A/N: ok, this chapter is really, really sad. It explains about Annie's
past. I wrote this to the song Concrete Angel by Martina McBride. I'm
writing this story now, while I have drive, but I can't upload it for a
while cause apparently, I broke some fan fic rule. So my other story,
Twisted, is down, but its on The CSI board under another name and will be
under this one again soon. Sorry bout the inconvenience. Well, it's not
much, just some background, but enjoy! And R&R!
Disclaimer: Annie belongs to me! Every thing else belongs to Tamora Pierce. This chapter is based on the song Concrete Angel by Martina McBride. Please don't sue-I am only a poor equestrian. Lol.
She remembered it in detail. When it started. She would go to school, wearing the same filthy cloths as she did before. And they teased her for it. They didn't notice the bruises. If they did, they ignored it. Once or twice she saw the teacher glance at them, confused. But she never did anything. It got worse and worse. She would never cry, they hated that. But one night, it got so intense.
She remembered the night. Who knows what they were mad at her for. But it was bad. Very, very bad. It was the worse beating she had gotten. When it was over, she sat in the nook looking out her window. She couldn't help herself. She started sobbing, her body shaking violently. Tears stained her bruised face. Outside, she saw a neighbor look up at her window. Watching that little girl looking out, crying. She could have helped, said something. Instead, the woman shook her head and went inside, turning out her light.
Angry footsteps echoed through the halls. They had heard her cries. Soon, her earlier beating seemed like a nice massage compared to this. It was horrible. She could remember the feeling of that metal rod, the feeling of those heavy steal boots kicking her small figure. She still wasn't sure how she made it. She couldn't quite remember much, after he had pushed her down the stairs. She remembered reaching the phone, dialing 911 and whispering into it "please help me. I don't want to die".
Cynthia Bardon had had a lot of hard phone calls come into her, being a 911 operator. But none of them ever made her cry, until the little girl. She recalled the call clearly. It had been late at night, she was tired and annoyed, feeling over worked and under paid. Suddenly, the phone rang. She answered it to find silence. "Damn, another prank call" she though, but a few seconds later, what sounded like a little whimper came to her ears. Then a little girl's weak voice, "please help me, I don't want to die". Cynthia would remember that as long as she lives, the young girls voice so heavy with pain. Then the line went dead. Luckily not before Cynthia could get the address. "Oh God, please don't let it be too late" she prayed, before breaking down into uncontrollable tears.
She almost died they told her. She was lucky. Yah, right, lucky. She thought that an investigation would occur, and the police would see what bad people her real mommy and daddy were and take her to a nice mommy and daddy, who loved her. But her parents, if that's what you could even call them, lied. They said she fell down the stairs, and got in fights at school. They pretended to be all scared and worried about her. But she saw right through it. She wasn't stupid. She knew in a matter of days, it would be the same. She wished very much that the police would help her, but they didn't. They never even talked to her.
"And things never got better. They never stopped hurting me. Eight years later, and I was still getting beat up" she mused to herself. But through the years, she had been able to build a barrier around herself. She never allowed herself to get close to anyone. She would go to school, do her schoolwork, and stay by herself, alone. She wouldn't allow herself friends. Her only comfort was her horse. She couldn't imagine what she would do without him.
"Its nice here" she though, looking out her window. "I don't care if I am in a completely different world and time period, I like it here. There's no one here to beat me up, to hurt me. That's good, I'm still to young to die, and you never know, when they discover me gone, they will probably kill me. And if not then, it will eventually happen. I just wonder what excuse they will use when it does. When they finally kill me."
A/N: told ya it was sad. I hope it brought tears to your eyes though, cause writing it I almost cried. Please Read and Respond! Tell me if you like. Thanks to those who have reviewed. Keep it up! R&R!
Emily
Disclaimer: Annie belongs to me! Every thing else belongs to Tamora Pierce. This chapter is based on the song Concrete Angel by Martina McBride. Please don't sue-I am only a poor equestrian. Lol.
She remembered it in detail. When it started. She would go to school, wearing the same filthy cloths as she did before. And they teased her for it. They didn't notice the bruises. If they did, they ignored it. Once or twice she saw the teacher glance at them, confused. But she never did anything. It got worse and worse. She would never cry, they hated that. But one night, it got so intense.
She remembered the night. Who knows what they were mad at her for. But it was bad. Very, very bad. It was the worse beating she had gotten. When it was over, she sat in the nook looking out her window. She couldn't help herself. She started sobbing, her body shaking violently. Tears stained her bruised face. Outside, she saw a neighbor look up at her window. Watching that little girl looking out, crying. She could have helped, said something. Instead, the woman shook her head and went inside, turning out her light.
Angry footsteps echoed through the halls. They had heard her cries. Soon, her earlier beating seemed like a nice massage compared to this. It was horrible. She could remember the feeling of that metal rod, the feeling of those heavy steal boots kicking her small figure. She still wasn't sure how she made it. She couldn't quite remember much, after he had pushed her down the stairs. She remembered reaching the phone, dialing 911 and whispering into it "please help me. I don't want to die".
Cynthia Bardon had had a lot of hard phone calls come into her, being a 911 operator. But none of them ever made her cry, until the little girl. She recalled the call clearly. It had been late at night, she was tired and annoyed, feeling over worked and under paid. Suddenly, the phone rang. She answered it to find silence. "Damn, another prank call" she though, but a few seconds later, what sounded like a little whimper came to her ears. Then a little girl's weak voice, "please help me, I don't want to die". Cynthia would remember that as long as she lives, the young girls voice so heavy with pain. Then the line went dead. Luckily not before Cynthia could get the address. "Oh God, please don't let it be too late" she prayed, before breaking down into uncontrollable tears.
She almost died they told her. She was lucky. Yah, right, lucky. She thought that an investigation would occur, and the police would see what bad people her real mommy and daddy were and take her to a nice mommy and daddy, who loved her. But her parents, if that's what you could even call them, lied. They said she fell down the stairs, and got in fights at school. They pretended to be all scared and worried about her. But she saw right through it. She wasn't stupid. She knew in a matter of days, it would be the same. She wished very much that the police would help her, but they didn't. They never even talked to her.
"And things never got better. They never stopped hurting me. Eight years later, and I was still getting beat up" she mused to herself. But through the years, she had been able to build a barrier around herself. She never allowed herself to get close to anyone. She would go to school, do her schoolwork, and stay by herself, alone. She wouldn't allow herself friends. Her only comfort was her horse. She couldn't imagine what she would do without him.
"Its nice here" she though, looking out her window. "I don't care if I am in a completely different world and time period, I like it here. There's no one here to beat me up, to hurt me. That's good, I'm still to young to die, and you never know, when they discover me gone, they will probably kill me. And if not then, it will eventually happen. I just wonder what excuse they will use when it does. When they finally kill me."
A/N: told ya it was sad. I hope it brought tears to your eyes though, cause writing it I almost cried. Please Read and Respond! Tell me if you like. Thanks to those who have reviewed. Keep it up! R&R!
Emily