'Cause I know, I know I'm not right...
A female fandom was forced onto her side from her original sitting position. She glared as a broom bashed her right thigh multiple times until it broke, her rage and hatred fueling her mind to a state where pain was nothing but a reminder to continue going. Nails sharp as her scissors raked across her cheek as she got slapped, the skin welting up a little but not bleeding. Her ear was bleeding a bit, though, her earring half ripped out from the slap. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she gripped the chain of her pocket watch, a snarl leaving her lips as she kicked out. Her attacker fell and it filled her with triumph and happiness. She smirked and got up, taking her heel and jamming it into the ribcage of the abusive woman. The attack following her first was a kick to the older lady's head, a gleeful look on the fandom's face.
… But I've got my whole life...
The short story-writer had been packing her backpack with clothes, notebooks, pencils, and the laptop for the last eight and a half to nine and a half hours. She thought she heard someone walking in and growled, standing up in a slightly threatening position, gripping her pocket watch at the ready to strangle them if needed. Instead of a human being, her dog walked in and looked at her with big, brown puppy eyes. She silenced herself quickly and reached down, petting the dog's head. The girl crouched and whispered something into the dog's ear quietly before standing straight and leaving the room. Caution filled her stomach and made her a little worried, but she ignored the feeling and got her dog's food dish and water bowl. She took the water and emptied it out in a sink before shoving it into the front of her bookbag, emptying the food in her dog's dish into a ziplock bag and set the other dish with the first. She got four other bags full of dog food and five bottles of water, placing them in small, tall pockets on the sides of her backpack and standing up. Taking the handle with her left hand, she weighed the packed bag to see how heavy it was before setting it onto her back, testing how well she could carry it. Then she set it down to keep her energy and waited in the room with the door locked until nighttime rolled around. Leaving in the broad daylight of the afternoon would be suicide for her.
… And that's all right with me...
She stood outside her house, a lighter in her left hand, her dog's leash's handle in the other. The full moon lit up her entire house... At least, what of it now before it is removed permanently from the face of the Earth, only restored if someone were to rebuild it. She stayed in front of her house for a few moments, looking over it, her fedora on her head and camouflage mitts on her hands. Her pocket watch was hanging around her neck simply, the golden item shining in the moonlight. The bag she packed the day before was up on her back, its weight nothing that she couldn't handle. She had to bear it anyways if she were to escape the mental, physical, and spiritual abuse here. Which she was doing, and preventing there to be another child in that house ever have to deal with the same pain she did. Gasoline had been poured all around her house, inside and out, and she remaining of it in the final can was emptying quick in front of her on the ground. She had let her two cats escape outside the house long before she started to pour the flammable liquid around. She could never bear herself if she harmed an animal unless it was for a good cause. Clicking the lighted until a flame formed, she dropped it into the pooling gasoline, the building lighting on fire. She stayed there for a moment, then heard a single horrified scream from the woman who she used to live with, who used to abuse her, before turning on her heel, her dog in one hand and her bookbag on back, and running, never looking backwards. Never again would she look at that damned life of her's she once had to deal with. That old life was gone and behind her, like that burning hellhole of a house she used to live in. She no longer was called "Stupid", or "Mistake", or Asheia or Ashetray. Never again was she a D'Alton. She was forever a fandom, forever an artist, forever an author. She was Seliofane, the Masked Pets of When fandom. Forever and always.