M/N: Hey! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I reeeeeeaaaaallllly appreciate it! The next chapter was very hard to write . . . not too much happens I think, but it is important to the story. A few flashbacks and pondering . . . and a BIG HUGE HONKING piece of foreshadowing. If you guess what it is, I'll give you a clue. But well, on with the show.
Disclaimer: FF8 is not mine, will never be mine, and was never mine in the first place. I'm just playing with the characters for a while.
Chapter Two: Silence
"Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself." -Harvey Fierstein
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She couldn't believe it. She'd said yes. She held the little bundle in her arms, felt the quick heartbeat and unfailing little chest rising and falling. This little wonder was hers. Hers. What she'd always wanted, dreamed of, hoped for.
The little baby squirmed a little and settled again. The woman looked at the small, rosy face squished in between mounds of blankets. There was that little red mark between her eyes on her forehead that all babies have.
'It's her angel kiss . . . ' the woman thought. Edea had told her that on one of many informal visits to the Orphanage. All babies were kissed by the angels before they were sent to earth to be born.
'This poor little girl. She was all alone. But not now . . . she has me. I'm here for you . . . never fear.'
~*~*~*~
A little girl raced through a snowy expanse. Underneath the snow, she knew, were millions of flowers that would rise up in the coming months. Far away, a dark stone building stood on the top of the hill, its warmth promising escape from the bitter, icy wind nipping at her ears.
But this little girl was running away from that warmth. Even at four, she knew why she was there. She wasn't wanted. Small teardrops fell on her already frosty cheeks, making trails of water that she was sure would soon freeze on her face.
This was not happiness. She remained cheerful for the others. In a way, it made her feel an imitation of happiness. Not quite happiness, but enough to keep her sane. But she always felt the presence of her personal demons chasing after her.
You're not good enough . . . you hear that? They didn't want you . . . you're not good enough . . .
These voices haunted her at night, during the day, whenever there was silence.
So she ran. Ran away from the screaming and fighting and the constant bickering of the others. Sure, the demons would follow her, but she could always try to outrun them.
With her little legs flailing behind her, arms waving desperately, and breath coming harder than before, she ran. Ran for sanity, ran for desperation.
Her throat had dried up and she faintly tasted blood in her mouth from trying to push herself and breathe while doing so. It was during these times, the times when she had to run away from it all, she felt the most alone.
Finally, having reached her limit, she let her legs fall from under her. She didn't even care if she died out here. The snow was so beautiful, so pure and clean. She wished to be perfect. Just like the snow. She wished so badly to be good enough.
Sitting there in the snow, she felt a kinship with the cold. No one wanted the cold. They all wanted warmth. She longed for warmth too . . . but it seemed out of her grasp.
She recalled the vague, hazy shapes and outlines she had of her parents: Two people, one male, one female. Kind, soft voices, reading bedtime stories of knights and princesses and happily ever afters. The warmth she so longed for, she felt in their embrace. Swinging her in their arms, rocking her to sleep, happiness in its truest form. She could remember dancing (or what she called dancing) for them in the living room with sweeping music playing in the background.
She couldn't recall their faces though. They were faceless people, only their presence was known. Vague characteristics thrown into one hazy description of her mother and father.
Wait, no, she could recall their faces. Her father's face half torn off, blood gushing out from his exposed skull, eyes blank and bloodshot. Her mother, neck at an odd angle, blood brimming over her lips, blood covering her hair. This odd sculpture of humanity encased in a twisted metal frame.
Ha, we caught up with you . . . we win, her demons cried.
So she huddled against the onslaught of memories and the cold wind that engulfed her small frame.
~*~*~*~
The woman sat there in a dark room with the baby in her arms. Just an hour ago, she was going to end it all. Now, she had something to live for. Someone who would think she was good enough.
'This is what I've always wanted!' she thought to herself. Her day had come. And she was happy; an emotion she hadn't felt in a long time.
She had set Naia's makeshift crib in a spare room with all her things. She also put a rocking chair and all the baby supplies (i.e., diapers, baby powder, lotion, etc.) near what would serve as a changing table until she could buy a new one.
The little child hadn't made a peep yet, although it was nearing 2 a.m. and the woman anticipated a feeding was to be in order. She had milk in the refrigerator, ready to be put in cereal or anything else the owner desired.
She rocked the baby in her arms, making sure she was warm and happy. The woman looked lovingly at the thing in her arms and sighed.
Yes, this was what she'd always wanted. From the first time Edea read one of those corny children's books to her. She'd always dreamed of living in the perfect house, with the perfect husband, and have the perfect children who always obeyed her and were little angels.
Her obsession with perfection had hindered her in many-a-thing over time and she'd learned to control her desire. But the dreams of her future had never failed to make her yearn that perfectness again.
It was in the silences that she dreamed. Whenever she had a moment of quiet, she would chase all the bad thoughts away with her happy dreaming of the future. She would dream of her wedding day, the dress she would wear, the exact number of guests that would attend, etc. And then she'd think up how she told her husband that she was going to have their baby . . .
Completely romantic thoughts like that.
The silences made her regain her sense of normalcy though too. And when that came back, she felt the depression of her imperfectness.
But she still dreamed. Even though she knew the pleasant, daydream high would make her end up in her gutter again. She dreamed mostly of her husband though.
