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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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 Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 5:00 pm
 Your name is SOLIA DELACROIX and you are 6 years old. Today is your first day of SCHOOL which would be rather nice had you not been REMOVED from class through a series of rather innocent actions and events you do not UNDERSTAND.
Innocent actions that rather are better described as mildly harmless childhood PRANKS which you had previously shown an interest in. Previously. You had not minded when someone would make a fart joke or glued papers together, but these pranks were for classmates. Teachers were NOT PRANKABLE. Yet as you sat in class and the teacher taught, little shadows skittered about, to and fro, causing minor mischief for the nun attempting to teach the group of chattering CHILDREN. When the last pank, and whoopee cushion was set on her chair she slammed her hand on the chalk board, demanding who did it. When no one came forward, students began to blame each other, trying to not be landed with the inevitable RULER ACROSS THE WRIST. So, you spoke up, saying the LITTLE SHADOWS were busy in the background. The classroom gets QUIET as the other children stare at you, confused before giggling, thinking you a GENIUS to blame THE GHOST that haunts the school. But the nun is NOT AMUSED and sends you to the principal.
This is not the first time you have blamed the little shadows. Nor will it be the last. You are HONEST and confused why the principal asks you if you have been seeing things again. You tell them you see them all the time and ask why no one else does. The principal gives you a look of CONCERN before he picks up the phone, sending a chill of TERROR down your spine. Principals didn’t pick up the phone unless you had done something REALLY BAD. And you never wanted to do bad things aside from maybe take Elizabeth’s pencil but you did replace it with the chewed on one you found on the playground.
CONFUSED the principal smiles and tells you that everything is okay, he just needs to talk to your mommy and daddy for a bit. Sitting in the chair that is too BIG for your tiny body you swing your legs waiting for him to finish up the phone call, missing a majority of what is being said. You do hear him mention the little shadows and that they need to set up a MEETING. Every child knows a meeting means you must have done something TERRIBLE and DANGEROUS. You do not know what you have done but your begin to worry and fret, wiggling in the seat, trying to stay still while resisting the urge to move. Moving is BAD and you are NOT BAD. You are a GOOD LITTLE GIRL. You don’t hit others, not like William Helms or Jessica Rose. You also do not make SPIT BALLS. Not until you are 8.
Hours later your mother and father arrive and shake the principal’s hand, smiling as they sit next to you in their own big seats. Mom sits to the right, Dad to the left. Your father is in his suit from work and your mother is wearing the pretty EMERALD NECKLACE he gave her for her birthday a month ago. You are very jealous of your mother and her necklace. You said you wanted a pretty green gem but they told you no and maybe when you are older. When you are 17, you will BUY YOUR OWN.
Mommy and Daddy talk and as the principal explains what happened in class he mentions the little shadows AGAIN. You smile and nod and confirm what he tells your parents. You do not LIE. Your mother looks worried and your father angry, causing you to SHUT UP, something you are told to do very often as you grow up. The principal asks if your parents have met FATHER AUGUSTA. He is a very fat and smell man, but he is nice and tells you stories everyday from the little BLACK BOOK that sits in front of the class, often ASKING QUESTIONS. Later you will hate him, and even further in life you will SORRY for him. But you are 6 years old, you do not know this. The principal explains how it might be TIME for something but you don’t know what for. It is certainly not for naps.
Your mother asks if it might be anything else, but your father says the DOCTORS found nothing. The Doctors did not scare you. They were very KIND. But the principal is sad and says that you are in a lot of trouble and need HELP FROM ABOVE. You don’t quite understand but you still APOLOGIZE and say you won’t do it again.Your mother begins to cry and you look to your father only to see he is SAD.
Later you will find out they think you are being plagued and possessed by a demon. These claims however, you will later understand are completely untrue.
But until then you are scheduled for your first meeting with the priest for your possible exorcism.
What do you do?
