It was a dark and stormy night. The lightning crashed and the thunder roared, and inside the walls of 34 Periwinkle road, a child awoke.
This was a child with no perception of fear, she had never believed the nonsense spread about why lightning was scary.
To her, a thunderstorm was an empowering time. A time when she could cause havoc among the general population. A time when
she could unleash herself on the nearest unsuspecting traveller. So, she was only 6, but she was a great deal older in her mind.
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Her name was Lascivia Caligo, daughter of Susan. The father was still yet unknown, Susan was still meaning to find out who it really was.
I mean, she could have been seduced by a mushroom-eating squirrel for all she knew. All she remembered was that on the 27th of Nuvembre,
six years ago, Susan had had a daughter. Lascivia was, at birth, a wonderful child. She never saw the point in crying, a good round of
tapping on the drainpipes that spread throughout the house was enough to tell her mother that she wanted something. Susan had been
altogether pleased with this arrangement. After a couple of months, she had taught the child that feeding time was not up the her but up to Susan.
Lascivia soon taught Susan that this was not true. Lascivia did not whine, cry, or resort to any menial forms of attention-seeking,
she commanded anttention. This would involve sitting in front of Susan and giving her the Death-stare. Susan concluded that this talent
have skipped a generation. Susan would have been fine with this until she Lascivia first spoke. She had found the Voice.
A two-year-old with the Voice is a frightful thing. Instead of the usual embarressment at dinner parties with her saying something rude,
Lascivia came out with such things that did not simply suggest controversy, it commanded it. Susan found it very hard to hold any secure
friendships when Lascivia kept telling them that they were fat/ugly/spotty/scary/smelling slightly of rotten haddock. Susan had tried
telling Lascivia about manners, but Lascivia never saw the point. What was the point of speaking when you can't speak your mind.
After all, Susan had always said to be honest with herself and those around her.
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Lascivia was not an evil child, nor was she a menace, she was in fact what every parent wants their child to be. All parents want their
children to be proud of themselves. All parents want their children to have high self-esteem. All parents want their children to be
mature in their thinking. All parents want children that are little adults, miniature versions of themselves, all parents except Susan.
Susan had often thought what her child was going to be like. She had been afraid that it may have become a "Christine" and find herself
carinn about whaich pink suited her complexion better. Susan had often mortified herself by the possibilities, but she had never thought
of a child like Lascivia. Lascivia was the child of her dreams, in theory. But in the real world, she was stuck with a someone who was,
in essence, Susan's inner child. Susan was the sort of person who thought odd things, often wanted to speak her mind and throttle
all who opposed her mighty will. But Susan knew how to control these compulsions. But, it wasn't as though Lascivia didn't know how to
control herself. It was just that she didn't want to.
This was a child with no perception of fear, she had never believed the nonsense spread about why lightning was scary.
To her, a thunderstorm was an empowering time. A time when she could cause havoc among the general population. A time when
she could unleash herself on the nearest unsuspecting traveller. So, she was only 6, but she was a great deal older in her mind.
---------------------------------------------*---------------------------------------------
Her name was Lascivia Caligo, daughter of Susan. The father was still yet unknown, Susan was still meaning to find out who it really was.
I mean, she could have been seduced by a mushroom-eating squirrel for all she knew. All she remembered was that on the 27th of Nuvembre,
six years ago, Susan had had a daughter. Lascivia was, at birth, a wonderful child. She never saw the point in crying, a good round of
tapping on the drainpipes that spread throughout the house was enough to tell her mother that she wanted something. Susan had been
altogether pleased with this arrangement. After a couple of months, she had taught the child that feeding time was not up the her but up to Susan.
Lascivia soon taught Susan that this was not true. Lascivia did not whine, cry, or resort to any menial forms of attention-seeking,
she commanded anttention. This would involve sitting in front of Susan and giving her the Death-stare. Susan concluded that this talent
have skipped a generation. Susan would have been fine with this until she Lascivia first spoke. She had found the Voice.
A two-year-old with the Voice is a frightful thing. Instead of the usual embarressment at dinner parties with her saying something rude,
Lascivia came out with such things that did not simply suggest controversy, it commanded it. Susan found it very hard to hold any secure
friendships when Lascivia kept telling them that they were fat/ugly/spotty/scary/smelling slightly of rotten haddock. Susan had tried
telling Lascivia about manners, but Lascivia never saw the point. What was the point of speaking when you can't speak your mind.
After all, Susan had always said to be honest with herself and those around her.
---------------------------------------------*---------------------------------------------
Lascivia was not an evil child, nor was she a menace, she was in fact what every parent wants their child to be. All parents want their
children to be proud of themselves. All parents want their children to have high self-esteem. All parents want their children to be
mature in their thinking. All parents want children that are little adults, miniature versions of themselves, all parents except Susan.
Susan had often thought what her child was going to be like. She had been afraid that it may have become a "Christine" and find herself
carinn about whaich pink suited her complexion better. Susan had often mortified herself by the possibilities, but she had never thought
of a child like Lascivia. Lascivia was the child of her dreams, in theory. But in the real world, she was stuck with a someone who was,
in essence, Susan's inner child. Susan was the sort of person who thought odd things, often wanted to speak her mind and throttle
all who opposed her mighty will. But Susan knew how to control these compulsions. But, it wasn't as though Lascivia didn't know how to
control herself. It was just that she didn't want to.