Post by brodie on Nov 21, 2018 7:14:04 GMT -5
When I was a child
They'd ask me where it hurt
And wipe the tears from my eyes
Sure embraces,
Gentle forehead kisses
Making sure that I was alright
As I grew older and the nights grew shorter
I no longer cared where it hurt
All I hear is, Whisky Lullabies
There to cradle me to sleep
All I hear is, Whisky Lullabies
There to cradle me to sleep
It’s like a choke, the feel of that hand wrapped tight around my mouth and nose, dragging me deeper and deeper into the scent, that festering pit that lies just beyond the stairs; fingers, beneath gloves a little too thick to be for any good deed, press tight against my still flushed cheek. The smell, the stench, breaking through the thick, black rubber, to cloud my senses, to sweep my mind until I can barely notice how she won’t let me breathe. I know what’s down there, I put it there… Nobody will believe me, those are the words whispered to my ear.
Nobody will believe you.
Words burned into my very flesh, seared and sizzling on the white, porcelain skin; the skin the shadows wanted to touch; the flesh not even sunlight had touched. But those words, burning into that same thin, white, coating for bones and blood and muscle, for a body not quite my own.
Never my own.
Fingers pressed so tight, almost crushing the weak bones of a child’s jaw beneath the weight of the threat, dragging feet across that same carpet, I knew where we were going, a scream so piercing my own mind could not comprehend that it slipped from my lips, I wouldn’t look, didn’t want to see…
That scream.
Black.[/u]
Her fingers fumbled for the phone stowed somewhere safely beneath her pillow. Bones creaked and muscles ached as she slowly sat up, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room, sucking in a breath, a familiar jolt of pain through her body. She hadn’t realised she had been screaming… Her throat felt as though she’d tossed back several handful of glass shards, she couldn’t have groaned if she wanted to. Half mindedly noting the time, somewhere in the early hours of the AM, any other night she would have called it a playtime, but tonight everything felt off, just a little, just enough for her to break routine and swing her legs from the bed, her feet finding the comfort of slippers waiting for her.
She never could walk barefoot on carpet, not even now. So disturbed was she by the adornment she had asked the landlord to tear it up; rather irritated when he had refused, but anonymity was hard to find in this world and so she had accepted the carpet, leaving slippers and shoes all about the apartment so as to never touch barefeet to the vile material that lined the boards.
It was only in here, in the darkness, she could acknowledge how much her body hurt; how it was stiff and slow to move as she made her way to the kitchen. Searching for something to dull the screaming fire in the back of her throat. Water, cool, from the tap almost made it to her lips before the figure stepped from the shadows.
Shattered.
Shards of glass all across the floor as she lost grip, not on the glass, of course. But she lost her grip, stepping back from the counter, those same shards crunching beneath her slippered feet, eyes fixated on that movement, red lips, always red, curving around the words she spat like venom.
“Hello Mother.”
It was a cool, breezelike laugh that followed those words; Brodie dropping the entirety of her weight to her elbows, leaning into that counter; something to hold her, something to center her as that same red lip quivered just slightly. She was not supposed to be here; never to come here.
“Disappointing.”
The tone was cold, like ice and it shot a shiver down her spine that not one, single, person in the entirety of the world could replicate. She had failed, of course, that was why the dream had returned, why Mother has returned. She had let them down, all the promises and blood oaths in the world were not enough to undo the simple facts.
She had been tricked by a coward and now, she was the failure.
She had spat those words at Siberia, failure, disappointing, pathetic, little girl. But they were not her words, she knew now that those words, had been housed in the back of her mind, belonging to the same voice that burned them into her skin now.
“It’s not over… This is just the first-“
“Second.”
She was to be corrected, it was indeed the second time he had bested her; a second time she had allowed obsession to take over, to let the lust for his blood, the need for a taste, come before the victory.
“Second… Yes, but it is only the second, there is so much more. I can do so much more, this isn’t it. This isn’t for you, or for us, Mother… I can do it, I can-“
She sounded like a child, to her own ears, the pleading, the attempts to reconcile her failures instead of accepting her fate. But still the figure was unwavering, burning eyes back into hers, she felt as though she could shrink under that gaze if it were held for too long.
A grip, so tight against that counter; she could feel it rising within her, that same anger, the spite and the venom that had caused her to run; to push aside all the world they had done to favor, as she did now, a world where she was capable of inflicting pain, if she could just be more than this… The taste of rubber on her lips, the echo of ruin in her ears…
“Failure, Brodie… When have I ever accepted failure?”
Her head snapped up to meet that gaze again. She had never asked for any of this, it wasn’t fair, nobody cared what was fair; there was not an arm to wrap close on the nights when the stairs haunted her; nobody had wipes tears from ruddy cheeks when the shadows threatened to rip her apart… She had claimed to save her, forcing more secrets, encouraging all the more lies.
That was all she was, a shroud of a Person made up entirely of deceit and lies; she had tried to demand, to take. So now they stood, in the middle of a kitchen in some apartment nobody knew, windows open, no shadows in the walls, no stairs to stand atop of and hear that sound… that scrape.
