-Genevive-
".. He wants to stop your suffering, stop it for good." Voices said.
"Who said that?" Genevive looked from her diary with a start. No one was there. She was alone, in the nauseously frilly and pastel room her foster parents had given her. There wasn't a thing in that place that wasn't pink or ruffled. They even had a shelf of porcelain figurines on the far wall their collection consisted of: small children with big eyes, unicorns, cuddly animals. that sort of thing. "We did." The voices came from the figurines.
"What the fuck?!" She shouted.
"Now, be quiet your foster mother doesn't approve of language like that and certainly not at this time of night, Vee." They said. She glared at the figurines, staring down one of a boy with his dog. "This has to be dream, another one of those fucked up dreams I've been having."
"You've heard us before, whispering and murmuring you dismissed us as rustling wind or a symptom of fatigue." They said.
"That's it this has to be a dream," Genevive and fished around in her the drawer of her night stand. "I'll prove it," She grinned and removed a small gleaming Swiss army pocket knife. "Wake up NOW!" She yelled and plunged the pocket knife into the middle of palm. There was a sudden surge of pain and when she looked down she saw blood flowing from the fresh wound. Her eyes widened.
"Shit." She gasped.
"Awe, how sweet Daddy's lil' girl. Looking just like Daddy." The voices cooed sarcastically.
"Do not." She growled.
"Look in the mirror then." They answered in a smug tone of voice. Genevive slowly looked up. And there she stood in the full length closet mirror. And she saw a scrawny girl of sixteen, dressed in black from head to toe, with very thick shoulder length brown hair and large child- like eyes. With a knife tightly grasped in her right hand and a bleeding wound on the left. "Good, god. I should get a band aid on this." She murmured and headed for the door.
"I wouldn't go out there if I were you." The figurines said.
"Why not?" She asked.
"He might be out there, waiting." The figurines hissed.
"No he wouldn't. He got locked up. "Genevive stated.
"He escaped forty eight hours ago, you know that if watched the nightly news," The figurines taunted. "So you'd better watch out."
"Why should I? I'm his kid, he loves me," She sighed. "I know he loves me."
"You answered your own question there," The figurines said. "He loves you so much. You're his favorite, his little girl. "
"What the fuck are you going on about?" Genevive asked walked over to the figurines and scowled at their empty smiling faces.
"He doesn't want the cruel world to hurt you. The same way it hurt him. And he can't destroy the world. He'll destroy you." Came the reply from their motionless faces.
Her eyes widen in shock. "What do you mean?"
"We mean he's going to kill you. We don't know exactly how. But you can assume it will be in a way that's quick and relatively painless. He loves you, much to watch you suffer." They said.
"Why should I believe you- you- smarmy faced little-things." She growled and snatched up a figurine of a little boy in a sailor suit.
"We are a part of you and yet we are not you." They said.
"So I'm made of cutesy porcelain figurines, yeah right." Vee retorted.
"No but these do seem to keep your attention." The voices said.
"If your not figurines what the fuck are you?" Vee asked the one in her hand.
"We have been around far longer then your time on this earth and yet we are you. We are everywhere; we have talked to so many through the years, including your father at one point in time. We know him and we know you." They murmured.
"What do you mean? I'm going crazy.." She asked, staring at the little figurine in her hand.
"Yes, but never mind that. Your Father is coming to kill you. You should prepare to kill him instead. " The figurines answered calmly.
"What the fuck? He is not coming to kill me. And I'm not going to kill him. He might be insane but he wouldn't do something like that." Vee answered sharply.
"He's already tried to kill you and your brother. He had a better grip on reality then, and couldn't bring himself to do it. Of course, now he's been locked for years in solitary confinement all alone stewing in his insanity for years. And now that's he's gotten out, nothing is going to stop him. He's going to send his little Veevee to an eternal bed-time." They said.
"No." She gasped.
"Yes, it's something you've known in your heart of hearts." They said.
"Yes... but.." She looked down. "Couldn't I."
"You can't reason with him you know. Parents always think they know what's best. It doesn't matter whether it's the taking of disgusting medicine or taking of their offspring's life." They said.
"But I couldn't." Vee sighed.
". you couldn't kill him? It's either him or you. You'll have to kill him. There is no other way. We suggest you start your practice on the neighbor's annoying dog." They said.
"I don't care if he's coming to murder me. I'm not becoming a serial killer just because you say so." She scowled.
"C'mon you hate that dog. It never shuts up." They taunted.
"No, I'm not killing Fifi." She growled.
"Then how about your foster sister? That little brat never gives you any peace and she sneaks into your room to read your diary and mess with your violin. You could just walk into her room and hold a pillow over her face until she stops moving. No one would suspect a thing." They added excitedly.
"I'm not killing Amber." Vee pouted.
