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 Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 9:05 am
[The Journey]
There was something about that door - that third door - that pulled Shasa to it.
She'd always been a happy thing. Since she could remember, she'd always felt effervescent, bubbling, happy, content.
Up until this point, Shasa had been happy to go with the flow. Even now, following the orders of the Goddess, she was content to appease the Goddess who had needed her assistance.
A task. Those words held some sort of concrete, almost tangible form of strength that Shasa didn't question. She had a purpose here, a reason. For reasons unknown to Shasa - and she didn't question them - it felt comfortable. Comforting.
Those three doors. The yellow glow on the third reminded Shasa briefly of the Goddess herself - and perhaps that was what ultimately drew her. Yellow and glowing and a piece of herself, as proven by the light shimmer of pale light that radiated forth from her chest.
With a content, serene smile, Shasa moved towards the third door.
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 9:19 am
Red.
Red.
Pulsing, hot, coppery and tangy and so thick and neverending that Shasa had to wonder what was happening. Using methodical, almost surgical actions, Shasa used the wicked scissors to ply her target free.
Blood.
Sickly sweet and death and so familiar that it forced her to stop for just a moment, long enough to remember that it was a task, nothing more. A task. A duty. A purpose. For the Goddess, nothing more.
A clawed hand swiped at her in the darkness, and Shasa fell back slightly.
A name.
A face, dark and familiar in ways that Shasa didn't feel ready to comprehend.
A scream.
A memory.
He'd always been a big and robust man, handsome, even - but he'd always been there, and he'd always taken care of her. She couldn't remember the first time she'd met him, he'd always been there. Always there to guide her. Always there to lead her down the right path.
...wet, fleshy sounds...
An iron fist. He'd only wanted her to be the best that she could be. He'd never been cruel without a reason, and she'd always known it. She'd always known that he'd cared, that he'd loved her. He had always been there. Why wouldn't he? Why shouldn't he?
Why couldn't she ever make him happy?
...wave upon wave of hot crimson washing over her hands...
Always there. Always there. Always there. Guiding her down the right path. Doing what was right for her. Giving everything he could just so that she could succeed, just so she could be happy --
...stabbing, slashing, ripping, taking, mine - mine - mine...
Everything had been a <******** lie.
Shasa stumbled back, the heart clutched in her red-soaked hands stinking of copper and iron and metal. She was panting harshly, a feral, wicked look in her eyes. The heart was secured in the bag.
Nothing had ever felt more right.
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 10:07 am
Vicelike claws were around her throat, squeezing and pushing and choking until she couldn't tell which direction was up --
Sharp slaps. Disapproving looks. Never enough. Cruel smiles. The hot spray of spit on her face when his voice got too loud. The rich stench of liquor on his breath. The thread of thick fingers in her hair, pulling when she went 'astray'.
Thick sludge, black as tar, soaking her from the inside out. So much strength in those big hands, so much power --
"You're always disappointing me."
Down, down, down --
Yellow, paper-thin skin. Age-spotted hands. So much hate in those dark eyes, so much hate. The sour stench of unwashed skin mingled with the pungent raunch of filthy clothes. Always unkindness, no matter how much effort was put forth.
Suffocation --
All ******** lies.
Andforwhatandforwhatandforwhatandforwhatandforwhat?!?!!!
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 10:29 am
"You don't deserve it back!"
Even to her own ears her voice sounded wet and thick. Desperation tightened the muscles in her hand, and Shasa sent the sharp, pointed tip of her scissors deep into his chest.
Free.
Harsh pants ripping from her throat, Shasa put all of her weight behind the attack, sending the scissors hilt-deep into hischest.
Her papa - except he wasn't. He never had been.
Free.
She had a task again. A purpose. A second chance. A new beginning. The Goddess needed this, and Shasa would not let her down.
Clutching the bag tightly to her chest, the bag that contained his black, black heart, Shasa ran. She looked back only once to see him clutching those deadly, wicked scissors to his chest, a bloated death-stricken expression twisting his dark features.
The door drew nearer, and Shasa wasted no time in making her escape - the bitter, choking clog of tar in her throat and lungs.
Free.
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:46 am
[The Escape]
The clinical brightness of the room was almost too much to bear, but Shasa was instantly made alert. Striking in contrast to what she'd been used to, she took a moment to blearily peer around the room as she tried to remember just what had happened. When had she fallen asleep? The table, cool against her back, urged her to sit up and so she did, wide eyed and confused.
Pushing to her feet, Shasa made her way to the smooth door. It opened easily, leading into a hallway of equal brightness.
A slam behind her had Shasa turning in a startled circle. The door was still open. Nothing inside. A confused frown furrowing her brow, Shasa turned and made her way down the hall.
Thud.
