head, standing in the front of the room. “Sisterrrrrr!” I grinned as she waved over at me. “Hi baby.” She smiled.

“Okay, so we’re gonna get started, so if everyone could take their seats. Thank you, thank you. That includes you mommy.” Ly waved me over to sit in the chair decorated just for me. I maneuvered through everything to get to my designated area, and sat in my seat. “Christopher, come sit down next to your baby mama.” She said and everyone laughed. He shook his head at her but took his seat next to me, no less.

“Good afternoon everyone and welcome to Madison and Christopher’s baby shower for Baby Brown number two!” Ly announced and everyone clapped. “So obviously we don’t know the sex of the baby yet, but we do have the results somewhere in the building. I’m not gonna say where because, I don’t want someone to go cutting the cake thinking that’s where the results are.” She side-eyed Chris and everyone laughed.

“But either way, my little pumpkin Christian is excited to be a big brother. Isn’t that right pumpkin?” “Yes!” Christian shouted from the table in front. He was sitting on Mama J’s lap. She ran her hand over his braids and I shook my head. So, when everyone walked in, you should have gotten a pin. Pink or blue. If you haven’t gotten one, Kaya will hand them out. You have to pick one!”

They made sure everyone chose a side before moving on. “Okay so, we’re gonna play the first game. Everyone’s gonna get a worksheet and you must unscramble the words for a prize. We’re all gonna start at the same time and everyone has a minute and a half to get as many as they can. Mijo, put that pencil down!” He was scolded like a child.

“On your mark, get set, go!” Ly called. Chris and I laughed as we watched everyone get in a frenzy trying to guess the correct words. Jazmine ended up getting all ten words just a few seconds before time was up. Her prize ended up being a bottle of Hennessy. I looked at Chris like, what the hell?

“What you thought we was gonna put in them gift bags? Gift cards?” He laughed. “What else is in the gift bags?” I asked. “Condoms. A couple more bottles of Hennessy. Kaya and them got some fruit ass wine in some of them bags too. And some other shit. I can’t really remember.” He said.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of laughs, good food, and a stress free atmosphere.Nothing was funnier than the tinkle in the pot game. A group of the guys had to put a balloon underneath their shirts, while trying to “tinkle” in the pot- dropping a ball inside a mason jar. Funny as hell. Austin ended up winning that one. After some of the games, it was time to eat and socialize.

Most of Chris’s family had made it from Virginia, so I was catching up with them. Ly had given birth to her baby boy three months prior, so it was crazy to me that she was here. She told me she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. My friends sat around the table as well. I couldn’t help but thank them all for everything. I swear I was so blessed to have people like this in my life.

Today was exactly what I needed. But with all the fun and everything that was happening today, anticipation was high as well. I wanted to know what we were having. After we played the last game, Ly asked everyone to settle back down.

“So, I know everyone’s excited to find out the gender of the baby. So, I’m just gonna say it. She’s having a…” I leaned in and waited in silence. “You thought!” She cackled. Everyone groaned and began to get rowdy. “Lytrell. stop playing!” I groaned from behind her.

“Alright, calm down y’all. Calm down. Before we announce the gender. My big head brother, aka the baby daddy has a few words to say.” He took a deep breath and got up. That made me chuckle for some reason. This nigga performs in from of millions of people and he’s nervous to get up and speak to his family.

“What’s up everybody?” “Hi daddy!” Christian called from the front making everybody laugh. “What’s up lil man? Uh, I just wanted to come up here and thank everybody for coming and showing our family support we really appreciate it. Madison and I are forever grateful for having family and friends like y’all at our sides. Y’all are always there through the good times and the bad. And that’s the reason we wanted y’all here today.” He said. I nodded in agreement.

Chris and I had the most amazing support system. With every and anything. Even when we weren’t together, he was still checking up on my family, just like I was with his. We were a big part of each others lives.

“Come here for a second baby.” He stunned me when he called me up. I just wanted to sit back and eat and open gifts. I got up none the less. “Baby mama fine as hell.” Mijo yelled from the back. I giggled and rubbed over my belly. Chris took my hand and then took a deep breath.