==>
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Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 5:06 pm
Once upon a time there was a little girl who sat on the edge of a stage, little black shoes glossy and new, her dress glittering and red. Ruffles and laces making it poof out around her legs while she sat, watching the empty house, waiting for two people to come pick her up. She was 7 years old and had been in the choir, front row, all glitter and smiles while she sang the songs of Christmas and later, as she recited her part in the tiny story of how Christmas came to be. She had wanted to play the part of one of the angels, but the part had gone to Mary Ann. Mary’s part had gone to Jessica who liked to call the little girl shadow seer when they played outside. The little girl wanted to be Jessica’s friend, but never understood why the other girl didn’t want to. The little girl who sat on the stage would always offer her toys, but Jessica would take them and not give them back, no matter how much the little girl asked. If she got them back, they were often broken and dirty. But still the little girl tried to be friends because Jessica could see them too. She told her so. She told her she could see the little shadows and control them. The little girl wanted to control the little shadows too. Make them go away so her mommy and daddy would not worry about her. So maybe she would not get in trouble for things she did not do. The shadows never did anything to her. They would try to pin the blame on others even, she watched them do it, but the little girl would be blamed. After all, no one could see the shadows but her. Sometimes the little girl wondered if Jessica sent the shadows after her, but surely, she would not be so mean? The little girl hoped not. Legs swinging, her ankles crossed, the little girl took a moment to flatter her glittering red dress and push as the bright white flower in her hair. The very nice lady who had been setting up the stage called it a poinsettia, and she said that she would be watching her son. She was Jeff’s mother, and had been volunteering. She was a nice lady, even if Jeff was sometimes loud and would pick his nose for boogers to fling at the tall girl in class, Felicia. The little girl liked Felicia, she was nice, but they didn’t speak much, and they didn’t sit next to each other at lunch. The little girl often ate lunch in the chapel with Sister Rosetta and Sister Anne. They were nice and if the little girl asked nicely, they would cut the crust off her sandwiches. The little girl didn’t like the crust, it was too gross. The little girl had been dropped off at five o clock. One hour early. But that was okay. The adults who were setting up let her help but putting out extra chairs and getting the costumes all set up back stage. She got to help and that was fun for her. When she helped the shadows would sometimes help too. They were the nice shadows. They would fix things when she made a mistake, or they would sneakily do things for her. Sometimes the little girl wondered if they did it to be nice or if maybe she was learning to control. She never asked however. Father Augusta said talking to them was bad. She also couldn’t thank them. It sometimes felt rude to not thank them, but he told her if she did they would get more powerful, and then the bad things would happen. She couldn’t even leave out little things to say thank you. So the little girl the only the she could do. She would smile. She tried to hide it, but sometimes she was caught, and then the adults would scold her for playing with them. She always say the same thing. She was not playing, she was just smiling. Why was smiling bad? Didn’t they tell her that if she smiled enough they would go away? But the little shadows never went away, they stayed and they tried to help her. They tried to stay out of her way. They tried, they didn’t mean to be mean. But as the little girl sat on the stage there was nothing that the shadows could do to help. She sat and waited. Eventually one of the last mothers who had volunteered called to ask where the little girl’s parents were. They were just running late. It was nine when they arrived, a happy meal in the back seat to make up for being late. Still the little girl couldn’t help but feel a bit sad. They had missed her singing in her pretty red dress. There was always next year.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 5:06 pm
At 8 years old, Solia Delacroix sat in her room, crying into the plush form of a white rabbit with little green bow around it’s neck. Two hours long. For two hours, she had been forced to stand in an itchy white dress in a circle of salt as a man she didn’t know helped Father Augusta perform yet another attempted banishment of the demons that plagued her. They whispered in her ear that things would be okay, brushing hair from her face. But the man smelled bad. Augusta smelled like the potpourri and incense they burned at mass, but the man smelled only of ash. Gross and harsh. It made her eyes water and left a taste in her mouth when he got near. He ordered her to drink the holy water but it tasted bad. Like it had been left sitting in the sun. She coughed as he’d yelled at her to stop moving. Even Father Augusta, so harsh when he preformed the ceremonies and sang the hymns didn’t make her feel like he was trying to hurt her. To scare her. Father Augusta cared at least, even if she didn’t like him very much. Her mother had been in the other room, crying. Loudly to the point the man yelled at her too, telling her how it only made the shadows stronger, how it was only giving them strength. But Solia knew that it wasn’t true. It didn’t do anything to the shadows. They might wiggle a bit more, circle around but they never seemed stronger. They never touched, they never hurt. The man kept saying they did, and as Solia trembled, waiting for it to be over, her father stood just off to the side, arms crossed, watching his daughter try to fight the demons that didn’t exist. Her father never left the room, he would watch. One parent had to be in the room at all times, they didn’t want to leave her alone but her mother couldn’t hold back. She never could, she’d always cry and have to leave. Leaving her father to take days off work which even at 8 years old, Solia knew was not ideal. He needed to work. He was always busy, so was her mother. She was too young to understand how money worked, how one day off was a blow to his business. All Solia knew was that he was worried for her, and scared. He told her even. He and mommy were just scared for her. They loved her very much but she was very sick and they needed to heal her. The normal doctors couldn’t help her, they needed special help, help from people like Father Augusta. From the screaming man. As the thing went one Solia grew more and more scared. Augusta kept giving her reassuring looks but they were rendered useless as he gave the screaming man concerned looks. He was not a nice man. He kept waving the wooden rosary and spinning it around and saying hymns but unlike mass they were harsh, painful to listen to. As she stood, she covered her ears, only to have the man reach out and yank and pull her hands away and yell into her ear. The hymns hurt and finally- from the corner of her eye, the little shadows became big shadows. Father Augusta looked to them too, mouth agape. A small potted cactus picked up and thrown at the screaming man’s back. The man screamed louder, accusing her of doing it, just like everyone else. He struck once, the wooden beads and metal of the rosary stinging worse than the palm on his hand on her cheek. Her father yelled, pulling her free, lifting her up, into his arms as Father Augusta yelled at the man, telling him how that was not how they conducted themselves. The cactus rolled harmlessly on the ground, the shadows looming near the screaming man who was flinging curses at her. Calling her cursed, demon born, devil child- she needed this. She needed to be saved. Scared, clinging to her father, crying, she was carried to her room, dropped off and told her father would handle this, brushing hair behind her ear and kissing her forehead, still dirty with the oil and ash that Father Augusta had put there. Alone, scared, Solia reached to her stuffed animals, crying into the soft fake fur. Watching her door it was easy to watch the little shadows slip in. They didn’t smile with a mouth full of fangs. They only came close enough to drop the ribbon they had hidden that morning at her feet. At 8 years old, Solia sat alone on her bed, crying off and on, waiting for her mother and father to come in and tell her everything would be alright. They would a few hours later, when the man was gone and Father Augusta had given them yet another appointment. It would be the last time she ever saw the shadows at her house.
