Standard disclaimer...Don't own, SM does, just borrowing...yada yada yada...we've all read like upteenth times...
I have a C2 Community Mystic Stories! I offer a place to get help with your stories! I don't read slash though, so I would need a staff member who does!
If you want your story added, PM me or JustJo94 with your pen name and story name!
Who am I you ask? A simple question. Who are you? Yet, in truth, it's not so simple. Do they mean who are you as a person? Who are you as in what's your name? One so very simple and one so very not. We ignore the complicated one and opt for the simple. We answer the question with our name. Hi. Who are you? Hi. I'm Suzy. We don't want to delve into the complexity of the question that makes us look deeply into ourselves to see who and what we are.
We strive to hide behind walls that we build. We are all actors. We play a part in an ongoing play. But the part we each play is not the part we should be. We hide behind our masks, showing one face to the world. And even alone, we still wear it. We have immerged ourselves so deeply into the character we try to play, that who we really are, is scary to us.
We don't want to face the fears we've hidden. We don't want to face the unpleasant memories that are there. The terror we felt at something. The sadness that radiates through us. So we pretend. We pretend none of it is there. That it was all a dream and the person we are trying to be is the person we are. And when we're asked who are you, we ignore the complex answer that would force us to face the lie and answer the simple question. It is human nature.
Who am I? You still ask? Do you want my name? Do you want me to face my reality? A reality that I've never run from. A reality I accepted and live with everyday? I don't hide who I am, but I still hide.
Who am I? If I had the rest of my life, I don't think I'd ever be able to answer that question to your satisfaction. There are times when I can't even tell myself who I am. I am…I am lost in a sea of people. Clinging to a rock in the middle of a storm. Drifting afloat out at sea. I am…I am the one that wandered. The one that wandered and lost her way. Who fell into the ocean. Who went out in the middle of the storm. Who drifted.
I am…I am no one. A nobody. A face among faces. No, a nameless face in a crowd. Plain. Ordinary. Unremarkable. Undistinguishable. You would scan the people and never register I was there. Your eyes would pass over me like an ugly piece of furniture. I am invisible. I could stand in the middle of a crowded walkway and no one would ever know I was there. They'd part like the red sea and walk around me, never seeing, never knowing. I am in no way the Rosalie Hales and Alice Brandons of the world. The beautiful, stunning, gorgeous movie stars that grace our screen from time to time.
I am…I am unwanted. Uncared for. Yesterday's garbage thrown to the curb. Clothing you've outgrown. Toys that have no use. That ugly vase from great aunt something at your wedding. All that junk you've collected over the years and don't want anymore. Tossed. Tossed to the curb. Taken to the dump. Destroyed. Given away. Unwanted.
I am…I am unfixable. Scarred and broken beyond belief. I nurse wounds so deep that nothing can touch them to heal them. I panic at any male touching me. Recoil like a spring stretched out. Like elastic pulled tight. Hiding behind walls so thick nothing short of a nuclear blast would topple them. There are no doors, no windows in those walls. No way for a prince to call, "Repunzal, Repunzal, let down your hair!" Shattered into so many pieces. How can I go anywhere? How can I let anyone in? Knowing they would suffer with me? I can't. The answer is as simple as that. I can't. I'm like Humpty Dumpty. All the king's horses and all the king's men can't put me together again. I'm shattered into a million and more pieces.
I am…I am boring. You don't hold a conversation with me. I'm uninteresting. Not worth the time to go beyond hi, how are you? One glance and you move on. Four words and you are gone. I have nothing in my head. How could I if you pass me over? I stand against the walls in the shadows head down. Why start the conversation when it's not going to go beyond those four little words. Why engage people who will smile condescendingly and move on to speak to someone with far more class?
Why am I all these things? Why am I so shattered? So destroyed beyond belief? So willing to throw off my mask when no one else will. To let the world see me as I am? To put on my face the burdens I bare? To watch the people hide behind their web of lies, unwilling to face the truth? Why? Because my life was one of hardship and I learned that the lies help nothing. The lies get you nowhere. They cover things, yes, but they don't move you forward. They keep you rooted to the spot where you first uttered them. And, when you have to survive at all costs, you don't hide behind masks and pretend to be someone your not. You face yourself. The deepest regions within you. You face them and confront them. Because anything else, anything else, could mean your death. The cessation of your beating heart. No, it is unwise to live behind a web of lies when you are trying to survive.
Why do I speak so frankly? Why do I speak so bluntly? Why do I tell you this? Because when you are lost within that sea of people, clinging to the boulder in the middle of the storm hoping that you'll be rescued, you have to do something. Do something or go insane. The feelings and thoughts and whispers and dreams build and build within you until you pop. Like shaking a soda for too long. Because I need to speak. Even if it isn't much. Even if no one reads this. I need to speak. I hope, one day, that I can truly live.
My mother died giving birth to me and well, my father, my father I don't know. I never met him. I don't know his name. What he looks like. Alive? Dead? Nothing. He is a mystery. A blank slate. An unknown factor in the equation that is my life.
