Warning: This is sad, there's no other way to put it. Children die. It's not very gruesome, but it is depressing. If you still want to read it, I suggest picturing Batman in a pink dress once you're done.
Author's Notes: Equus's story was paticularly hard to create. I needed a story of unimaginable suffering and horror, and I think I got it. I love delving into psycology, and Equus's psyche fascinated me inmensely. When I first wrote it, I thought it was over the top and not very realistic. I was reassured when I saw some of the newer JL episodes, as well as rewatched a few older ones. In paticular, there are some definite similarities to plots in the JL universe. Just know that when I wrote this I had only seen season one, I did not copy any of the plots from later seasons. You'll understand what I'm talking about more in the next chapter. Another quick thing I want to mention is that I am by no means trying to "out do" the sob-stories of Superman, Batman, and J'onn. I beleive that although experiences do have a profound effect on people, their effect is molded by the individual. Keep this in mind as you uncover more about her, and ask youself how you think you would have turned out.
Gabby- thanks so much for the reveiw! I'm so excited, I finally got one! If people like Equus as a charatcer, I am prepared to write another story with her. I also might write a House, MD fanfic. Possibly a crossover with Equus. Or maybe not. Who knows!
"My father died when I was little, after he and my mother got divorced. My mother was a writer. She was successful enough to provide for us in between books, but never got a huge break. We lived in a small apartment in New York City, and sometimes money got tight, but never tight enough that she needed to get a day job.
One day when I was eight, we were walking through Washington Square Park. My mother loved the trees; she said they reminded her of when she was growing up on her parents' horse farm. Every evening before it got dark, we used to walk through the park and she would tell me her new story ideas. One night when I was eight, I left a toy on one of the benches. We went back to get it, but couldn't find it. Finally we started to walk home. It was already dark. Five men came out of nowhere with guns. They hit us in the head, and knocked us out.
When I came to, I was in a large room with about 50 other children around my age. A large man in a black suit came in and said that our parents were alive. He told us that if we did exactly as he said, neither our parents nor us would be hurt. The man told all the boys to leave, and led them down a hall. A woman came in and divided us into groups of five. Each group was led into a different room and locked in. The room I was in was large and plain. It had five beds lined up against the wall. The walls were white, and the beds were white. Off on the side was a small bathroom with a toilet and a sink. We were scared; we had no idea what was happening. Somehow we managed to sleep.
The next day all the girls and boys were led outside. There was a large obstacle course, with things to jump over, climb up, climb under, and run through. One girl started to run towards the fence and climbed up it, trying to escape. It was an electric fence. I still remember the smell of her charred flesh and burnt hair. Her name was Sara. She died from the electrocution almost immediately, and her mother was brought out and shot in front of us the next moment. She was the girl I had fallen asleep next to the night before. She wanted to be a singer, like her mother. She had a dog named "Spice Girls" even though it was a boy.
The man who had led us out told us that if we did not run through the obstacle course fast enough, our parents would be hurt or killed, as would we. We all ran over the obstacle course. There were two kids who could not finish it. One had an asthma attack halfway through and the other had epilepsy. She had a seizure while doing it. They were shot, as were there parents. There were 47 of us left.
After the obstacle course, we were divided back into our groups. Each group was led to the medical wing of the large building, and given an exam. Three of the boys and one of the girls had chronic illnesses, such as the HIV virus. They were all killed, as were there parents. 43 of us were left. I learned later on that all of the children held there been kidnapped in the same way as I had. All of them were being raised by single parents, who had also been kidnapped. The threat of injury to our parents was used to motivate us.
After that, we were brought back into our rooms. Four plates and a pitcher of water were on the floor. We ate and drank and slept. The next day we were taken group by group to a room with mats on the floor and walls. A man stood in the center and said to do as he said. He taught us how to throw a punch.
For the next year, we went every day to the room. We were taught every fighting technique they could find. We were taught by experts, how to kick, punch, duck, roll, and fall. If you were injured, you got the day off until you were healed. Anyone who sustained permanent injures was killed with his or her parents. That happened to three more. One cracked a kneecap, the other broke her back, and the last completely tore his rotator cuff. Six more kids sustained debilitating or life threatening illnesses. They were killed too. There were 39 left. The girl who broke her back had been in the room with me. Her name was Tianna. I always told her how pretty her name was. She wanted to win a beauty pageant. She said that she had practiced her beauty queen wave for 2 years. She was chubby, had a cleft lip, a bad lisp, a big nose and frizzy hair. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and had the best imagination. She would tell us stories every night. She never let anyone go to sleep crying. I saw her corpse being dragged down the hall, covered in blood. I was nine, and it was my birthday.
At the end of the first year, were pitted against each other in one on one battles. Lasting one standing wins. It was girls vs. girls and boys vs. boys. The winning girl and the winning boy then fought each other. I was the winning girl. The winning boy was a lot taller and heavier then I. He was a cruel boy, and had been moved to different rooms because he kept beating up whomever he was with. He was a lot stronger then I was, but he preferred to use brute force. I was faster, and I used as much tact as any 9 year old could. I dodged the first fifteen minutes, and once he was tired I attacked. He got one lucky swing in, and bashed my skull. He fell to the ground a split second before me, so I won. He had whiplash and a couple broken ribs. I had a serious concussion, three broken ribs, one of which punctured a lung. It took the doctors a day to realize I was bleeding internally, they thought I was faking sickness. One of the other kids had started bleeding internally from wounds they got during their fight, he was shot. I think the only reason they operated and saved me was because they saw I could be a valuable fighter. Two others died from wounds they got in their fight. The six fighters who did the worst were killed with their parents. There were 30 of us left.
The next six months we were trained even harder. We started learning archery, fencing, and swordsmanship. I had been there two years. Slowly we were permitted more things such as books, music, a television. At the end of that year we were in peak physical condition. We had been trained in almost every martial art known to man, and had learned how to use just as many weapons. It was then that the purpose of all of it was revealed.