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Posted: Tue Nov 20, 2012 10:48 pm
Solia was nine years old, and it was nearly the holidays. She didn’t particularly care for them by then. The memory of the holiday past still a wound. A slightly healed wound, but a wound non the less. She was still a child after all, still impressionable and sometimes things happened that not even a happy meal could fix. No little plastic toy could recitify. No McNuggets could cure. For Solia Delacroix, being left to wait hours on end had been a rather depressing holiday moment, marring her memory of her ‘big night’ on stage. Now over a year past, as she had the same memories welling up again. This year however- this year the shadows lingered here and there. She saw them playing with the light, getting the lady and the man working them angry at each other. Solia could have helped, but the shadows made it hard. If they caught her fixing it, they would think she was marking it worse and scold her for it. Scolding meant that maybe she would not get to sing. Maybe she would be suck in the second row. Maybe she would not get to play Sheppard number two. She really wanted to be an angel but again, she didn’t get the part. Yet again, it went to some other girl. Solia had been sad for a while, but she got a part. That was that mattered right? And this year… This year her mother and father promised they would be there. They would watch her and cheer her on and clap and take a bunch of pictures. This year she wore a little green dress with gold trim. She felt a bit like a Christmas tree with all the green and glitter but she was assured she looked beautiful and that it was ‘the very latest’ and ‘very holiday’. Solia took her mother’s words to heart, believing every line she was fed. Her mother would never lie to her after all. Why would she? Mothers loved their daughters. And Solia always got presents from her mother, got to go shopping with her mother. Sometimes she even got to try on her fancy jewelry and pretend she was a little princess. Of course, her mother would remind her she was their little princess, her and daddy’s. Their little Christmas princess. Their little Christmas princess who watched, helpless as the shadows kept unplugging the lights and frustrating the adults in charge. It was all fun and games to the shadows, giggling as they skittered about. She wished they would stop and maybe help like they had in the past. But no. Those shadows had left. These were new shadows. These shadows didn’t try to help her, they would just cause trouble. Always trouble. But not just for her, for everyone. Solia was at least grateful for that. So long as they didn’t focus on her, she was okay. So long as they ignored her, she wouldn’t have to go visit the new father. She hadn’t liked the old one, but the new one was tall and gangly, he wore thick rimmed glasses and smelled too much like musty old people. She didn’t like his raspy voice or how he sang the hymns. Solia didn’t like him very much. As she and the other children were shuffled on stage Solia felt her worries and woes vanish a bit as they got ready, the shadows were nowhere she could see, and she was sure her mother and father were in the crowd. They had dropped her off and she’d watched them park the car even! She had seen them sit down, talk with other parents, she was sure they were still there. She was sure of it. The hum and giggle of children. The slow introduction of music as their little voices rang out, Solia smiling, waiting for her time to join in as the curtain rose up. She didn’t see her mother and father in the seats. She saw only shadows. Shadows, taller than the teacher, who didn’t even notice them. Brown eyes went wide as the shadow stalked it way around the children, Solia’s eyes following it, her voice lost. A few children gave her curious glances. The glare from the teacher- The shadows lost interest in the other little boys and girls. The shadows found her again. Nestling behind her, she could feel a cold air against her legs, white tights unprotecting from the chill. She stared back out into the crowd, looking for her mother and father, trying to find their seats, to find them. She saw where they had been sitting. Empty. A horrible feeling welled up in her chest as the shadows began to giggle behind her. Dark little tendrils brushing through her hair. Cold airs against her neck. In and out. It was breathing a breath it did not need. That night, Solia did not sing, she only stared at two empty seats, wondering where she’d gone wrong.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2012 9:27 pm
Sweaters were festive that time of the year. They came in all sorts of colors and styles. Personally? Solia favored the ones that didn’t look like the cat had eaten a box of skittles then barfed them up. She’d seen enough gaudy winter sweaters to last her a while. The sad part however? Apparently for the boarding school it was a thing. A large thing. Only the ‘in’ crowd wore them and if you didn’t run with the crowd and dared to try to even wear one bad looking winter sweater? Well you were going around looking for a public mocking and hazing, maybe a spit ball to the back of the head. Solia really didn’t get it. But then she didn’t get most things at the new boarding school. They were loud past 9 at night, they didn’t have to wear skirts that were exactly one inch above the knee, their shoes did not have to be polished and unscuffed. Girls were expected to join choir and play one ‘feminine’ sport. Apparently, Solia had discovered, basketball was not womanly, but table tennis was. She hardly understood any logic behind that. It was table tennis of all things. How was that manly or feminine? End result, she hadn’t a clue and found she was liking her new school less and less. There would be a saving grace, naturally, but thus far, as she sat down to eat her lunch, looking at one deep red sweater with a poorly done reindeer on it, the petite French girl was finding a severe lack of saving graces. A bite into her food even, and she even winced at that. It tasted artificial. Bland. Cheap. The previous school she’d attended, which she noted, had been cheaper, had managed to cook lovely food, all from fresh ingredients. Perhaps this was the problem. Here they all were so used to artificial they no longer knew the joy of what was simply natural. A green and gold monstrosity passed by and Solia winced. Green and gold was a nice color combo, but the gold was too much inner woven to the pattern, it made the sweater cheap looking. Perhaps that being the point of it all. They were children of the