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'No Ordinary Cinderella' – A Twilight Fanfic

By No Ordinary Cinderella

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Saffron's P.O.V

Chapter One

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Three years, thirty-six months, one-hundred and fitfty six weeks, one thousand and ninety five days. A duration of time that does not matter to me anymore. Nothing matters. All that mattered to me was gone when she was gone. She brightened my skies; she made me feel as if I had one person, one person that cared about me on this world, one person that loved me, loved me like a friend. I've never had a friend. I guess I never will.

Ever since that fateful evening, I have become mute. A silence which can not be stirred or broken. Nor will it ever be. My life was a tale of horrendous nightmares, and horrific stories, that are forever told, but never deemed true. My impending silence will last forever, until I am just another unsolved puzzle buried underneath the earth's surface. Or that's what I thought.

This state of mute was forever with me, as she was forever gone in body, but not in mind or heart. Just like the sun in my everlasting black of night had died. More like murdered.

The only person who cherished me, made me feel like I was a somebody, instead of a nobody. The only person that truly cared, the only person that mattered to me; my sister. My loving, caring, selfless sister. My only sister, who always tried to brighten my day, tried to make me feel loved, tried being the key word. I guess her trying over and over again did not seem to work, and her bubbly personality was clawed and sucked into the blood-filled sewers of hell. Hopefully, she'll escape from her brutal death, and they will let her soul live. Just because she was taken by a devil's minion, does not mean that she is one herself. No. I know she'll make it to heaven, its where she belongs, as an angel.

My hands trembled as I lay the white lily next to the marble stone. It stood alone, just like me. I let out a shaky breath, which led to the white substance of mist settling onto the carbon dioxide that I exhaled. The cold night air was chilly, but I didn't feel the cold, I never felt the cold. I was used to it, as I was used to the coldness of my father.

Lilies always reminded me of my sister, so elegant, and yet, so beautiful. People would think that you could not achieve them both, or have the perfect personality to go with it, but yet, she had all three. The lily's white colour was so pure, just like my sister, so unlike me.

The salt water crystal ran from the rim of my eyes to the base of my chin, where it fell splashing to the ground, never to be seen again. Like I would never see her smile light up the room, reassuring me that everything was going to be okay. Her laugh that rose through the air, making me laugh too, making me feel happy. But all happiness had disintegrated, and the lonesome emotions of fear and angst clouded my mind.

Why did she have to be so selfless on that fateful night? Why had she defended me? Why did she die when I was the one who was zeroed in on his hitting spree? That was until, she spoke up.

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3rd Person POV

The black shadows cast off the walls, portraying the repeated short story of the little girl's life. The black silhouette was bent over another, smaller, tiny, one. The tiny one stood there, pushing her thin arms above her head to protect herself as the assumption of a shadow of a man, pounded his fists against her head. Those arms did little to shield the impact of the blows that came mercilessly and viciously.

In the corner of the room, barely seen, a small child was there, watching the shadows dancing on the walls. Her blue irises shed clear tears as she stared at the figures, as the smaller one became limp and as the larger man continued to lash out at her.

With every heartless hit, with every punch that punctured her skin, new blood started to trickle out of fresh wounds. The girl was still limp, lifeless, and possibly dead. As a spot of blood splashed onto the face of the golden-haired girl who sat there watching, helpless and vulnerable to the situation, she made the involuntary action to look at where it came. Instead of looking at the shapes on the walls creating new images, she had torn her gaze for the first time to the people emitting these pictures. She didn't have the guts to look at the beatings that happened every day, behind these close, worn doors.

The ruthless man kept going back for more, as if she was the source of his anger. The innocent, naïve child woke up slowly, her voice wavering, whimpering. His rough hands pulled her hair so hard, that a clump formed onto his hand. She was now standing, thrashing, screaming, pleading at him to stop, holding her tiny, cold hands over her bruised scalp, until one fatal blow to the head caused her mind to shut down, and for her to lose herself in dreams. The only real sanctuary in a world of hellish tortures.

