alana {d7/fin}

[Deleted]

gamora 2.0
 
 
this is how it feels to take a fall

[Deleted]

[presto][/presto]

alana

Built from the broken shards of words spoken by a father who did not care I was, never once questioning the normality of this upbringing, of hearing a last name shouted in place of my first that left my sister and I scrambling down the front steps as if there were a lit fuse behind us and certainly there was, my father's voice its detonation, the shriveled cries of my mother no longer able to be heard once we had slammed that front door, never bothering to lock it.

No sane person would want to enter anyway.

Ten years prior he had been the textbook definition of sanity, supporting a wife and two daughters with seemingly no effort whatsoever, telling stories at night to pass the time, some of monsters and some of men-- sometimes one in the same.

Yet we never saw them as anything negative, in fact, they were the saving grace that kept us from burning our skin as we fell to the ground that day distant relatives came knocking on that rusted front door. My sister and I had hid 'round the corner, curiosity sown into our minds like the flowers blooming at the steps. We listened for the slightest tip of information, but silence overpowered that spring morning, and though upon hearing our father's heavy footsteps my sister turned tail and fled for the door, I held my ground, stooped in the shadow he cast over my frame.

He did not speak, not a single syllable fell from his lips but he offered out his free hand, the other clutched tightly around a torn piece of paper. Tiny fingers interlocked in his own he pulled me to my feet, laid a kiss to the top of my head and left me to stand empty-- thoughtless, facing my mother with a questioning look she refused to follow up with an answer.

He fled from the house that night, when the moon chased the sun from its place and my sister and I lay our heads to the pillow, staring at the ceiling with the nagging thought that the world was yet tipped from its scales, and that only moments were left to pass before it all came tumbling down.

Slamming door; breaking glass, all in due time.

My father's voice reverberated against each hollow wall, my mother's desperate attempts to soothe him drowned in the tidal waves of his emotion. "They're gone; a father, mother, and brother all lost in one moment. Tell me what god would do that."

Ten years later and the question remained unanswered.

But at that moment in time the fact still lingered like theory of the heads of my sister and I, and as the tears began to stream down her face I moved from my bed to her own, pulling the covers to both of our chins and telling the stories that usually were spoken in the voice of my father, but tonight, they were spoken to drown him out.

"Once upon a ti--"

Breaking glass; slamming door, the frame of my mother on the floor.

One single scream and I shoved my sister back to our room, shutting the door in her face as I tiptoed across the room until I could kneel by my mother's side, the front door letting the last streams of moonlight fall upon its surface. Eye as dark as the night I laid a trembling hand to her cheek, watched the tears roll across my bitten nails as she whispered, "Your father lost people very important to him today."

Unknowingly, we had lost him as well.

Built from the biting shards of harsh words I was, listening to abuse hurled from his lips for ten goddamn years, days passing like eternities counted by the tears of my mother.

Never cared for we were, my mother and father so caught up in the disasters they were that the thought of my sister and I fell like the bottles that littered the floor. And on those chance moments that my mother would dare to push past the threshold of our door to lay a trembling hand to my sister's sleeping frame or lock her fingers with my own, the pain of one regret too many was evident in the knots in her hair-- in the tear that rolled down her cheek and landed on my pillow.

"I love y--"

"He doesn't."

Built from the sharp edges of harsh words I was, sheltering my sister with excuses that he was sick, that stress did funny things to a person-- no abuse could be excused for ten years counting.

On that morning, when the barriers of sanity that sheltered my sister came tumbling down, the last threads of immortality between my mother and father had snapped as well. His outbursts were the cause of normality now, a breaking bottle or slamming door as common as any other greeting. But that morning, amidst the temporary terror came the voice of my mother, no longer pleading; no longer desperate-- strong she was, built and conditioned by ten years of repetitive abuse, that which no longer pierced the cracks in her skin and made their way to her heart.

("I need you to leave."

"You'll never make it alone-- not with two girls and no sanity."

"It's bound to be better than this.")

My sister had her ear pressed to the door, as if any help was needed to hear his heavy hand upon that battered front door, the forerunner to feel all the abuse we had all experienced. I laid a firm hand upon her shoulder, pulled her back until she sat even with me upon our bed, her light eyes-- that of my mother's-- matching a striking image of my father's laced into my own-- that darkness to much for her to hold gaze to for very long.

"Lana, what's different about this time?"

The breaking of a bottle by the light hand of that which could only be my mother's answered her question before I could take another breath, and with shaking palm and tired eye I pulled her to my frame, a single phrase falls, "Despair to all who harm the innocent."

Muscles tense and heart racing we sat there, entwined in each other until our mother stood at the door, new bottle in hand and eyes heavy, a word beginning to form on her lips but lost in the air that hung over her head, the grim reminder of a love lost set aflame at one sight set on my face.

Through the slur and spent time she managed a single phrase, "Just like your father-- you know you're just like him."

Built from the broken shards of harsh words I was; the same to which I would return.

odair

table by anzie

[Deleted]

guess who's back; back again

f i n i s h e d

[[nyte]]

IM ACCEPTINGTHIS ONE TOO BECUASE BITCH SHE PERF
YOU ARE SO GOOD AT WRITING HAVE MY BABEIS