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Broken - 1

CastlesInTheSky · 2008-08-25T16:38:26Z

This is the second part of a true story. It needs a lot of work. I know I've alternated between past tense in the first part and present tense in this one. Which one is better? Broken I - Tealeaves They swirl in clear brown liquid. Green-feathered ballerinas waltzing around a ballroom of white china. As the water disappears, they plummet. Forgotten. She puts a thin finger into the cup and twirls it amongst the withered corpses. Angry voices echo around her in the hollow darkness. She draws her bare legs up, folding them like paper beneath her on the mahogany chair. Sticks , that woman with the crisp uniform had said, inspecting her in the blank white room. Your legs are like sticks. She winces at the memory, beginning to shake uncontrollably. She claps her hands over her throbbing ears, red from the slap. She tries to forget. The shouting behind her continues, louder and louder every second, shooting through the air like arrows. “I can’t deal with this, Sarah!” She had almost forgotten it. Her name. Snapped out like a curse. She hugs her quaking legs against her tiny chest. She can feel her heartbeat, jerky, fast, without a rhythm. “Do you hear me, Sarah? I can’t fucking deal with this!” It's her mother. She closes her eyes, squeezing them tight until crimson dots appear before her. Still gripping her calves against her, she rocks. Backward...forwards. Backwards...forwards. Strong, harsh hands grip her protruding shoulders. Shaking her like a rattle – an empty rattle. Her lips quiver, but she will not cry. She - will - not - cry. “Do you do this at school, Sarah? Do you? Do the kids make fun of you? They do, don’t they? They’d have to!” She keeps her eyes shut. Her pale lips attempt to move and she tries to control the panic surging up inside of her, a frantic tornado. Ready to blow her world away. She can't. She can't keep it in. She opens her mouth and screams. A scream that wracks her frame and every bone inside her body. She almost collapses on the floor but is pinned against the wall instead. Forced to listen. Her thumping heart leaps up in her chest, startled. She can feel its beat residing as it flops down gasping like a dying fish. “Can you see what your shit is doing to us? To you, to me, to Esther?" She runs to her room. She stares into the long glass mirror, her eyes weaving around the shattered edges. What is real? She claws at the surface, wanting to discover what is beyond it. She sees nothing but a pale lie of a girl, putting on a facade each day, hiding behind a tarry smokescreen. She rushes towards the bed, lying on pale rose sheets. The coolness feels good in contrast to the heat leaking out of her pores. She curls up into the foetal position. She rocks herself like a sad baby in a cold white crib. Just when she thought she had normality wrapped round her fingers like a twisted ribbon. Footsteps approach her. A gentle, plump hand touches her juddering shoulder. Sweet words are whispered into her ear. It's Esther. Her little sister. Seven summers old, but with a wisdom beyond her years. She lets Esther hold her, comfort her. Though she flinches with the humiliation of it. Her life is upside-down, warped, contorted. She is on the wrong side of the looking glass. “Shhh. Sarah...it’s okay. It’s going to be alright,” her sister says, smoothing her rumpled dress and drying her tears. “It’s not. It’s not. It’s not. She hates me. Everyone hates me.” “She doesn’t hate you, Sarah. She loves you. I love you.” If Sarah’s eyes had not been swollen shut, she still would not have been able to look her in the face. The only thing she can do is wail. Breathless, heartbroken, frightened sobs.

CastlesInTheSky

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Points 890

Reviews 202

Mon Dec 01, 2008 8:18 pm

CastlesInTheSky says... · Mon Dec 01, 2008 8:18 pm

Thankyou, Kirsten.
I have already expressed my gratitude through the wonders of MSN, but I sayeth again, you're lovely!
x

Had I the heavens embroider'd cloths,
I would spread the cloths under your feet.
But I being poor, have only my dreams,
So tread softly, for you tread on my life.

Quote

Rosendorn

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Points 89625

Reviews 1272

Thu Dec 11, 2008 10:58 pm

Rosendorn says... · Thu Dec 11, 2008 10:58 pm

Ouch. And this is a true story?

Tealeaves, a metaphor this time. About how they're fine for a while, but then they wilt. (Heh, I tried to read this awhile ago but I was too incoherent to get it....)

Just one thing: The f-word. A piece has to be rated R if it is used.

A writer is a world trapped in a person— Victor Hugo

Ink is blood. Paper is bandages. The wounded press books to their heart to know they're not alone.

Quote

CastlesInTheSky

Gender

Points 890

Reviews 202

Thu Dec 11, 2008 11:10 pm

CastlesInTheSky says... · Thu Dec 11, 2008 11:10 pm

Thankyou so much for reading, Rosey!

Had I the heavens embroider'd cloths,
I would spread the cloths under your feet.
But I being poor, have only my dreams,
So tread softly, for you tread on my life.

Quote

Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.
— Martin Luther King Jr.

Broken - 1

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