A small cry came over the little girl watching her little sister, as she saw the puny body lying across the ground, seemingly unconscious. Her hair was splayed out, matted with dried and wet blood. Her eyes were half-open, half-closed as she lay there, the whiteness of her eyes scared her to no end, her irises were out of sight. Her frail, petite body was constructed of only skin and bone. Old bones jutted out of her snow white skin.

The red liquid stained the floor, flooding it, and her, with fear. The angry, muscled man continued ranting and rampaging out on her again, the light seeming to swing from side to side as more tears produced from the little girl that was lying in watch. The sandy-haired girl saw as new blood began to form from the girl's smeared dress, a little girl with a broken body, and possibly, a broken heart.

She was gaining consciousness now, fully aware of what this man was doing. Her pleas and cries filled the air until he swiftly kicked her in the abdomen and she flew across the room, hitting the bare walls, her blood seeming to make a trail with her slipping body, down to the floor, as she lay strewn there, lifeless.

A few hours later, she woke up, in a hospital, supposedly being hit by a 'hit and run' driver. The sandy-haired girl was watching again, with those all-knowing blue eyes, as the bruises, scars, tissue, bones started to mend, and then, once again, the tiny, brown haired girl whose shadow she always saw, received just another lethal blow.

It was always like that, sometimes he would include the girl in watch too, but mostly, it was the small child who could not defend herself. It was always like that, just a constant ritual. Day after day, week after week, year after year, it was always the same, no matter how much taller, or how much they had grown. They were still puny against him. Until, one day, that same sandy-haired girl who was always lying in watch, with her frail voice, spoke up.

The man filled with wrath and hatred, burned up at her, grabbing her small frame and going for the kill. She started to cry, now knowing how her sister felt, night after night, after night. The ruthless man punched harder, kicked with all his might, ripped at her scalp, tearing at her face, her legs, her arms, her skin.

The little brown-haired girl began to stir, her eyes fluttered open once again. She had been unconscious, and the last thing that she had remembered, was a fist flying into her face and a tiny voice that spoke, that shouted, that screamed at the man behind it with just one word: 'Stop!' That was about the time she blacked out, hoping it was a dream, she groaned. The ache was all over her body; she could barely move and was unfortunate enough not to be numb from it. With her bruised eyes and ego, she looked around and saw the same man who beat her everyday, with a new person, a new prey, a new round of satisfaction from beating somebody else. Except he was more angry, as he heartlessly hit her, again and again and again. He did not care; he never did care about them. He saw with a smile that blood was flooding the floor, but he did not give a damn, he kept going, and going, at that moment, the little girl stood up, her legs shaking for the sudden pressure as she realised he was going for the kill.

The puny chocolate-haired girl hobbled over to the enraged male, screeching and crying for him to let go of her sister. He never listened to her cries. He never listened to her pleas. He never listened to her screams. He relished in them. She threw herself at him selflessly, and jumped onto his back, ignoring the shooting pain that was starting to burn at her body. He flung her off easily, tossing her to the side. She kept limping back, determined to not let her sister die, with each punch, with each step taken, with each breath, the beautiful, sandy-haired girl was closer to the demons of death.

She kept fighting, going back to try to stop him, and that was exactly what she did, she kept trying. She ignored the fleeting pain that was making her head spin, and her breathing to become laboured. The brown-haired girl reached him for the thirteenth time and her small hands hit him, again and again, trying to make an impact on him, trying to prevent him from killing her sister, trying to end the abuse of her sister, she tried, but trying wasn't enough. The last beat of her heart, the last strenuous breath, the last howl, the last words that tore from her sister's lips was taken, and she couldn't take it back.

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I was a failure, that fateful night. She was murdered for saying a word. She shouldn't have spoken up for me; I was worthless. My sister was always caring, always pitying, always there for me, and yet, when she needed me most, I could not help her as she helped me all those other times.