Nothing there.
Thud.
Shasa peered over her shoulder again.
And then she ran.
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bipolar bee rolled 1 4-sided dice:
3
Total: 3 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:47 am
Tripping over her own feet, Shasa stumbled to her knees before scrambling back upright. She did not look over her shoulder, but she could hear the voice.
She could hear it.
You always were a disappointment.
I never wanted you. I never wanted this.
You're a ******** idiot.
distance: 45
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bipolar bee rolled 1 4-sided dice:
4
Total: 4 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:48 am
To her left Shasa caught sight of a piece of paper. She grabbed it, and kept on running as fast as she could. The metallic scraping, those ******** whispers - closer, closer, closer.
Shasa fought the urge to burst into tears, and began to hum a trembling tune. She didn't know what it was, but for some reason it made her feel better.
Stronger.
distance: 40
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bipolar bee rolled 1 4-sided dice:
4
Total: 4 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:49 am
Another paper. Same as the first.
Shasa began to hum louder as if she were trying to drown out the sound of those sharp scissors, the sound of that taunting voice.
There was a twinge of rage, deep in her chest. It lent a strength that she hadn't realized she'd had, and suddenly she was no longer humming, and suddenly she was no longer afraid.
She was furious.
distance: 35
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bipolar bee rolled 4 4-sided dice:
1, 2, 1, 2
Total: 6 (4-16)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:50 am
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bipolar bee rolled 1 4-sided dice:
1
Total: 1 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:52 am
Everything blurred, and suddenly all she could see was something so distant and foggy and yet so ******** familiar that she was brought to her knees.
"Papa, why do chickens have eggs?"
"It is how they have babies, Sasha. They are also another thing for us to eat."
"Nannygoat doesn't have eggs."
The dark-eyed man sighed, a sound borne of annoyance. He tried to cover it with a thin sheen of exasperation, but there was a cruel look in his eyes.
"Nannygoat is a chicken, then? Nannygoat is not a goat? Is that what you are saying, Sasha?"
There was a small silence as Sasha collected a few more eggs, placing them in the pinafore she wore over a soft cotton dress. She carried both lower corners in one hand, the eggs resting in the hammock formed by the apron.
"No, Nannygoat is a goat, papa," she said quietly, recognizing the tone of voice he'd taken on. It would be best for her to simply be silent from here on out. He'd already started drinking this morning, and as he milked Nannygoat so that they could make cheese later in the day, Sasha knew by the set of his mouth that he was not pleased with her. At all.
Maybe she could make him smile.
"Papa," she whispered, moving closer to him with every intent on giving him a little hug. He rose abruptly, towering over the small, spindly girl. The action surprised Sasha and she lost the grip on a corner of her apron. Two eggs fell to the ground, cracking immediately upon impact. The rich yolk within oozed out as Sasha watched helplessly. The man remained silent before he shot out a hand, gripping her earlobe with two rough fingers.
"You just cannot do anything right. It is not such a difficult task, Sasha, to keep the eggs safe. Now you will have no breakfast, hmm? I will eat the eggs. Would you like to watch?"
Scrambling to her feet, she felt that throbbing, intense red-hot rage thread through her veins, like thick, sluggish tar.
She would not fail this.
(i can go the) distance: 30
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bipolar bee rolled 1 4-sided dice:
1
Total: 1 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:53 am
Again.
Again.
"No. It's wrong. All wrong, Sasha. You are not using the whole canvas. The whole canvas, Sasha."
The girl, at the tender age of nine, did not so much as flinch when her beloved papa rapped her knuckles with the shaft of the paintbrush he'd been using. No, flinching would only give cause for another hard tap of the wooden handle against her already stinging knuckles. Instead the girl merely rubbed her knuckles with the palm of her opposite hand as she peered thoughtfully at the canvas before her. She'd been doing well, or so she'd thought.
"But papa, I --"
"Sasha."
That voice. That voice had the power to strike fear in Sasha's heart, and she knew she'd pushed him almost too far. She tried so hard to please him in all she did, and when he took that tone... Sasha's heart sank. He sounded sad and upset at the same time, and it was strange that such a thing could even happen. How could someone be angry and sad at the same time? It was the same question that came into her mind when he cuffed her for speaking out, or when she missed a note on the flute or when her voice was a little off-tune as she sang. He always said he was doing it because he loved her, that he wanted the best for her, and Sasha believed him. She only needed to focus, to pay attention, to do better. He loved her, always and forever.
Even when he drank.
When he drank, he was a force to be reckoned with. When he drank, Sasha hid herself away. When he drank... he called out for his wife. Her mother. Sasha had never met her mother; the woman had died not long after Sasha's birth. Papa never spoke of it, of her, unless he was drunk - which was happening more and more often. It was rare that he was sober these days, and so more and more often Sasha would find herself cleaning up after him, wiping the vomit from his chin and cheeks. When he roused from his drunken stupor, it would be back to schooling: song, art, instruments.
