Chapter One Contemplation is a Dangerous Game
July 26th
If I just take a step back and try to figure out why I ended up where I am I wouldn't be so confused. But then again maybe, just maybe in a world in which I have seen so much pain and destruction I like to be confused, I seek to be confused.
So here I am no better now then I was before only edging closer to a point in my life when a choice must be made. Do I accept the life of bleakness that fate has handed me or do I continue to breath, to live, as I have done so many times before?
Either way the question is clear: life or death?
The same question that has echoed in billions of lives before mine, and that will resound in the billions of lives after.
The distant rumblings of thunder, strikes a chord within me, a power seeping through my veins to fill me with a hum, surging through my mind. I flex my fingers by my side as the power so long deluded by pain and drugs courses through me once again. How long has it been, how long will it last?
Her head lifted to the sky as lightening flashed in the distance and a cool breeze whipped about her, blowing hair into her face. Closing her eyes she felt her shirt ripple in the breeze and the pendent swing pendulum like across her collarbone. Death... Would it truly be a comfort to not have to face the next day, to no longer suffer the slings and arrows that daily life throws at you. Death, the bright morning star at the end of this damnable tunnel, the last hurdle to leap before eternal rest, the end of the race. How easy it must be to let it wrap its cold arms around you, to let it obliterate all that the years have brought. Would I be willing to forget, am I willing to let go? Is it a choice I could make, an action I could take, if not now, then when. For when will this ever present voice in my head silence? Never. So, what do I have to battle with these nightmarish voices, only long forgotten memories and stolen years. For in the end, to fight with a voice inside my head, all I really have is myself.
Another forbidden place had been her backdrop, a warm summer breeze had been her touch, a young girl and boy had been the heart of her nightmare, a forgotten promise was her last trace of hope. Her eyes opened quickly and she stepped back from the edge, where the wind had teased her closer to it. She shivered and drew her arms about her waist. That's what nightmares had been, was what they truly were, manifestations of unwanted, unrealized fantasies that had clung to the subconscious and stayed there, squeezing tighter and tighter until it suffocated the mind, making it impossible to think of anything else, to think at all. All that is left is raw emotion. In a mass that has no order, knows no logic, never clearing and never clarifying.
In an explosion of thunder and a splintering of light, rain suddenly began to fall and she felt the smooth chill of ice seep into her hair. It cascaded across her skull and slithered down her neck, causing her to shiver, as it spilled down her back. Her fingers clutched the pendent laying against her breast, found years ago concealed amongst the sand dunes, by a pair of young 8 year olds innocent and hopeful, both providing a respite from the world in each other. But the innocence was despised, the hopeful glow was destroyed and the sheltered world died. A warm glow that had been the only warmth she'd had left to grasp had vanished, and that had been the end.
HA! The End, how could it be the end if the memories still haunt me? How can it be the end if it is not at rest? It did more damage than any one is won't to admit, that is for sure, and it definitely wouldn't be the end until the young and the innocent declared it the end, for the end was only the beginning of something else, and from where we go and which way we travel will determine whether or not it is truly the end. I didn't think it would ever really end; just become forgotten memories and erstwhile hopes.
Her vision blurred; the rain having effectively deprived her of her already damaged sight. Her hair being tugged every direction about her, flying on the wind like a giant black cloud hovering in the air above her head, obscuring her vision and only giving her brief glimpses of the stormy ocean below. Of which she could no longer clearly see, that which made up her backyard. But she could hear it, crashing on the cliff side, beating relentlessly on the rock.
If I were a more poetic person I would say that I am like the rock, slowly being worn down by an ocean of battered emotions, fanatical voices, and impenetrable dreams
Once again the thunder sounds bringing the storm closer, beckoning the lightening to strike the lonely figure too close to the edge in more ways than one. I wanted nothing more than to loosen my grip, to move on but the harder I tried to forget the tighter I grasped at the fading image that had once made me smile. But like sand through an hourglass it keeps getting further and further from me. Only giving tantalizing hints and suggestions as to what my life would have been like had I continued along that path. If it were possible to transfer this overwhelming swell of emotions to another I would but like my father years before I had fallen hard and no person could bring me back. No one could get me to stand again, not anyone I knew of. The irony of the situation isn't lost on me. Like father like daughter, continuing down the same path. But I choose not to go so far, to fling myself from these very cliffs to the rocky shore below, a rock tumbles from beneath my foot and I hear it plummet down into an endless abyss, 7 years he's been gone. Which one I speak of I know not. They both left me so close together, I can't tell where the sorrow for him and my sorrow for my father begins.