Catherine Rhea Purkiss

1990-2006

I Always Wondered When The Heavens Wanted Their Angel Back

My resolve crumbled as I read the marble, and my sobs became unbearably loud as the tears streaked down my cheeks. With each new sob, an old memory replayed in my mind.

Cathy taught me many things, like how to play the piano, the guitar, and she was always appraising me, protecting me, loving me, giving to me, when I had nothing to return. She did not care, as long as I was well looked after. She would always double-up our money and give me more than half. I did not notice until I turned the age of seven. I then split it equally, even though she tried to reason with me, protest at me, but this time, I did not listen, and I gave her half. She always gave me the majority of our food scrounging, she always gave me half her sandwich if I had none, and she always shared. And I shared too. I shared with her my heart, and she returned it with her own.

I only broke two of my legs, my left arm, fractured two ribs, lost half a pint of blood (thanks to sillylamb who corrected me!x! There are two pints of blood in your body so losing half a pint, I think, is pretty bad) and cracked my skull that night. But that was nothing, absolutely nothing to what Cathy had to go through. Her payment was much higher then mine, and I had been serving directly under her price, for many years; death.

A huge whimper tore from my chapped and bruised lips as my knees buckled beneath me onto the damp, cold surface. The heavens started to open up, and the wet moisture clung to my ragged clothing with each drop.

Here I was, alive. There she was, dead. She was always everything I was not. Beautiful, calm, funny, talented, caring, selfless…the list could go on until the reader got bored reading it, something that always Cathy never seemed to do, get bored that is. I was not jealous, in fact, I loved her for her traits, and I loathed myself for mine. I was stupid, foolish, ugly, hideous, a monstrosity that needed to be locked away. I always wondered when she would turn her back on me, run away and never return, but somehow, she never did.

She had sandy, waist-length hair that glistened, even when filled with knots. Her eyes were a bright sea of blue, her nose, prominent, her cheekbones high, like mine, but my cheeks were flabby and hers were perfected; her whole body was perfect apart from her skin. And the only reason for that was because of that was the bruises and scars. Apart from that, she was beautiful. Truly beautiful.

And what was I? A scrawny, lean, figure, with lumps that did not resemble curves in the slightest way, skin etched with scars, and painted with blood. Eyes that held no significant colour, just dull, a combination of green, blue and brown. Horrible, hideous, my father called them. I had learnt to hate them as much as I hate myself. They were the same colour as my mothers. I had never met my mother; she had died during my child birth. My father instantly took the blame to me, mostly me, but not all the blame was on me, some was on Cathy too. He blamed her for wanting a younger sibling, and her mother granting it, just to die. But it was mostly my fault, for being born, and my beatings happened everyday. Cathy's was only once a week, sometimes twice, or sometimes she'd endure a whole week of good health.

But I know the real reason my father beats me. It's because I look like my mother. I resemble her. I have captured her beauty, but have made it repugnant. The words my father constantly told me with every slap of the face, with every new bruise formed, and with every blemish that flawed my skin.

But I know it won't be long. Not long at all, until I am buried six feet under next to my sister and my mother.

A/N: I know, I know, your all probably thinking, rewriting the story!! ARGH!!! But hey, y'know, I've looked over it, and I think that I need to do some changes. Like sometimes, i'm thinking, why did I put that in there? And everyone wouldn't always beat her; it's a bit unrealistic y'know? So I'm going to try and do it better and hopefully it will be!

Minor Changes include:

She will not be beaten all the time [aka at school she will just be an outsider with no friends.

The Cullens are still in this story but the scene in which they nearly suck her blood is out of here [when she was beaten by her 'peers'

I will write longer chapters and there is no 'death walk'

There is still the Barbies and kens but they will not be called that, and they will not physically beat her, just emotionally and that will be only sometimes.

She is still an extremely good singer and she does meet Ryan in her music class, but Edward is also there!

Okay, if there is any questions, just pm me, or email me or whatever you wanna do, like review.

So…please review and tell me if you like this one better!!!