“BRODIE”[/color]
Always, could always tell when she was drifting, pulling her back to reality, to her goal. Set a goal.
Set a goal.
“It won’t happen again.”
She turned back to the sink, her throat was still agony and so she cupped her hand beneath the faucet; have you ever noticed how in the darkest rooms, water cupped in a palm can look akin to blood? No?
She did, as she pressed it to those red lips and attempted to soothe her burning throat; attempted to find a voice loud enough to speak, enough to be heard, but it was as she gulped down the copper scented water that she heard those words.
“Where are they?”
The true purpose for the haunting; it was not for her, not truly. All but given up on her, they all had, they didn’t even come around anymore, until the girls had gone missing. Rip up the floorboards, she thought, you won’t find them. She didn’t respond and her lack of obedience once would have brought upon a heavy hand; but not anymore, not even.
Even she knew.
Even mother.
“Fine.”
The word was spat in contempt; dare not touch her, dare not push it. Nobody could tell what lie beneath the calm, after all.
Parting words, indifferent and false, just wanting to find them. Brodie would not give them up; all that was left for her, they would not be sold out; they weren’t ready. Not enough shadows, not enough nightmares; not yet…
“Mother?”
She had wanted a parting word; something to show she was more than just an abandoned project, something tried and failed. She could have been the whole world, if only she had learned to control instincts she never should have known. She could have been perfect you know, if only they had found her sooner. But it had been too late, when Mother had found her, sat at the foot of the stairs, bare footed upon the carpet, mulch of body and brain and bits beneath her feet.
She had just wanted the scraping to stop you see.
It was scratching at her mind.
But the shadows were quiet again now, still and empty. As they had been when she had awoken from a memory mixed with lies, nothing was ever really what is once was, not in her mind. Timelines and lies mixed together to create a story all her own, one that could not be replicated. But if they were lost, if Mother had come to find the girls, she would have to warn them.
Slippers into Shoes.
Water into Cigarettes.
Time to go.
Scars they heal in time
The raw wounds on my mind
They aren't as easily fixed
You can't mend what isn't broken
Kind words are rarely spoken
In time I will learn this
But I grow older
And the nights grow shorter
Drowning as I sink or swim
All I hear is, Whisky Lullabies
There to cradle me to sleep
All I hear is, Whisky Lullabies
There to cradle me to sleep
Sticks and stones they break me to the bone
Words they cut they will always hurt me
Please be my saving Grace
They'd ask me where it hurt
And wipe the tears from my eyes
Sure embraces,
Gentle forehead kisses
Making sure that I was alright
As I grew older and the nights grew shorter
I no longer cared where it hurt
All I hear is, Whisky Lullabies
There to cradle me to sleep
All I hear is, Whisky Lullabies
There to cradle me to sleep
It’s like a choke, the feel of that hand wrapped tight around my mouth and nose, dragging me deeper and deeper into the scent, that festering pit that lies just beyond the stairs; fingers, beneath gloves a little too thick to be for any good deed, press tight against my still flushed cheek. The smell, the stench, breaking through the thick, black rubber, to cloud my senses, to sweep my mind until I can barely notice how she won’t let me breathe. I know what’s down there, I put it there… Nobody will believe me, those are the words whispered to my ear.
Nobody will believe you.
Words burned into my very flesh, seared and sizzling on the white, porcelain skin; the skin the shadows wanted to touch; the flesh not even sunlight had touched. But those words, burning into that same thin, white, coating for bones and blood and muscle, for a body not quite my own.
Never my own.
Fingers pressed so tight, almost crushing the weak bones of a child’s jaw beneath the weight of the threat, dragging feet across that same carpet, I knew where we were going, a scream so piercing my own mind could not comprehend that it slipped from my lips, I wouldn’t look, didn’t want to see…
That scream.
Black.[/u]
Her fingers fumbled for the phone stowed somewhere safely beneath her pillow. Bones creaked and muscles ached as she slowly sat up, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room, sucking in a breath, a familiar jolt of pain through her body. She hadn’t realised she had been screaming… Her throat felt as though she’d tossed back several handful of glass shards, she couldn’t have groaned if she wanted to. Half mindedly noting the time, somewhere in the early hours of the AM, any other night she would have called it a playtime, but tonight everything felt off, just a little, just enough for her to break routine and swing her legs from the bed, her feet finding the comfort of slippers waiting for her.
She never could walk barefoot on carpet, not even now. So disturbed was she by the adornment she had asked the landlord to tear it up; rather irritated when he had refused, but anonymity was hard to find in this world and so she had accepted the carpet, leaving slippers and shoes all about the apartment so as to never touch barefeet to the vile material that lined the boards.
It was only in here, in the darkness, she could acknowledge how much her body hurt; how it was stiff and slow to move as she made her way to the kitchen. Searching for something to dull the screaming fire in the back of her throat. Water, cool, from the tap almost made it to her lips before the figure stepped from the shadows.