Now standing on the edge of oblivion looking back at there little cottage, a home so warm and welcoming to everyone else and yet to her so cold and empty. She wondered, could she turn and take the first step back. Could she return to the hell-hole her life had become, the pain that assaulted her mind every night. Was it worth it? Did they even know she was standing here, on the precipice of everlasting damnation. Would they care, not likely. Would anyone care? Would he?
She turned and took the first step away, the wind blowing against her face and arms. Pushing her back to it's briny mistress, it's silent executioner. Two more steps, three more steps, four more steps, twelve more steps across grass and dirt and sand and she was standing at the back door starring in at them.
The fire glowed warm in the grate, teasing her chilled flesh and frigid nose with it's tempting heat. Her step-fathers head was barely visable above the top of the chair, a mop of mud colored brown hair that was beginning to fade away in the back. His hands were sallow on the newspaper he held between thick sausage fingers. She knew his eyes to be the only thing about him not beginning to sag, the hard pale green she knew so well. Her mother sat across from him, her head of raven hair, now so streaked with gray, was pulled back in a tight respectable bun and left her once radiant beauty now only a shadow of what it had been. The lines around her eyes and between her brows were more pronounced and she looked years older than her 32 years. Luci starred resentfully in at them all as rain dripped into her eyes and her fingers started to go numb and cursed herself to hell. This was all her fault. She could see it now oh so clearly, the events leading up to this horror of her life. Her mind flew jaggedly back to that day, and the shock that had etched itself across her soul as her twin, the other half of her soul, her carbon copy and best friend had disappeared over the cliff to the rocky sea below. Watching her fathers slow demise into insanity and her mother heartbreak. All of this, fell solely on her shoulders and she hated herself with a loathing deep enough to cut her in half. And they all hated her almost as much. She ruined their perfect picture, a reminiscent memory of a life before that just refused to die. If she didn't return from Hogwarts this summer maybe they'd all be able to forget, her eyes strayed to her mother and she prayed for her sake and whatever love she still held for this shell of a woman that her mother could forget. Her mother looked up and saw her starring in, and a sad empty look graced her face as her eyes filled with a sorrow Luci knew she couldn't fill. Her mother's hands curled around the bindings of her bible, ever the happy little catholic. And Luci starred blankly back in at her as her eyes drifted down and away from her daughters accusing eyes.
She pushed the door open slowly and let the wind buffet her back and rain drip from her hair and clothes all over the floor, her only defiance againt them as the wind rippled her step-fathers paper. Her mother's eyes never looked up from her blank stare at her hands as Luci stepped forward and let the door slam shut behind her, her step-father turned in his seat and snapped his paper back into place as he starred back at her,
"Your soaking the rug, move", he ordered before he turned back to his newspaper. Majesty, evil step-sister incarnate, wrinkled her nose and continued to brush her frizzy wiry hair, which happened to be the same color as urine, a strong yellow color that would probably fade hideously with age. Luci walked slowly from the room and stomped up the stairs, as her mothers quiet voice echoed silently, in the empty corridor.
"Why was she outside, I didn't even see her go out?"
"She probably crawled out the window, like some common criminal, maybe next time she'll break her neck", Majesty's nasal voice said. Luci rolled her eyes as she leaned against the wall at the top of the stairs.
There was no reply from her mother and a wicked smirk crossed Luci's face, is that what your wishing for mother, that the last vestiges of your imperfect life would disappear, that if you couldn't have it all, what was the point in having anything at all. She turned from the staircase to walk down the hall.
As she passed the pristine white doors that marked her mothers room, she stopped momentarily and looked cautiously back down the stairs. All was silent from below and the light that filtered up from the living room wasn't about to dim for another half hour.
Slowly, she pushed the door open quietly, and toed off her shoes in the hall before tiptoeing quickly into the even more pristine, white bedroom. Her nose crinkled as lavender and rosemary assaulted her nose and she had to sneeze before starring around inquiringly. She hadn't entered this room since his death, then it had smelled of sandalwood and a scent all his own resonating with his magic and his warmth. Her eyes strayed to the window before her where his easel had once sat, curtains of an ugly taupe were hanging there now.