"Yes, papa. I will do better."
She would do better. It did not matter that the name in the memory was not her own. That face - that ******** face - she would never forget that face.
distance: 25
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bipolar bee rolled 1 4-sided dice:
3
Total: 3 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:54 am
He was getting closer. Shasa could almost smell the stench of hate and evil on him.
You will always be a failure.
They couldn't handle it, and so I got stuck with you.
I hate you hate you hate you hate you hateyouhateyou.
I never wanted this. I never wanted you.
distance: 20
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bipolar bee rolled 1 4-sided dice:
2
Total: 2 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:55 am
Shasa rose to her feet after previously stumbling and out of the corner of her eye she saw another piece of paper.
Suddenly the previous piece of paper made sense.
The door was opened, and suddenly she was out side.
He was right ******** there.
She ran.
Give me back my heart, it's mine, it's mine give it back, I'll take yours, see how you like it. I'll rip it right out of your chest, it's mine, yours is mine and mine is mine give it back.
There was a bridge.
Shasa knew she had to cross it, but it looked as if it would be barely capable of holding her weight. It was either move or be killed, and with a snarl Shasa took off across the bridge. She would do whatever it took.
She would do what needed to be done in order to survive.
She would never ******** fail again.
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bipolar bee rolled 1 4-sided dice:
2
Total: 2 (1-4)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:57 am
Halfway over the bridge, one of the rickety boards beneath her foot snapped. She briefly fell through before catching herself, and for an instant Shasa did not know what to do.
Panting softly, she did the first thing that came to mind. This was not about self-preservation. This was not about completing a goal. This was not about sacrificing something to the ******** Goddesses.
This was about escaping him. This was about proving him wrong. This was about doing what needed to be done in order to ******** survive.
Clutching the rusted dagger in one hand, Shasa ripped it through her leg. The pain - oh, that sweet clarity - was so intense that she nearly didn't have the mental capacity to bring the dagger through her leg a second time.
He was moving closer. Too close, that gaping smile, those snipping scissors, no no no - and then she was free, limping away and clutching that dagger to her chest. The pain. The pain focused her, centered her, gave her something to think about other than him.
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bipolar bee rolled 1 6-sided dice:
2
Total: 2 (1-6)
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Posted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 8:59 am
Two days.
It had been two days, five hours, twenty-four minutes and ....eight, nine, ten seconds since Sasha had come home from painting in the park to find her papa dead. They'd carted him away in a bag - a bag that was more suited for rubbish than it was for her beloved papa's body. Two days of quiet, silent solitude that roared in her ears like the rushing waves at the beach. Two days that she'd sat in the small hovel-like home that they'd resorted to living in. Painting didn't pay much, and papa hadn't been working - what little money they did have had gone to paying for papa's vices. Alcohol did not come cheap, and many days Sasha had forgone food in order to make sure that her papa had what he needed to keep his withered, deteriorating body going.
Suddenly everything had come to a swift, screeching halt.
The first day had not been too bad. Sasha had spent most of the day out of the house, her paintings echoing the fear and pain in her heart. She'd made a little bit of cash, bought a little bit of food. Sasha had forced herself to eat before she allowed herself to curl up in bed with the cool blankets pulled up to her chin. She slept fitfully, waking up periodically throughout the night when she thought she heard her papa's voice, or his footsteps or even that bright, brusque laugh that seemed to come so unwillingly.
The second day, Sasha was forced to handle the harsh reality that her papa was gone, and she was alone. Most of the day was spent listlessly peering out of windows. What should she do? What could she do? There was nothing more to accomplish - she'd painted because papa had wished it of her, she'd sang because papa had taught her how, she'd played her little instruments because papa had demanded it. Sasha had always had a taskmaster and now, living without one? There was no rush of freedom or the thrilling realization that she could do whatever she wanted because there was nobody around to tell her that she could not. Simply put, Sasha was lost.
Purposeless.
"No."
No more. She could no longer run. The Goddess's voice thrummed through her mind once more.
Now or never.
How could someone she have loved so much, someone she had done everything for - how could he have hated her so desperately?
No matter.
At the same moment that she lunged forward he did the same. Shasa sank the dagger deep into his chest, and the scissors clattered to the floor.
"I ******** hate you. I hate you."
She stabbed, stabbed, stabbed.
"Hate you."
The figure fell, taking her dagger with him. She knelt to retrieve it. It was glowing red, so bright that it was nearly painful, and as she rose to her feet the door of the haunted house opened.
It was time to leave this place.
Time to leave him.
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