rich. Children like her. Born with a silver spoon in their mouths, able to get what they wanted without a care in the world. To them a gaudy holiday sweater was a status symbol. A mockery of those who couldn’t afford what they could. She had no doubt however if she looked at price tags each one of those god aweful sweaters was at least one hundred dollars, maybe more. Designer even. God above, some designers had runway taste, but no taste for reality. Others had the taste for fashion as an art and those things that the others wore? Well to her it just showed a severe lack of taste. And a lack of common sense. They wore them for under a month. Then what? The trash. She’d already seen two thrown away. Perfectly good sweaters, if tasky and ugly. She wanted to hit whoever had simply thrown them away. They could still have some use. Ugly or not, they could provide warmth for those who really did need them. So, the next day she’d asked if the ugly things could be put into the donation bin. Granted, she got a strange look from the woman working the donations, but clothing was clothing, it was accepted with no more fuss than that. Hence why buy something so tacky, so doubtlessly expensive… just to be rid of it. If you did that it was just a waste. A waste of time, money, supplies- it was painful in the realization that it was a mockery of those who could afford no better. Of the few in the school who attended only by luck and by talent. Those who Solia saw and fit in with no better than the ones born with silver spoons. She was the one outside of it all, watching it and waiting for it to collapse upon itself in one horrible ugly festive sweater fallout. A bite into the cheap meal provided. Winter had rolled in, yet they still served summer fruits, imported. Things that were frivolous, needless. Winter had its own fruits, it’s own bounty that provided. Had no one been taught such? She doubted that too. Picking up the soft roll she cut it in half, liberally applying the honey butter they served to it’s still warm center. As a child the taste had been a delight, but watching the silver spooned children laugh together, at each other and their ugly sweaters, Solia didn’t taste much. She didn’t taste much honey in it, just the fatty butter that melted faster than she’d have liked. Honey butter she supposed, was needless too.
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Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2012 9:28 pm
Crunch crunch crunch. Shift shift shift. Crunch crunch crunch. Shift shift shift. It had been going on for the better part of her walk. Crunch crunch crunch. Shift shift shift. She was being followed, and the shadow that day was making point of moving snow behind her. Not to scare her, she’d already told it she would rather not liked to be bothered today and was on her way to the store to get some chocolate and a few necessities, she didn’t want to play games today. Maybe tomorrow she’d entertain them and pretend to be scared, but today she just wanted to go to the store without much fuss. The crunch of fallen snow under her boots was echoed only by the shift of snow as large foot prints filled the places where she had stepped. She knew the trick. The particular nasty ones had done it to her before. Fill the places where she’s been walking. A demon possessed devil, she would need another session, so soon too, so close to a godly day, a day of prayer and celebration. Perhaps, Solia mused, the nasty one’s plan was to have her miss out on some of the meager holiday fun she was determined to have. Joke was on them, she didn’t expect much fun so much as she expected social awkwardness. She’d been one of the few to stay ‘at school’ while many were sent home for the holidays to be with their families. It was rather depressing, but her dear mother and father were working the season again. She understood really. They had work, they were not a very feeling family. Solia was better suited to spending the holiday ‘with her new friends’. Sadly, her closest friend at that moment was perhaps the very shadow following her around, trying to get her to be scared or.. something. She really wasn’t sure. She just wanted to buy her chocolate and other tasty tidbits. Maybe get some cherry candy canes. Artificial or not, they were delicious and she was slowly becoming addicted to their sugary goodness. Crunch crunch crunch. Shift shift shift. A stomp of her foot, she turned to face the shadow, tall with a long wispy thin tail. It smiled at her, a ghostly claw brought up, fingers wiggling at her in the mockery of a wave. It was doing it on purpose. Just to annoy her, just to get under her skin. And it was working. Crunch crunch crunch. Shift shift shift. She made it to the store and looking at the foot prints in the snow she sighed to herself. Four toes, and an odd claw like groove in the back. Some sort of reptile she would guess, even if reptiles should just curl up and die in this cold bitter weather. If only shadows could be forced to curl up and die. Or at least hibernate. But no, they were year long residents. Winter to spring to summer to fall. She’d have all year long to put up with them all. Alas, it was but her fate. To see them, to be the one who would get called names if they saw the prints. Yet it would end poorly for her. She would deny it, someone would come look… and then the questions would begin. They questions followed by accusations. The accusations but confusion. Them looking for logical answers. When none could be found they would be forced to act. Forced to act she’d have to report. Reporting would lead to the inevitable. It always did. After all. She had a history of these sorts of things, it was why they called her in twice a month, had he go through the motions, had her do readings and rituals and at times would make her sit out of some things and some places. Why a simple thing like walking down the street was ‘dangerous’. Shadows lurked around every corner, and for her, they were inescapable. As she made her way back to the dorms, the shadow followed her still, almost like a lost pet. Too bad this lost pet was wild and would be sent to the pound if found. Worse, put down, (not that she’d ever seen a shadow die). Crunch crunch crunch. Shift shift shift. “God, just-“ She bent down, picking up a ball of snow in her mitten. “Buzz off. I don’t want to deal with your s**t okay?” It stopped for a while, snow harmlessly passing through it. Crunch crunch crunch. Shift shift shift. She didn’t expect the feeling of snow hitting her back. A light stumble, she looked behind her. The shadow had kept a distance now, but it had no snow in hand. Crunch crunch crunch. Shift shift shift. Another snowball to her back. It was a long walk home.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2012 9:31 pm
