Okay, a note. This character I'm writing about is The Ocean Is My Inkwell's OC. Well, actually, it's technically mine to start with, but I requested for her (TOIMI) to write about her (the OC).
If you've read her story Blue Fire (and maybe the OC will pop up again in Blood Ice…), you'll definitely recognize this character. Imani Knight. I've been wanting to do this for awhile, now, so I'll quit lazing around and write this.
By the way, it's pronounced ee-MAN-ee, with the strong syllable being in the middle, but I wouldn't mind if you pronounced it ee-MON-ee, like some other people.
If I might ask before we begin, what does OC stand for? Other Character?
I loved to play the piano. It's like my life and the instrument were tied together. Whenever I touched those keys, my mind flew to another world, where things were perfect, flawless, and I was totally alone.
Everyday, I would just go home and my fingers would fly over the keys. I always played, everyday, 24/7, no matter whether I was sick or cold or starving. Just so I could go to that little place in my mind. But I knew that place doesn't exist, that one place where I am truly, honestly free. I was a caged bird, singing for freedom.
People called me a freak, a nobody, but I was perfectly content with that title. I didn't need to depend on others; I only needed myself. I told myself everyday that I was strong, and independent. I told myself that I didn't need my father anymore; one day I would run away and find a place in the streets, embracing the darkness and misery.
I laugh at my brazen hopes and dreams of my childhood. I can't even be by myself, much less run away and hope to stay alive. My father was always there, always, always. Always there to ruin my hopes, and shout and beat at my back, cursing. It was always my mother, always. My mother, who'd fled away and disappeared after I was born.
***
I ran through the empty streets and across the old stone bridge, trying to dodge the rain heavily pounding on my head, water pouring down my face. You couldn't tell if I was crying, or if it was just the rain.
There was a flash of lightning overhead, which was soon followed by thunder, loud and demanding, reminding me of drums. I ran harder, my boots splashing through the puddles in the wet grass as I hurried home.
I came to the small shack pretty soon, and I opened up the scratched wooden door. "I'm home." Dropping my ragged purple backpack near the entrance, I walked over to the living room, if you could call it that.
"Mm. So you're home," my father said, smoking a cigarette and combing through his dark hair with his hands as he read from a folded newspaper. "Go do homework."
"Father. You know that I always play piano after I get home," I said, silently begging for him to say that it was alright.
"No, Imani. Quit being such a useless girl already and go finish your work! After that, I expect that you will help me to prepare dinner, not go banging around on that useless instrument!" he shouted. I put my head down.
"Fine. I'll do it. But you have to promise me to let me play," I said, standing my ground.
He took another puff on his cigarette and said, "No. You're testing my patience, and I have no time to waste on a burden like you." I took a deep breath, trying out a trick I had come up with before.
"But it was a gift Mother left behind for us, and she told me she wanted me to play everyday–"
"Outrageous! Where did she ever tell you that?!" my father asked, furious I had mentioned my mother so openly.
"I-in a d-dream–" I knew that I was speaking ridiculous things that didn't even make sense, but I really wanted to play. No, needed to play. The instrument was the only piece of satisfaction in my wretched life, the only thing that had something to do with my mother that I came in contact with daily, who I wanted to know so much about.
"That is absolute rubbish! She wouldn't talk to someone like you! She is gone! Dead! Away from the face of this earth!" he yelled, and continued, "If I ever catch you playing that… That miserable piano ever again, I will personally kick you out of this household!" I was about to back away, but I clenched my fists.
"No. You can't make me stop playing!You know that I love playing! You-you're taking my life away from me!" He looked saddened.
"That's what I thought, too. I was a poor pianist when your mother met me. The piano is what made me become like this," he said, waving to our shabby home. "That's why I will not allow you to become like that, throwing away your future just for that piece of black and white junk!"
"It's. Not. Junk!" I screamed, a tear leaking down my cheek. Most people would think, why is she getting so upset over some dumb instrument?
The truth is, it's a disease I have, a mental issue. I just have emotional breakdowns, and just lose control, sometimes just for no reason at all. It's incurable, and I end up just collapsing and crying in front of people, sometimes losing consciousness. Some people say that while I'm unconscious, or half-conscious, I become controlled by something, and I often wake up in a different place than where I blacked out.
My father's said that I have never smiled once in my life, ever since I became diagnosed with the disease. I think I used to laugh, used to smile, when I was little and times were good. Now, not so much.
"Imani, calm down!" he ordered. My legs gave way and I fell onto the floor, sobbing. I tried to control myself, but the disorder caused my brain to think differently and I just sat there, shaking as my hands went up to cover my eyes. "Get a hold of yourself!"
"No, no, no!" I shouted, and finally, I stopped, but I blacked out, sinking into pure, blissful darkness.
***
"Imani Knight! I demand you to stop this very instant!" I felt a sharp whack on my back. "I demand you to stop!" A punch on my shoulder.
I came to groggily, staring up at my father's angry, light-colored eyes. "I'm awake, Father. Please stop hitting me…" I drowsily looked around, and my eyes quickly widened, shocked. I had blacked out in the living room… But now I was at the other side of the house, sitting on my piano's worn leather bench, my father crouching next to me.
"Imani," he said, not quite gently, but not in the harsh tone he was using before. "Your circumstances… I don't think either of us can take it anymore. I… I'll send you to a relative's house, or something. Someplace safe, without any music."
"No… Music?" I said, taking a sharp intake of breath. "But–"
"'Mani," my father said, using my nickname from years past. "The thing is tainted, cursed. You're not safe here. Go, please."
"Wait, what? What did I do after I lost consciousness?" His eyes were sad, nostalgic. Lost in memory. Haunted, even.
"You ran over here and started playing the most dreadful tune. It was the most beautiful thing, but yet… depressing, filled with pain and hurt. I heard it somewhere; I think your mother played it for me once." Immediately, his features turned stiff, cold, and he turned to me.
"Pretend I never said that, you hear me? I never said such things. Never," he said intensely. I nodded, stunned at what I had done. His expression still held the painful, haunting look from before, and I was scared.
"Imani, leave. Please." I was still stiff, my back ramrod-straight and my eyes staring right in front of me. "Go! Now!" He shoved me onto my feet and guided me out the door, where it was still raining a great deal.
"W-where do I go?" I asked as he turned his back on me. He stopped.
"Anywhere, just get away from here! You'll be put in danger if you stay here any longer! Now, leave! The night will protect you!" he shouted as I ran out of my former home, tears blurring through my eyes. Thunder boomed, impatient, covering up the last words that my father said to me.
My footsteps pounded against the slippery pavement, and I never looked back, not once. Suddenly, I felt my control slip away and I collapsed on the old bridge from which I came. I shook violently with sobs and I looked towards the gray sky leaking with tears of its own.
I was alone, at last. Alone in the cold world with no one to protect me, just like I had wanted. My consciousness was slipping away fast. The last thing I remembered was the icy cold water of the river beneath the bridge lapping against my pale cheeks and engulfing me completely.
Not too bad? I know, some parts don't make sense, but I'll revise it later or something if it's really that awful.
The Imani in here doesn't seem like the Imani in The Ocean Is My Inkwell's story/stories, but this is just the start. Remember, it's two different people writing about the same person, so…
Please rate and review! I know there won't be that many reviewers, because people don't like OC stories as much as others… If you subscribe or add this to your favorites, I'll know, and I'll send you a PM asking why you didn't review. Seriously.
This isn't a bribe or anything, but the more reviewers I get, the better the story will be because I have an idea of how many people read it and who likes it or not.
Sorry for the long AN's. I do that. Get used to it.