The bed which, in the past, had stayed consistently rumpled and always ready for a quick snuggle beneath the covers was now immaculately made and as blindingly white as the room. The warmth was gone, the color was gone, the life was gone. Her once vibrant Italian mother was now a clone of an American wife. Her face twisted in agony, as she realized that the wall above the bed was as faultlessly white as the rest of the room, her mind slipped quickly back, as the memory assaulted her.
We'd been 5 or 6 years old, and it had been Christmas morning. We'd both received brand new art sets, complete with crayons and markers and little pots of paint. Upon plopping them on the chest of our father we had both leaned over his sleeping frame, I'd spotted the easel sitting by the window with the nearly finished painting set upon it's stand, and realized he had stayed up late that night. Upon looking back, a smile had began to crack across his face as we'd starred down at him. Marcs little face had begun to pucker and I'd poked my little nose at him, my latest fascination having been our pet cat Speckles, and his amazingly odd behavior. As one eye had cracked open and I'd beamed down at him.
His other eye had opened just as quickly, just as Marcs face had crumpled. I remember trying to meow, making a pitiful attempt at it, and Marcs face had shot up. He'd bounced excitedly as our father had glanced down at the objects placed upon his chest. He'd made amazed noises and surprised faces even as I'd had realized he'd known all along. As he'd sat up, we'd both crawled onto his lap and gleefully poked through our treasures. Marc had pulled his favorite colored marker, blue, from the set and set out to show daddy how wonderful it all truly was, and began to scribble a large blue squiggle across the wall above the bed just as our mother had walked in.
She'd quickly rushed to pull her son from his artistic endeavors when our father had stopped her, they'd both watched quietly as Marc's enthusiasm had grown and markers of every color flew from his box to his fingertips, he'd drop one just as another ascended into his fingers.
I'd stood up beside him, a marker ascending into my fingers as rapidly as his, our combined magic slipping across the wall like a faint translucent fuzz that caused our once immovable squiggles to begin to move, to slither and quake as they trembled across the wall. My mother had come to sit by my father, leaning back against his broad chest as he'd wrapped his arms around her waist.
I'd looked down and beamed at him foolishly as only an innocent child can. In the end, Marc and I tumbled to the bed in a heap, our markers still clutched in our little white fists, the hovering markers tumbling onto the bed as we lay in a beaming heap. For above the bed was a multitude of colors and squiggles all artfully designed in a series of curlicues and angles, swirls and arrows. Looking back it looked somewhat like the water before sunset. My father had smiled down at us and drew his wand from the bedside table to scrawl our names in silver ink across one corner of the wall.
Luci blinked her eyes against the memory and held her head in her hands as a headache assaulted the base of her neck. Glancing around quickly, she spotted the small mahogany box and hurried to the dresser. Pushing the lid open she blinked as jewels glittered. In a rainbow array they shone in bright reds, blues and greens, her fingers rifled quickly through the precious trinkets, her rage simmering at the audacity of the woman, until she found the false bottom underneath.
Lifting it slowly she reached her hand under and felt around quickly for the small velvet purse. Gripping it in her fist she pulled it out and slipped it into her pocket before hurriedly closing the lid. She glanced back around the room one last time before slipping quickly out the door. Picking her shoes up on the way she rushed down the hall and tiptoed past her own pristine white door to chaos beyond.
Her mother had never been able to completely force her to clean her room so it had stayed systematically chaotic. Stepping over strewn clothes and wads of paper she stripped quickly of her wet clothes before crawling beneath the covers. Her hands now gripped the small velvet bag and she let the small objects inside roll around on her palm before pulling the drawstring and lifting it over her head.
It lay still next to her shoulder, yet she felt the warmth seeping through to thaw her frozen flesh. She peeked from beneath the blankets to stare at the blank white wall. Once the room had been completely plastered in objects, but as the years had progressed she'd began to realize how much each item had caused her continual pain and she tore them down gradually until all that was really left were posters of Tudoer and The Black Knight's, and an especially detailed poster of the midnight sky with all the constellations outlined, which she'd received for her 12th birthday from Remus, and a very interesting maroon fairy she'd received from Sirius on her last birthday with them that had a tendency to make critical and sarcastic comments on almost everything she did. She'd almost grown to love the stupid thing.