Steam rose up, fogging the window of her seat when she set the cup down just a little too far to the side, making room for her purse and the tiny cake slice. It was the middle of winter and Solia was spoiling herself. Spoiling herself because her parents allowed it. Perhaps because they didn’t know to do for the holiday season aside from give their daughter money and the words ‘Merry Christmas’. Truthfully she would have done fine with a visit, even if it would have been just for a day or two. Sure, it was more expensive but she hadn’t seen her mother or father in over a year. Suffled from school to school, Solia had begun to lose sense of what was ‘home’. Her home had become her various suitcases. Her home had become herself. Her home was back in France supposedly, despite not having been back in over 3 years. She missed speaking French, the only other girl who did transferring to another school, perhaps the closest things Solia had to a friend. She’d not been close, but she had given Solia the time of day, which for her was more than enough. Solia just liked to talk to people, even if it was about things she didn’t quite care about. Like fashion. The girl had taken French because she wanted to work as the secretary to a fashion designer. Frankly Solia thought it was a rather liner life goal. Too liner to be really obtainable in her humble opinion. There were designers aplenty, but how many needed some fashion picky girl who was terrible with filing as their secretary. A tiny part of Solia guessed she could just sleep her way into the job. That was how it worked in some books and movies at any rate. The tiny part of Solia was drowned out by the screaming of some customer in the café, who’s hot chocolate was very clearly too hot to handle. Solia’s eyes rolled as she looked out the window. People were dumb sometimes. She lived her life thinking to not judge but she did. It was difficult to live in a glass house and cast no stones. It was difficult to live in a glass house and not let others see all the attempts you had made to mend each little crack. Each lines sealed showing when the light hit it just right. Solia lived in her glass house, stones cast time to time, but each time she tried to mend them, seal them so they would not grow, wouldn’t get worse. Her own drink was going to get cold if she kept it by the window, the air cool around it, water vapor condensing to fog up the glass from the steam. Steamed milk with a bit of honey. The baristas had given her odd looks when she’d first ordered it, but now she was regular enough that they simply took her money and did it. They never asked if she wanted skim or fat free. They always gave her fat free. She frowned when they did the first time. She didn’t care what it was, but they hadn’t even asked, they only had assumed it was what she wanted, what she might like. Just like her parents. Assuming she wanted their money, assuming she would want something new and modern. She didn’t care for things really. Most money she had from them was donated to the church or she saved it. She bought little and what she did buy was usually little things to spoil herself. Steamed milk and honey was a luxury sure, but the cake- that was her ultimate luxury. Rich dark chocolate, a dollop of fresh whipped cream, and one crispy waffle cone wafer. Three layers, yet the cake was no taller than her finger. The frosting was thin, smooth and soft. A bit sticky, but it clung to the moist cake more than the plate. It was delicate, fork going down in one smooth, clean motion. The aroma was rich, and as it went past her lips, Solia hummed to herself, fork waving in the air in time with the music playing in the tiny café. She would be content. She would have her slice of happiness, in the form of chocolate cake that cost way too much for such a small piece but was so worth it for not just presentation but the pure ambrosia that was dark, decadent chocolate. A finger went out, catching a small dash of whipped cream and she added like light flavor to the other. A sigh of pure bliss. She was in a land of milk and honey. The steamed drink a bit cooler now, the heat lost to the air of winter’s chill. Solia didn’t want a great many things, but for now, what she had was good enough.
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Posted: Thu Nov 22, 2012 12:37 am
The shelves were lined with what Solia liked to think of as fodder. Fiction fodder. She spent a good deal of time at the public library, and with it being one of the few places that was allowed by the school for her to visit, Solia was a regular. At 14, she was getting more freedoms, though many were still denied to her. Would be denied to her. Possibly for a few years. She’d begun to finally convince the priests in charge of overseeing her that she was ‘cured’. She didn’t see shadows anymore. She didn’t need an escort outdoors anymore, she was perfectly fine. Really, no need to worry, no need to fret, she was okay now. Truthfully, she was anything but cured. The Shadows still existed, though many just left her alone. She’d learned how to avoid them, downplay when she saw them, deny them. Lie about them. Lies. A bitter thing that had her constantly going to confession, even though she hated the feeling. She didn’t like to lie. She didn’t like to go to mass and hear the hymns too. But they were supposed to help. In small ways she guessed they did. The shadows rarely went in the church, but they would linger here and there. Solia just wanted to go to confession as be forgiven. Would God forgive her? Would her mother and father? Would the ghosts of her past? She wondered what they would say, to know she lied about the shadows. She had been told that she needed to do it. That it would be the only way. This by a priest who could see them too. By the only one who had reached out and told her it was okay. That she was okay and that her world would not hate her, it would love her. It always had and always would, just like her mother and father. A heavy sigh as Solia reached up for another book. It was young adult, yet a quick flip through the contents hinted to things far more adult. Far more carnal than what a good little girl was supposed to read. Solia wasn’t very good anymore. She was reading things on the internet. Things that made her question more than what really, was appropriate. Brown eyes rolled over a few key words before she frowned at the book in her hands. It was cliché. The