"How about those guys at High-" The figurines started.
"No." She answered flatly.
"The creepy janitor?" They said.
"No." she sighed.
"The clerk who short-changes you?" They asked.
"No." She groaned.
"A cheerleader? Everyone hates cheerleaders." They nagged.
"No." She moaned and rolled her eyes.
"That Bible thumper who said you're going to burn in hell?" The figurines asked hopefully.
"No." She groaned.
"How about that pimply fat boy who sits behind you in orchestra, breathes heavy and is always leering suggestively at you? You could slaughter him like the piggy he is." They giggled.
"NO," She growled. Then she took the figurine she was holding and threw it to the floor smashing it into fragments. "Ha! What do you have to say to that?! I showed you."
"You think we can be beaten that easily?" They said. "He's coming to get you.... he's coming to get you..." the figurines chanted. And Genevive slumped to the floor, and stared into the distance beyond the walls of the house.
~~~~~ That had just been a month ago. Now, she was in New York City. Vee had grabbed some money, a bag of clothes, her violin and a pocket knife and taken a train ride across the country. If she couldn't fight her father and the voices, she could certainly out run them. Maybe the logic was faulty but that didn't matter. Now she stood on a subway platform, with her violin nest between her chin and shoulder, eyes closed one hand on the bow, and one the neck of the instrument. Her violin case open at her feet ready for donations of whatever petty change people could spare. People were rarely generous; some gave her subway tokens or pennies. They'd shout 'get a real job.' and 'can't you play something good?' Usually their idea of something good was Turkey in the straw. Genevive was sick of people asking her to play Turkey in the straw, they never paid her to play it, and they just assumed she had nothing better to do then take requests. Why couldn't the morons appreciate Beethoven, Bach and the other classical music she played? It was hard. She spent her days trying to earn enough to buy something resembling food and her nights getting what rest she could on the trains that ran at night. She hadn't eaten in two days, she was cold, tired and she needed a bath. She had no illusions about being discovered, in the big apple. Genevive just wanted to have control over her own destiny. Today she had made a grand total of thirty cents and she'd been playing since eight in the morning. Her hands were shaking badly it took every inch of her strength to control the bow. She shuddered and went on playing. "Thanks for the music; it might be the only good thing in my day." A soft male voice said.
"Your wel-" Vee replied. Her eyes snapped open. He was gone, vanished into the crowd of people. However he had left a twenty dollar tip.
"Who said that?" Genevive looked from her diary with a start. No one was there. She was alone, in the nauseously frilly and pastel room her foster parents had given her. There wasn't a thing in that place that wasn't pink or ruffled. They even had a shelf of porcelain figurines on the far wall their collection consisted of: small children with big eyes, unicorns, cuddly animals. that sort of thing. "We did." The voices came from the figurines.
"What the fuck?!" She shouted.
"Now, be quiet your foster mother doesn't approve of language like that and certainly not at this time of night, Vee." They said. She glared at the figurines, staring down one of a boy with his dog. "This has to be dream, another one of those fucked up dreams I've been having."
"You've heard us before, whispering and murmuring you dismissed us as rustling wind or a symptom of fatigue." They said.
"That's it this has to be a dream," Genevive and fished around in her the drawer of her night stand. "I'll prove it," She grinned and removed a small gleaming Swiss army pocket knife. "Wake up NOW!" She yelled and plunged the pocket knife into the middle of palm. There was a sudden surge of pain and when she looked down she saw blood flowing from the fresh wound. Her eyes widened.
"Shit." She gasped.
"Awe, how sweet Daddy's lil' girl. Looking just like Daddy." The voices cooed sarcastically.
"Do not." She growled.
"Look in the mirror then." They answered in a smug tone of voice. Genevive slowly looked up. And there she stood in the full length closet mirror. And she saw a scrawny girl of sixteen, dressed in black from head to toe, with very thick shoulder length brown hair and large child- like eyes. With a knife tightly grasped in her right hand and a bleeding wound on the left. "Good, god. I should get a band aid on this." She murmured and headed for the door.
"I wouldn't go out there if I were you." The figurines said.
"Why not?" She asked.
"He might be out there, waiting." The figurines hissed.
"No he wouldn't. He got locked up. "Genevive stated.
"He escaped forty eight hours ago, you know that if watched the nightly news," The figurines taunted. "So you'd better watch out."
"Why should I? I'm his kid, he loves me," She sighed. "I know he loves me."
"You answered your own question there," The figurines said. "He loves you so much. You're his favorite, his little girl. "
"What the fuck are you going on about?" Genevive asked walked over to the figurines and scowled at their empty smiling faces.
"He doesn't want the cruel world to hurt you. The same way it hurt him. And he can't destroy the world. He'll destroy you." Came the reply from their motionless faces.