She fidgeted, burrowing herself farther beneath the bedspread. Which in turn caused her breath to catch beneath the blankets, and suffocate her nose and mouth. She wriggled her face free of the constricting comforter and drew in a deep breath of frigid air. Her eyes closed, and dark enveloped her as the sounds of the night grew dim, she curled into a small ball drawing her legs against her chest as she shivered, she was so cold. As the memories took hold of her already ragged and brittle heart and began to tear at it, thunder echoed in her ears and resonated in her head.
As the images flew across her mind, her breathing grew ragged and a sharp pressure built behind her eyes. A beach tonight, under a stormy gray sky. Roiling black clouds and innocent cries mingled with the raucous thunder. A field far from home blanketed in indigo and crimson flowers, the warm soil beneath her skin and his laughter shrouding her in comfort. The small attic, the dusty boxes and musty trunks, a day of make-believe. A flash of bright light and small hands clasped tight, screaming, angry voices, and grasping fingers pulled in two directions. A rainy day when a small coffin was lowered into the ground. She heard herself cry out as her fingers dug into her arms, the pain shooting to her brain, hazing the images.
Her eyes flew open as tears streamed down her face and blood dripped from lacerations upon her arms to trickle down her wrists to the bed. Shuddering, she pushed her arms through the covers to the harsh beam of moonlight streaming through her window. Half crescents marked her arms, dripping crimson tears. Her body trembled as she watched the blood drip slowly across her pale skin, rivulets sliding down scar ridden pallid plain.
She pulled her arms beneath the covers and held them close to her chest, the blood pooling against the skin between her breasts and soaking her bra. As it dried on her skin and her wrists grew sticky and irritated she trembled one last time as the pain numbed her mind and her body grew limp. Her eyes closed wearily as she drew her arms to her chest and drifted off into a detached and dreamless sleep.
She awakened with a jolt as heavy footsteps rung shrilly in her ears echoing down the hall, a thump sounded as he tumbled against the wall outside her room. The footsteps stopped outside her door and she listened barely breathing as a bottle fell to the floor and shattered.
Curling tight into herself, she prayed against all hope that he would pass by but as the door creaked open and the footsteps echoed in the empty room, her breathing grew harsh and her body curled so tightly into herself, her stomach and shoulders ached. The board in front of her dresser groaned and she closed her eyes tight. Suddenly his breath flew hot and putrid across her cheek and she cried out quietly,
"You've been such a good girl all summer. I've taken real good care of you haven't I?", Luci stayed silent,
"Haven't I?!", he whispered harshly in her ear, she whimpered." So you just better remember that when you go back to that fancy boarding school, you better remember the promise you made to me. Because if you don't come back, they'll suffer, just like you! Do you want that!!", he yelled in her ear. She curled tighter into herself, "Answer me dammit!",
"yes", she whispered,
"what!?!?!"
"NO", she yelled.
"Good girl, now you go to sleep and be real quiet tomorrow, you hear", she almost gagged as his backwoods butchered American accent broke through and assaulted her ears. His sharp, coarse inflection so well hidden during the day always managed to make her cringe, reminding her of the scum that pawed at her as if she were just a doll for him play with.
He swept her hair softly from her face with calloused fingers and she almost cried out in pain as his touch burned her skin.
"So pretty, your so much prettier than your ugly sister, so much prettier than your ugly mother, so pretty", Luci held it all in as he stroked her face and neck,
"have I told you, have I ever told you why I married your mother?",
"her money", Luci whispered harshly, he slapped her cheek hard and she cried out as the pain rushed through her face and brought on a throbbing at her temples. He stroked the red area gently,
"no, because of you, pretty luci, pretty innocent little luci. Little raven curls and pretty blue eyes, pale little skin and frail little body. Poor little luci with her dead little brother and her dead little father and her poor stupid mother, poor little luci", he stroked her hair and she cringed from his touch.
"Goodnight my little lucianna", he slurred in her ear before he kissed her cheek and stood up to leave. He weaved slowly above her bed and turned to walk from the room, she heard the crash as he stumbled against the dresser and the tinkle of broken glass. Her eyes shut tightly against the pain and she promised herself in that moment as her eyes drifted closed that she would never return to this place. Never again would she return to this place of horror and pain, of hidden memories long forgotten and resurrected ghosts around every corner.
Why had they left her, why had they left her alone?
A/N: ok..first chapter. First chapter I've ever posted in my life so please be nice. I've been writing for awhile just always been too afraid to post stuff so..here it is.