heroine in less than three pages showing a distinct lack of will. Maybe it was just a few pages but it was enough to make Solia set the book down. She wanted something that was good at least. Good enough to check out without getting looks, good enough to not get banned and in trouble with at the school, yet bad enough to make her think about things. Like boys. Boys were starting to sink into her thoughts. It was why the internet was so heavily locked down at the school. The public library didn’t fare much better but she DID find out about fan fiction. About that TV show the other girls talked about. It was weird, but it was fun. Stories people could write about the worlds they loved, Characters in new ways, new loves, new ideas. It was all very exciting. Solia just couldn’t help it. She liked to read them. She wanted to write them. She tried but… She kept them to paper and pen. A secret she didn’t let others see. Who could she share it with? Nearly no one. It didn’t matter really. She didn’t have many to share things with. It didn’t bother her a great deal. She was slowly learning that she wouldn’t fit in there, but she would fit in there. With the tiny little group, outcasts. They were normal, human just like her. They gave her looks when she acted ‘odd’. They knew how the shadows she saw held her back. They’d known her for a while after all. But never close. You didn’t get too close after all. Cooties might have past, but a fear of the tainted child lingered. Now as young teens, they had begun to crave the unknown. And for Solia, that was the stories of stories. Stories of stories..and boys. Boys that made girls swoon. Boys that looked at girls like her. Girls that were not normal. Boys that only existed in fiction. Boys that came from books. She wanted to hope that maybe, just maybe, the books had grains of truth, that maybe they could be real. A part of her dreamed. A part of her hoped. But the reality was much colder. The walk home reminding her of that as the boys at her school saw her and called her name, asking if she saw the shadow at the school again. Reality was far colder than fiction.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Thu Nov 22, 2012 11:49 pm
She fell again. How many times she had fallen she wasn’t sure, but as gravity imposed itself on her, Solia was beginning to dislike it with a rather intense passion. Rude gravity, Rude. At least ask before you make a girl go down so often. Rubbing her a**, in a rather comical and cliché fashion she would admit, Solia glared at the two others who had joined her. Jacob and Megan. Perhaps two people she would have called friends if not for the fact that the reality was that their friendship was currently under heavy strain. Solia liked Jacob. Jacob liked Megan. And Megan apparently liked Solia which was it’s own ball of teenage awkward. They all cared about each other certainly, but they also wanted to date. Each other. But not the one who wanted to date them. It was a big ball of ******** really, and they all valued their friendship more than the notion to begin dating each other. Sadly, the logical part of them was having trouble with the hormonal part. Typical teenagers they were, typical, and at the ice rink, they were seen as normal. To be normal was good for them. Jacob was the known boy with ‘issues’. Issues being the fact that people at the school thought he was gay when really he wasn’t. That he liked fashion as an art, that he wore bold colors. He did what was not the normal, the conventional for the school, and as such he’d been flung from social circles. Flung to fall. Megan was a girl who liked other girls. This was just a bad if not worse. From experience Solia knew that girls could be cruel and downright malicious. Megan was normal as normal could be, she couldn’t help that she liked girls. She just did. Still, it was deemed ‘weird’ by the majority, and she was flung down and out. There, she had found Jacob and they had become friends. They had hung out, and Solia had been the final one to find them. Cursed girl, shadow watcher. She was the one who had to go to confession weekly, who had to visit the head preist weekly. Clearly this made her not normal, this made her a freak later when her peers found out why. Megan and Jacob said they didn’t care but she could see it sometimes in their eyes, the wonder if maybe, just maybe, she really was cursed, that maybe she wasn’t normal, that she was possessed. She saw the looks of pity the tried to hide. ‘Eyes are windows into the soul’. Solia hated that saying. Because the windows let her see the looks of pity, the looks of shame. Even in the pair she called her friends they couldn’t help it. They too were human after all. Humans were humans. They had their nature, and it was one where they feared the weird. One that if it did not fit it was to be cast out. This she had been told, was human nature. So for Solia, she would simply had to pretend she was not human while being human. A hypocritical remark, given how she was viewed by others. Groaning on the ice, she stood on shaky feet, skates not giving her much room for control. She was balanced but this was a whole other playing field. Ice was not cobblestone. Ice was ice, and the fact it was cold made her various bruises forming worse. She was pretty sure her butt was going to be black and blue by the end of the day. Looking back up at where her friends had been she noticed they had walked off. It was a simple assumption to make that they were getting food. Megan after all, wasn’t even going to try and ice skate. Solia was trying for Jacob’s sake. He loved it, and well- hormones mingled with friendship. It was hard to place what she felt. Managing to get a good twenty feet, (slowly), Solia felt a hand at the small of her back, pushing her forward. She expected it to be Jacob, teasing. But the sudden cold breath by her ear had her stiffening. Eyes flicked to the side as she saw the dark wisps. Jacob was back with Megan, and they were holding hands. The shadow pushed her again, and Solia didn’t fight it. She must have looked off, frozen still, yet moving. Too many people, no one would notice. Brown eyes went to her friends hoping maybe, just maybe. Maybe it was nothing. Megan didn’t even like boys. But the breath was so cold, the feeling of pressure on her back as the shadow moved her. Jacob saying something to Megan, Megan laughing, them quickly glancing to the rink- kissing. The shadows pushed Solia to the wall, just a few feet from the exit, smiling with a mouth full of fangs. Sometimes the things that haunted her were cruel. Sometimes, it was her own heart.