Her eyes widen in shock. "What do you mean?"
"We mean he's going to kill you. We don't know exactly how. But you can assume it will be in a way that's quick and relatively painless. He loves you, much to watch you suffer." They said.
"Why should I believe you- you- smarmy faced little-things." She growled and snatched up a figurine of a little boy in a sailor suit.
"We are a part of you and yet we are not you." They said.
"So I'm made of cutesy porcelain figurines, yeah right." Vee retorted.
"No but these do seem to keep your attention." The voices said.
"If your not figurines what the fuck are you?" Vee asked the one in her hand.
"We have been around far longer then your time on this earth and yet we are you. We are everywhere; we have talked to so many through the years, including your father at one point in time. We know him and we know you." They murmured.
"What do you mean? I'm going crazy.." She asked, staring at the little figurine in her hand.
"Yes, but never mind that. Your Father is coming to kill you. You should prepare to kill him instead. " The figurines answered calmly.
"What the fuck? He is not coming to kill me. And I'm not going to kill him. He might be insane but he wouldn't do something like that." Vee answered sharply.
"He's already tried to kill you and your brother. He had a better grip on reality then, and couldn't bring himself to do it. Of course, now he's been locked for years in solitary confinement all alone stewing in his insanity for years. And now that's he's gotten out, nothing is going to stop him. He's going to send his little Veevee to an eternal bed-time." They said.
"No." She gasped.
"Yes, it's something you've known in your heart of hearts." They said.
"Yes... but.." She looked down. "Couldn't I."
"You can't reason with him you know. Parents always think they know what's best. It doesn't matter whether it's the taking of disgusting medicine or taking of their offspring's life." They said.
"But I couldn't." Vee sighed.
". you couldn't kill him? It's either him or you. You'll have to kill him. There is no other way. We suggest you start your practice on the neighbor's annoying dog." They said.
"I don't care if he's coming to murder me. I'm not becoming a serial killer just because you say so." She scowled.
"C'mon you hate that dog. It never shuts up." They taunted.
"No, I'm not killing Fifi." She growled.
"Then how about your foster sister? That little brat never gives you any peace and she sneaks into your room to read your diary and mess with your violin. You could just walk into her room and hold a pillow over her face until she stops moving. No one would suspect a thing." They added excitedly.
"I'm not killing Amber." Vee pouted.
"How about those guys at High-" The figurines started.
"No." She answered flatly.
"The creepy janitor?" They said.
"No." she sighed.
"The clerk who short-changes you?" They asked.
"No." She groaned.
"A cheerleader? Everyone hates cheerleaders." They nagged.
"No." She moaned and rolled her eyes.
"That Bible thumper who said you're going to burn in hell?" The figurines asked hopefully.
"No." She groaned.
"How about that pimply fat boy who sits behind you in orchestra, breathes heavy and is always leering suggestively at you? You could slaughter him like the piggy he is." They giggled.
"NO," She growled. Then she took the figurine she was holding and threw it to the floor smashing it into fragments. "Ha! What do you have to say to that?! I showed you."
"You think we can be beaten that easily?" They said. "He's coming to get you.... he's coming to get you..." the figurines chanted. And Genevive slumped to the floor, and stared into the distance beyond the walls of the house.
~~~~~ That had just been a month ago. Now, she was in New York City. Vee had grabbed some money, a bag of clothes, her violin and a pocket knife and taken a train ride across the country. If she couldn't fight her father and the voices, she could certainly out run them. Maybe the logic was faulty but that didn't matter. Now she stood on a subway platform, with her violin nest between her chin and shoulder, eyes closed one hand on the bow, and one the neck of the instrument. Her violin case open at her feet ready for donations of whatever petty change people could spare. People were rarely generous; some gave her subway tokens or pennies. They'd shout 'get a real job.' and 'can't you play something good?' Usually their idea of something good was Turkey in the straw. Genevive was sick of people asking her to play Turkey in the straw, they never paid her to play it, and they just assumed she had nothing better to do then take requests. Why couldn't the morons appreciate Beethoven, Bach and the other classical music she played? It was hard. She spent her days trying to earn enough to buy something resembling food and her nights getting what rest she could on the trains that ran at night. She hadn't eaten in two days, she was cold, tired and she needed a bath. She had no illusions about being discovered, in the big apple. Genevive just wanted to have control over her own destiny. Today she had made a grand total of thirty cents and she'd been playing since eight in the morning. Her hands were shaking badly it took every inch of her strength to control the bow. She shuddered and went on playing. "Thanks for the music; it might be the only good thing in my day." A soft male voice said.
"Your wel-" Vee replied. Her eyes snapped open. He was gone, vanished into the crowd of people. However he had left a twenty dollar tip.