Shattered.
Shards of glass all across the floor as she lost grip, not on the glass, of course. But she lost her grip, stepping back from the counter, those same shards crunching beneath her slippered feet, eyes fixated on that movement, red lips, always red, curving around the words she spat like venom.
“Hello Mother.”
It was a cool, breezelike laugh that followed those words; Brodie dropping the entirety of her weight to her elbows, leaning into that counter; something to hold her, something to center her as that same red lip quivered just slightly. She was not supposed to be here; never to come here.
“Disappointing.”
The tone was cold, like ice and it shot a shiver down her spine that not one, single, person in the entirety of the world could replicate. She had failed, of course, that was why the dream had returned, why Mother has returned. She had let them down, all the promises and blood oaths in the world were not enough to undo the simple facts.
She had been tricked by a coward and now, she was the failure.
She had spat those words at Siberia, failure, disappointing, pathetic, little girl. But they were not her words, she knew now that those words, had been housed in the back of her mind, belonging to the same voice that burned them into her skin now.
“It’s not over… This is just the first-“
“Second.”
She was to be corrected, it was indeed the second time he had bested her; a second time she had allowed obsession to take over, to let the lust for his blood, the need for a taste, come before the victory.
“Second… Yes, but it is only the second, there is so much more. I can do so much more, this isn’t it. This isn’t for you, or for us, Mother… I can do it, I can-“
She sounded like a child, to her own ears, the pleading, the attempts to reconcile her failures instead of accepting her fate. But still the figure was unwavering, burning eyes back into hers, she felt as though she could shrink under that gaze if it were held for too long.
A grip, so tight against that counter; she could feel it rising within her, that same anger, the spite and the venom that had caused her to run; to push aside all the world they had done to favor, as she did now, a world where she was capable of inflicting pain, if she could just be more than this… The taste of rubber on her lips, the echo of ruin in her ears…
“Failure, Brodie… When have I ever accepted failure?”
Her head snapped up to meet that gaze again. She had never asked for any of this, it wasn’t fair, nobody cared what was fair; there was not an arm to wrap close on the nights when the stairs haunted her; nobody had wipes tears from ruddy cheeks when the shadows threatened to rip her apart… She had claimed to save her, forcing more secrets, encouraging all the more lies.
That was all she was, a shroud of a Person made up entirely of deceit and lies; she had tried to demand, to take. So now they stood, in the middle of a kitchen in some apartment nobody knew, windows open, no shadows in the walls, no stairs to stand atop of and hear that sound… that scrape.
“BRODIE”[/color]
Always, could always tell when she was drifting, pulling her back to reality, to her goal. Set a goal.
Set a goal.
“It won’t happen again.”
She turned back to the sink, her throat was still agony and so she cupped her hand beneath the faucet; have you ever noticed how in the darkest rooms, water cupped in a palm can look akin to blood? No?
She did, as she pressed it to those red lips and attempted to soothe her burning throat; attempted to find a voice loud enough to speak, enough to be heard, but it was as she gulped down the copper scented water that she heard those words.
“Where are they?”
The true purpose for the haunting; it was not for her, not truly. All but given up on her, they all had, they didn’t even come around anymore, until the girls had gone missing. Rip up the floorboards, she thought, you won’t find them. She didn’t respond and her lack of obedience once would have brought upon a heavy hand; but not anymore, not even.
Even she knew.
Even mother.
“Fine.”
The word was spat in contempt; dare not touch her, dare not push it. Nobody could tell what lie beneath the calm, after all.
Parting words, indifferent and false, just wanting to find them. Brodie would not give them up; all that was left for her, they would not be sold out; they weren’t ready. Not enough shadows, not enough nightmares; not yet…
“Mother?”
She had wanted a parting word; something to show she was more than just an abandoned project, something tried and failed. She could have been the whole world, if only she had learned to control instincts she never should have known. She could have been perfect you know, if only they had found her sooner. But it had been too late, when Mother had found her, sat at the foot of the stairs, bare footed upon the carpet, mulch of body and brain and bits beneath her feet.
She had just wanted the scraping to stop you see.
It was scratching at her mind.
But the shadows were quiet again now, still and empty. As they had been when she had awoken from a memory mixed with lies, nothing was ever really what is once was, not in her mind. Timelines and lies mixed together to create a story all her own, one that could not be replicated. But if they were lost, if Mother had come to find the girls, she would have to warn them.
Slippers into Shoes.
Water into Cigarettes.
Time to go.
Scars they heal in time
The raw wounds on my mind
They aren't as easily fixed
You can't mend what isn't broken
Kind words are rarely spoken
In time I will learn this
But I grow older
And the nights grow shorter
Drowning as I sink or swim
All I hear is, Whisky Lullabies
There to cradle me to sleep
All I hear is, Whisky Lullabies
There to cradle me to sleep
Sticks and stones they break me to the bone
Words they cut they will always hurt me
Please be my saving Grace