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Posted: Sat Dec 01, 2012 12:16 am
Solia stared at the life computer. It was 9 PM, and she should have been heading to bed for the night. But she had felt a need. She was sad at the loss of one and the best outlet for that? Writing. She was going to try and make what had happened into something positive. Form her thoughts into a narrative. A story for the ages. A fanfiction. Was it a bit creepy to write about an event that happened? Maybe. She hoped that no one would take it the wrong way. It was simply an outlet for her thoughts. For imagination. It let her be off in her own little world without worry that she was stuck in that dreadful cycle Israfel kept mentioning to her. He was going on and on about it as of late. How she needed a new view. Fanfiction? Well that was what it was for her. An alternate view. Granted it was much more like an alternate reality but hey, Solia had written worse. Like that fic about Destiel. Her secret fic. The one she would let no one read anymore and had pulled from various sites due to the flames of canon masters. Because no one liked it when you made Dean into an angel of any sort. Haters, a special little shipping boat in the mass lot of the shippers. Nobody MADE you read their fics geez. You click the button? Should have read the summary, not just the pairing. You reap the rewards. That was just how it worked. Learn to internet people. She even tagged her s**t but did anyone bother? No. Because OMG THAT IS SO NOT CANON JUST SAY ITS AN AU. WELL ******** YOU TOO DEANSTEELE16845145 WHATEVER THE ******** YOUR SN WAS. ******** YOU SHE DID ******** LABEL HER s**t. TAGGED IT IN THE RIGHT SECTION EVEN. NOT HER FAULT YOU COULDN’T READ. A deep breath. Internet rage was useless on the Island. Plus there was no internet. Rep she’d only met due to… odd surreal moment of chance and time. It was like needle in a haystack. Still she wanted to slap people who were that stupid. Being 14 was no excuse. Besides, that fic was rated M for a damn reason. Dudes banging. So hot. That was how you got rates and reviews after all. Gotta whip out that peen and the gay. It was almost so common you didn’t even need to tag it. Almost. Still you should because not all M rated fics were about the peen and butts. Granted no one tagged their triggers that much, and it had only just been catching on when she’d left for Deus ex Machina but- Crap. Solia realized that in writing this she would need to tag her triggers. All of them. And with the events of the insanity… Oh good lord. That was… that was going to be a LOT of triggers to tag. Her summary would be one giant wall of triggers. Hunters were likely prone to triggers given their life style. Given the events to the Nth degree. ******** why. Why so mental Insanity Fog? WHY? Staring at the screen, she debated about how to go about this. Tag possible triggers now, or wait until done? She could wait until done, but that prevented feedback from any readers and it might never be completed. If that happened, it would never be read and then…well. Time wasted. She didn’t really like that route. Tagging potential triggers was always good but then with this event and there being so many… Trigger wall. That ALONE would need it’s own trigger. A head felt onto the keyboard with a groan. A jumble of letter popped up on the screen, yet nothing more. Just a mess of letters. No code, no pattern, no secret. No trigger. Lifting her head it was at least nice to know the keyboard worked. Leaning back, lip bitten, she stared at her letter jumble. Jj ikm,jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjuy67t5 The hell it was but whatever. She’d leave it for now. She had triggers to make. Write. Do. Making triggers actually… that just sounded terrible. Who wanted to make a trigger- wait. No. Bad train of thought. No. She was done. So done. Fingers began to clatter down on the keyboard as she began to list all the triggers she could think of. About a ways into it, she realized that hell, she was making a trigger wall… Might as well make a universal Deus ex Machina trigger listing. Then she could go back and cite it whenever she needed it. Copy and paste from her list, or just link the whole damn list once it was posted. Yes. That was just what she would do. Make a Trigger listing and link that. Obviously, this was why she was in death. GENIUS.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Sat Dec 01, 2012 12:17 am
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Posted: Sat Dec 01, 2012 1:26 am
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Sat Dec 01, 2012 7:42 am
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Posted: Sun Dec 02, 2012 6:14 am
Solia felt like a marshmallow. A fat one. The coat was her size, But it was over stuffed. At a young age, she looked just like all the other children she supposed. Big fat poofy marshmallows. Waddling here and there as they tried to attack each other with snowballs and made bad jokes about yellow and brown snow. Solia just made her attempt to waddle her way around the playground. Get to the swing set and hope that it wasn’t wet or her butt would not get cold. She didn’t get why jackets were so poofy but pants were not. It was her butt that gold cold when she was in the snow. Her knees when she made little snow towns and villages. Why didn’t big poofy pants to keep her butt dry and warm exist? She was sure if they did her mother or father would have gotten them for her. Frowning as she reached the swing set to discover that it had snow all over it, she tried to shake it off, the clatter of chains altering them to the fact that someone was going to take the swing set and if they wanted a spot they better grab it now. After all. Once a swing set was gone, it was gone until forever. Such were the minds of children. As the last of the snow was dusted off from the seat and Solia was ready to sit down, she found her plush self pulled back, hands of older, stronger children demanding the swing seat for themselves. A huff, a puff, Solia wanted to knock them down. They had pushed her and when she tried to push back- She was finding herself on the ground. Cold, dirty, wet ground. A sniffle, she felt like crying. She’d gotten to the seat first. She’d brushed all the snow off. She was the one who had gotten it all nice and ready for just a nice relaxing swing. Why was that to be denied to her? She muttered how she was going to get the teacher, but her voice was ignored, just like always. After all, who listened to the freak? The one who saw the things that were not there and would make things up? She was just a little liar. And nobody liked a little liar. Even if she said the truth. She could have called the sky blue and they would have called her a liar. That day they would have been right. They sky was a bleak gray, full of ashen clouds that hid the sun. Her sniffles getting worse, she looked for the teacher who was to be keeping an eye on all of them. As Solia went to her however there was a sharp cry from the swing set. The teacher didn’t even look her way as she was running to the cry of the fallen child, concern evident on her face. Why care for a girl who saw shadows after all? There were others more important. There would always be others more important than Solia. That was just what Solia knew. She wasn’t worth it. A call of her name, she looked up from the snow. The teacher was calling her know, tone angry and strict. Why Solia hadn’t any idea. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She never did. A part of her knew why she was being called over. A part of her always hoped it wasn’t that reason but- “Did you pull Benji off the swing set?” The teacher’s arms were crossed, all the little children clamored up around her. The chant unmistakable. ‘She did it, I saw it! She cursed him! She made the shadows do it I bet! She’d a witch! Are we gonna have to burn her?’ She had heard it a dozen or so times. She would hear it dozens more. It was her fault. It was always her fault. Benji had been pulled probably, but not by her. Not by her wishes. “No ma’am.” “Well I am being told a different story Solia. Mind telling me what you were doing then?” It wouldn’t matter. Solia knew the tone the teacher was using. She’d already made up her mind. She just wanted to hear Solia tell what she would say was a lie. “I was going to get you.” That made her pause but it wouldn’t matter. It never mattered. “Why?” “Cus Benji pushed me into the snow an-“ “I DID NO SHE’S LYING!” And then Benji pushed her before the teacher could stop it. Back into the melting dirty snow. A teacher admonished Benji only telling him no then- Her ear, always her ears, pulled up Solia cried out from the pain. She would need to speak to the principal again. She’d lied again. Solia just felt cold.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Sun Dec 02, 2012 6:16 am
They were on a hill that day. It was a gentle slope in her parent’s backyard. She had a round, plastic, pink sled that her parents had gotten her. She wanted a sled she’d told them. Just a simple one. Just to go down a few hills. Maybe she would find some friends at the park if she went. Maybe new ones that didn’t go to her school or live next door. Friends. It was a nice thing to think about, a nice dream to have. Solia dreamed of making friends. More than anything, she wanted to be normal, have normal friends, not the boys and girls who also were like her. None of them could see what she saw. They said they could, thought they did, but when she watched them, watched the shadows- none of them knew. None of them could see what she saw. Even at the hospital, the one with all the nice doctors and nurses, she couldn’t make friends. Even the children their were wary of her. The doctors were finding nothing yet she was brought back all the time. Her mom and dad asking if it might this or that, asking if the doctors had tried that medication. Why? Why not? How much did they need to spend? It didn’t matter, they wanted her cured. They wants Solia to be normal. They wanted a normal daughter. But Solia wasn’t normal. She didn’t think she ever had been normal. If she was born normal then why did she see things. Why couldn’t anyone else? She hated not being normal. And even if she didn’t see things what then? She didn’t know what everyone else liked. She spent most her time alone. She spent her time reading books. Watching the history channel along with the science and new and all the other things her mother allowed her to watch. Cartoons were bad she was told. But history was nice. History she would learn things. As Solis watched history though, it made her cry. People died in history. They died because people didn’t bother being nice to each other. Because people were different they fought and killed each other. Being normal kept people safe. And Solia was different. Solia would always be different. History didn’t like what was different. History taught Solia that being different was bad. It made the world unsafe because people were cruel. That was what history taught her. So Solia wanted to be normal. That was her other dream. Friends were normal. That was why getting friends was important too. If she had them she would be normal. Her mother and father would worry less if she had friends. Normal little girls had them, so it was Solia’s job to make them. To find them. Just why she wanted the bring, circle, pink sled. It was not expensive. Normal little girls had normal little sleds. She didn’t need an expensive sled anyway. After all, if her plan failed, she didn’t think she would sled all that much. She would pretend she was normal, see if maybe those she didn’t know might talk to her, want to go sledding with her. It was a plan, better than nothing. She was also going to avoid going at a time that the boys from school were at the park by her house. If they were there they would tease her, and then her little pink sled wouldn’t matter anymore. She’d just be cursed again. The different one again. The one no one wanted to play with. Fingers were cold. Looking down the little hill behind her parents house, she set the sled down, sitting awkwardly in it. She’d never used a circle sled before, she’d just been used to the wooden ‘old fashion’ one her parents had insisted on. She’d never really argued with them on it before. But that was not what the other normal kids had. So the circle sled was important she told herself. She had to have one. Like all things she asked for, she simply got it, no questions asked. She asked once why they never asked, and was just told that if it helped her, they would get her whatever she wanted. They were funny parents like that. That they would buy her anything. If only you could pay to keep the shadows away. But they had tried that. It hadn’t worked. It made the shadows worse for a while actually, but then the ‘purifications’ often did. Looking down the hill Solia gave herself a small push. The sled hardly moved an inch. Another push, she got no where. She pushed again, and felt something on her back, helping her. Down the slope she went. It was sledding, simple and normal fun. But when she looked back- A small frown as she saw the shadow run off. She wasn’t normal. So all she could do was pretend she was.
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