“Madison and I have been together for almost four years. I met her in this very city, almost ten minutes away from here. When we met, I ain’t know we’d be standing here, almost two kids later. She ain’t even give me her number that day.” “Cause you were being an asshole.” I interjected. “Sorry for the language.” I made sure to say after the look on my dad’s and Mama J’s face. Everyone found the whole thing comical.

“Anyways,” He laughed. “Before we were anything- she was my bestfriend. We talked almost everyday, and I found myself falling in love with her. We entered a relationship and even though we gained an amazing son from it, it didn’t last that long. When we were broken up, I remember trying my best to forget about her. But no matter what I did, she was who I was always thinking about. The first thing I thought about when I woke up in the morning and the last thing I thought about at night.”

“It was safe to say, you had a hold on my heart. And even when we got back together, we still had some rocky days. But the good days always outweighed the bad. Madison, I might not be the perfect man. I’m annoying and everything else under the sun.” He chuckled. I was crying already, I couldn’t help myself.

“I might not be the perfect man,” He repeated. “But, you are the perfect woman. You’re honest no matter what, you’re supportive in anything your family and friends do, funny-not as funny as me- but funny. You are an amazing mother to Christian, and there’s no doubt in my mind that this baby won’t be in great hands.” I rubbed over my belly.

“Every morning I wake up next to you and Christian, I just think about how lucky and blessed I am. I thought I knew what love was when I met you, but you’ve showed me something so new, and pure, and beautiful. You gave me a family of my own, and for that I’m forever grateful to you. I love you so much, and I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you.” He took a deep breath, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a black box. He got down on one knee and the room erupted in cheers and whistles.

I was crying my eyes out. This couldn’t be happening.

“So, I don’t plan to. Madison Nicole Smith, would you do me the honor of being my wife? Will you marry me?” He asked. I was crying my eyes out as everybody was yelling and screaming for me to say yes. I couldn’t even speak, I was at a lost for words.

I had a flashback of the first time I saw him, sitting court side. I wasn't gonna lie and say I wasn't star struck. No one could tell me my life was gonna change the way it did that day. I thought about every argument, fight, or disagreement and how we managed to work through them. Chris and I have literally grown together. He was all I knew, and I wanted to know honestly. I was so in love.

I wanted so badly to just say the three letter word, but nothing would come out of my mouth. Instead, I could only nod my head through my tears. The crowd behind us erupted into cheers as he pulled me into a hug. We must have been standing in that position for too long because we coudl hear people in the crowd, shouting for him to put the ring on my finger. He let me loose and chuckled at the crowd, before doing as he was told.

He pulled the ring from the box, and I stared in awe. One the ring was on my finger, another round of cheers erupted making me laugh through my tears. I kissed him and the cheers got louder. I swear our families were too funny.

“Can we hear it one more time for the newly engaged couple?” They started again and this time I took the opportunity to wipe my tears. I had to look a mess right now. But, honestly I didn’t care. I wanted to do nothing more than jump up and down and cry even more right now. I had to contain myself though. I’d save all that for later.

“So, I feel like this is a good time to reveal the gender right? Keep the good times rolling?” Ly laughed. “Okay, I’m gonna have the girls hand out confetti cannons to everyone, and once everyone gets one, we’ll all reveal the gender.” She announced.

Mel, Ashley, and Kaya went around the room handing everyone a confetti cannon, making sure to tell everyone not to pull the strings as yet. Ashley handed Chris and I both one, and I started tearing up again. “What’s wrong?” Chris asked.

“I’m just so happy. I don’t even care if we have a boy or girl anymore. I just want a healthy baby. Today has been perfect.” Chris chuckled and wiped my tears. “Stop crying, baby.” “I can’t.” I laughed through my tears once again. Chris and I continued to talk as Ly began the countdown. She counted down from three, and when she got to one, everyone pulled their strings and out came the different shades of pink confetti.

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