Bloody Samara
Disclaimer: I don't own The Ring... But I own the video tape!
Summary: Samara was an only child... Her parents hated her and so many other people thought she was a monster. Then, she started hearing things... Disturbing things...
yingOwari: Sorry I was gone! I had things to catch up on, and I doubt my story Behind Blue Eyes will be finished soon – it was kind of rubbish anyway. Last night and during today I had a strange thought and believed I saw Samara coming out of the television. But then I thought, "Why did she need to kill everyone?"
Thinking about this and after reading SageoWind's story, I got a spark of inspiration. I am a big fan of Sageo's story 'Servants, Obey Thy Masters' and really hope to write like that one day. The idea was from Sageo and you can flame me if you wish. Ta!
Warning: This story may contain swearing and death-related scenes; if you do not like swearing or death-related scenes, please press the 'BACK' button on your window. Thank you - yingOwari.
Scenes may change from Samara's to normal point of view.
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Prologue: Samara Morgan
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It's happening again...
I can hear thunder clashes onto the ground. It isn't thunder though, it's just the horses that my father simply adores. Little does he know that his beloved pains-in-the-arses are causing such a racket.
He doesn't care. As I said, he adores them, loves them.
He doesn't love me.
So, I'm stuck here in this barn with these noisy beasts because my parents decided that I shouldn't live in the same house as them. He doesn't want to be seen with me, because I'm a freak.
I don't know how I'm a freak; but the villagers and my parents believe I am. They don't even know me, they don't know how I live, how I'm treated. They don't know if I'm even cared for.
Bloody nitwits don't even know that I'm being mistreated.
It's really noisy in this barn. Luckily, I'm not on the same flooring as those demented creatures from Hell; I have my own floor, up the ladder and near to the ceiling is where I live.
Where my fucking life continues.
I admit, the room definitely isn't fit for a princess, but I can't complain. At least I've got somewhere. What's in this room is a poorly made wooden chair, a bed, and my very own television.
My stupid pillok of a father actually thought about me and decided I wanted a television.
A television is the least of the things I would have asked for. But, it'll do. Until I get some money to buy myself some proper things, that is.
And how will I do that? I'll get a job.
Of course; the villagers, as I have mentioned before, have been warned about me and definitely would not give me a job even if their lives depended on it. Probably think I would spend the money on drugs.
Hah. I'm a known psycho in this village, the least they have to worry about is me buying drugs.
I look to my television set, it's been broken for some time now.
Did I mention my fucking bastard of a father forgot to fix it?
Well he did. Actually, he didn't exactly forget. He just didn't do it.
Plain and simple.
Maybe I should get myself a new pair of clothes and a wig to disguise myself; then I
could to go the village and get myself a job.
Oh, yeah. I forgot; my mother and father didn't let me have any new clothes. Just the same old dress over and over again.
And the chance of me getting a wig or something to sort my hair out from the house, or at least some new clothes, is a zero chance to one. My mother or father would catch me and punish me.
To your average child, punishment would probably mean something like no television or computerized games for a month, being grounded or a slap on the wrist, or a smack on the backside.
My parents, on the other hand, don't believe in those sorts of punishments.
They believe in full on; shutting the child away, or beating the child with a large stick or cane. That's what I get.
Since of all the times I've tried to sneak food or extra things from the house, I have managed only to get cuts and bruises all over my arms and legs. Some tears in my dress, too.
Though, the dress being torn is the least of my worries.
What I'm worrying about now is this television and the way it's behaving. Sure, it's broken and all broken televisions go fuzzy – but do they ever seem to talk? If you believe that's not normal; then my television is absolutely beyond the idea of being normal.
Most of the times all I can hear is mumbling and groaning of a sort; but on occasions I can hear voices... And sometimes... I can hear people screaming in pain and horror...