So what is my first memory? It is being in a children's home, surrounded by others, looking up at a woman with a perpetual scowl on her face and a hooked nose. I asked where my mommy was. Why wasn't she there? When was she coming? And I was told that she was never coming. She didn't want me so I was here with the other unwanted children. I cried.
A house nestled in a suburban area. A backyard with a pool. A green front yard. Two stories. A playroom that was all mine and doubled as my bedroom. The joy at the hugeness of it. A woman with a kind smile. Soft brown hair. Sweet green eyes. A loving look. A tinkling laugh. A man, tall. Greasy black hair and sharp brown eyes. They missed nothing. He didn't laugh. A closet. The dark. Hours upon hours. Nothing, nobody. Day after day, month after month. A neighbor seeing a skin and bone child. Social services. The home once more.
Another family. Another home. Another life. No closets. No. this time it's belts. You didn't clean your room. Do the dishes. What's taking you so long? Leather belt. Couldn't sit for days. Sleeping on my stomach. Tears staining my cheeks. Foiled robbery. The home once more.
Misplaced hope. Misplaced dreams. A new place. A new family. A new experience. No better then the other two. No closets still. The belt remains. Three boys plus dad. Young. Maybe ten. I stopped counting birthdays. Uncelebrated day. Night. Terror. Rape. Beatings. Spoon. Two by four. Son. Repeat. Son. Repeat. Son. Repeat. The longest home. A mask of perfectness hiding a monster.
Five other homes spattered in between. Two were kind and nice and why couldn't I stay? I never knew. I was taken. The other three were just like the others. Pain. Terror. Horror. Tears. Lifeless. Abused and no one cared. Nothing was done. I regret. To this day I regret being scared. Being too scared to speak up. Cowering in the corner. And people wonder why I nearly scream at a male touching me.
Yes, I am the above. I am broken. I am shattered. I am nothing. I am meaningless. I hold no place in this world. No place in this great span of things. Eighteen years of terror I lived. Eighteen years before I got out. A cheap apartment and a cheap job, just trying to survive. Trying to live. I didn't suffer for so long just to end it all. Though, the thought has crossed my mind many a time.
Why not end the misery. Hope and dreams were killed two many years ago to count. Destroyed and crushed. Who was I to say anything? I had survived. I didn't have time for anything else. I lived in the reality that was the world, not the play that was always going on. I was already lost, I couldn't get lost again. I had to find my way. Find a path. Find a reason. A reason for what? I don't know.
Life is cruel. Life is kind. Life is hard. Life is easy. Sweet. Sour. Bitter. Happy. But I drew the short stick. I got cruel and hard and sour and bitter. I watch the families who walk past me. They have a mixture of the two, good and bad. One outweighing the other. The families that seem to have just good. Balance. Everything must balance. It stands to reason, that if there were a person who could heal me, they'd be all good. For we must compliment one another. The ying and the yang. The black and the white. Your perfect someone will complete the circle you have started.
Hope? I've lost. Dreams? I have none. Masks and plays? I scorn. A jaunt into fantasy? A nice relief from the harsh reality. I cannot hold on to things. I get hurt. It always ends with me getting hurt. And with all the pieces I'm in, if I were to break anymore, I'd be dust upon the wind.
Fragile. I am fragile. I am fooling myself if I believe there is more out there for me. I cannot live the lies. I cannot weave the lies. I have learned how they harm. How they root you. How they leave you in the past.
Who am I? The complex question. I am no one. I am twenty-four years of age and no one. I sit here, in the bay window of my apartment watching the people below walk by. They don't look up. They don't glance my way.
I am no one. How can I make you understand that I am truly no one. That my pain, my grief, is all consuming. That to let someone in is to invite the pain. I am alone. Alone and wanting. Yearning. For what? Life only knows. What will come will come. What is willed to be will be. If it is meant to happen it will happen. I cannot change that, as much as I wish to. As much as I'd love to travel in time and fix it all, I can't. Love. An emotion I have never known. What does it feel like I wonder? I won't dwell. It brings nothing. There is no love in this world for one such as I.
I am sitting in a bay window, listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain. Letting it sooth my soul like a balm, knowing it will never heal it. I am…I am who I am and this is my life.
This story is posted over at Twilighted. I am looking for a co-author. Must be a registered user on Twilighted, as that will be the main posting site.
Okay, so I started another story...This is not actually based on a true story or anything, though, sadly, I scared my mom when she read the prologue. It hit home for her. I wasn't trying to do that, but I did.
So, I suggest that you go read it, because I'm looking for a co-author! Yes, I, MysticIce24 am looking for a co-author. This is going to be an emotional based story. I have it rated NC-17, because honestly, while I have an outline, I'm still not sure what's going to happen.
Co-author requirements:
I am looking for a co-author (1) on this. I have chapter one started in my head. But I will not continue without a co-author. If you desire to co-author with me, please send me a PM with:
Your name, a story you've written (preferably completed, but long enough to get a sense of your writing), and the reason why you want to co-author with me (THIS ONE IS IMPORTANT), penname on Twilighted
I'm going to give a week for people to apply. If I don't have a lot of applicants, I'll give it one more week and then decide out of who applies.