He would be tall. He had to be taller than her or else it would be a liiiiiiiittle too awkward. And he had to have a good personality. He could make her laugh, never make her cry, keep her happy, do unexpected , romantic things once in a while. He could cook, clean, and take care of himself enough that he didn't depend solely on her.
He had strong arms that could embrace her so she couldn't run away from him when he was teasing her, a strong chest that she could bury her face in, strong hands that could open any jar she couldn't. Ahh . . . sigh.
That was her dream man. Well, almost. He'd have to have some flaws or else he'd get on her nerves. His flaws could be . . . bit of a temper (but she could keep him in line. It wasn't like she couldn't yell back) or maybe a little insecurity . . . she didn't really want any flaws, but everyone has to have them.
Her life was full of unfulfilled wishes and dreams. She only wished she could've made some of them possible. She might've then gone somewhere in her life.
When she first came to this city, she looked for a job. She had to find a way to support herself. The only available job in this city was at the local bar.
A very strange bar, in that, the owner insisted it be smoke-free. In all her life, the woman had never heard of, much less seen, a smoke-free bar.
The woman who owned the bar, a thin, dark skinned, mid-thirties, redhead by the name of Danielle Connor ("call me Elle!"), was protesting in her own way by prohibiting smoking within a mile radius of her bar. Her late husband had died from smoking and she made sure that there was not a person she knew who had taken it up. Everyone knew she would personally kick them from here to the Island Closest to Hell in a second if she found them smoking.
Anyway, she got work in a bar. As a waitress. Not the career she would've chosen first. Waitressing wasn't her dream job in a long shot. Not much to it. Just get the drinks and food and put it in front of the customers. Take orders. Blah blah blah.
She didn't hate it. She met lots of interesting people in there. And she could talk to everyone. And it was simple enough. But not challenging, which was what she wanted.
But until she got a shot at her dream job . . . this was where she'd stay. In this small town no one had heard of. With the smoke-free bar and country folk. *sigh*
The woman was snapped out of her reverie by the squirming babe in her arms. The child had wriggled its arms free from its blanket confines. It whimpered slightly and then cried out, startling the woman.
'Time for a feeding,' the woman thought as the little girl's cries got louder. The woman wasn't worried about disturbing any neighbors. Her house was secluded and farthest from the town.
The woman carried the baby with her into the kitchen to get the milk in her refrigerator. The woman opened the milk, and just to be sure, smelled the milk to see if it was fresh.
She pulled back quickly at the sour smell coming from the carton. It was very rancid. Not consumable in any way.
Shocked the woman put the cap on again and looked at the expiration date. She'd only just bought it a few days ago.
"Oh hell," she said. The expiration date was a week ago. 'Well that's the last time I go out of town with Elle to buy groceries.'
But Naia still needed to be fed. And she didn't have any milk. Or anything that resembled milk, like cream. "Oh hell," she said again. This was not, going well.
No stores would be opened. Not for many more hours. She couldn't visit the neighbors, even if she told them family was here they'd think she was unprepared for having visitors over and it was late at night anyway. If the baby wanted milk give her to her mother!
The woman thought frantically. She couldn't go out of town. She didn't have a car. Where she lived, everything was within walking distance. It was waaaaaaaaaaaaay too late to wake Elle up (the only person she knew who had a car).
Naia's cries escalated. This baby wanted food!
'Oh hell, hell, hell,' the woman thought again. What was she going to do?
She tried to quiet the baby, maybe get her to sleep so when it was morning she could go to the store and get better milk. It didn't work.
She tried playing with her, to entertain her for a while to give her time to think. It didn't work either.
This poor baby sounded like it was being tortured.
"Shhh shhh . . . I know you're hungry aren't you? I bet you are! Shhhh shhh . . . I don't have anything for you right now, but please wait. Shhhhh shhhhhh . . . "
And it went like that for about seven minutes before the woman was at her wit's end.
"What am I going to do?!" she thought frantically, patting the screaming child in her arms.
Then, she paused for what seemed like an eternity. She didn't want to do this. It was something that would bind her to the baby forever. But it was her only choice.
The woman lifted up her shirt, took a breath, and put the infant's lips to her chest.
For one tense moment, the baby silenced a little. Then, in a moment that could only be described as uncanny, the child started to drink. The milk quieted her and the woman sat back with relief.
It was the strangest feeling, the woman had. Very weird, but good in a content way.
The little girl drank and drank until she was full and warm and happy. Then she detached and settled back to sleep after the woman burped her.
As the child was settling, the woman looked at her in wonder.
'She's so beautiful when she's happy,' she said to herself.
And not too long after, the woman put the infant in her crib, turned the baby monitor on, and went to sleep herself, dreaming of her new daughter.
~*~*~*~
M/N: This isn't done yet. Noooooooo not by far. This little piece of work has a LOT more coming. Now, about the BIG HUGE HONKING foreshadowing I mentioned. To some, it's probably not what you think, but send me your ideas anyway! The person who guesses gets a clue! *hears crickets chirping*
Well thank you SOOOOO much to the two people who reviewed! Thanks for taking a chance on this story o' mine!
ShootinStar: No, the quote isn't from hijackers or whatever the heck that was. I don't even really know what that is . . . yeah, I'm deprived.
Cherry4126: If you want to share your thoughts, do so! I'm not going to laugh in your face if you don't know! lol ;-)
Please review! If you think this is gonna get boring, just hold on cause it won't! It's gonna get a whole buttload better, I promise!