Disclaimer: CSI trademarked product, no infringement meant or implied.
Author: GreatnessInTragedy
Title: Kingdom of Heaven
Rating: R for subject matter.
Author's
note: This is my first attempt at a fanfic... I truly apologize if it
sucks, seems terribly out of character, drags on, or makes you
angry/dissatisfied in any way. I'll continue to post chapters every
Saturday, starting today. If I get positive feedback, I may try and
write another. If not, I'll probably just leave this story to rot
and continue to lurk around and leave this to the
professionals.
Note possible Season 5 spoilers
heart Cat
Chapter 1
Monday
March 7th, 2005
Unidentified Location
I've
only ever admitted the truth behind my past to one other person in my
entire adult life.
When I was
young, I was forced to admit it, over and over and over again. To
keep me safe, they said.
But once I
was safe, I buried it all deep within me, somewhere far away where it
could never be found again.
Every now
and then, it creeps up from within me, spilling over and out in the
form of unstoppable tears and incredulous vomit.
Even now,
I just can't seem to believe what happened to me.
And at
such a young age.
It's
disgusting what people can do to one another.
Why do we
do it? Is it a learned trait?
Is it
genetic? Passed on from our parents, so no matter how long or how
hard you fight it, it will still overwhelm you?
Leaving
you broken and weeping at your knees, begging for mercy and pleading
insanity in the courtroom.
If it is
genetic, I'm fucked.
Seriously,
honestly, and truly fucked.
Look at my
genes. I've got a father who liked to molest his own daughter, and
a mother who took the law into her own hands, in the form of a
sharpened kitchen knife.
My mother
was no more psychologically stable than my father.
She got so
angry at what he had done; I'm surprised she didn't kill me.
I'm
still not entirely sure just why she got so angry.
Did she
view me as a victim, or as competition?
Fuck. I
still can't understand her.
She sent
my brother and me out for the afternoon.
He took me
for ice cream. Just plain vanilla, I was never a big fan of all those
fancy flavours and strangely-combined ingredients.
As we
headed home, I sang a song I had learned from a friend of mine at the
playground earlier, and I skipped and played tag and solved math
equations for my brother.
It was a
long walk to the ice cream truck and back.
When we
came home, all I could see was red.
Everywhere.
The blood
of my father, cast-off, all over.
It smelled
as though there were a million pennies shining beneath my shoes.
The smell
was so strong, I could taste it.
I was
choking on it; drowning in it.
And there
was my father, in the middle of it all.
There was
something burning in his eyes.
A mixture
of anger, fear, disbelief… and something else.
Maybe I
just wished I saw it there, floating behind his glassy eyes, but I
think I saw it.
Lurking
below his brown irises, floating within his pupils.
Guilt.
Remorse.
He knew
that he was at fault for what had happened to him.
And he
knew why he had been disciplined.
