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AMAYA WRITES THINGS TOO
Topic Started: Jun 22 2008, 02:11 AM (412 Views)
Amaya
Shocking
I wanna share my obligatory vampire story too now that raina did :> Mine doesn't have a cool picture for the beginning though but that's cauz im layzee :> I'm not going to tell you anything about it because I wanna know what people think as if they just picked up a book and they're reading it. I have lots written... But I'll post the first two 'chapters' until I see if anyone actually feels like readin the damn thing :T If you want more tell me what you think :3 what certian parts made you think of, what you were confused at, what you think i should change...GO FOR IT.

WELL?! HAVE AT YOU!

===================

June 25th

How to start this… How…How to even explain, to begin this mess. My boy, my little baby boy, he’s a monster, a demon. Not in the conventional sense of the word, though. No fangs reach from his rows of teeth, no claws or frightening features on this body save for those eyes, those swimming, stabbing lime eyes. But yes, yes… He is a beast.

I’ve never been much of an author, and I’m not sure why I bother with this journal anyway, but I hope to gather my thoughts, to make sense of this whole horrid thing. I need to try to explain my boy to myself, to justify his actions somehow. I’m so ashamed as a mother to even think this… but here it is, laid before my own disbelieving eyes. I don’t know how my baby became so distressed…

Neither I nor my husband has even tiniest thread of cruelty in our bodies. Oh, my husband… I could fill every last one of these pages with thoughts and comments on him… But I’ll keep it short and restrain my complimenting digits.

He’s such a wonderful man, so kind, so sweet…Gorgeous blue eyes that twinkle under the sun’s rays, pulling me in so easily even now… I was drawn with just a glance. Henry Block, a dull title for a statue of a man.

He wooed my effortlessly, possibly taking advantage of the strength his twenty-one years old over my meek nineteen - though, even now at thirty-six, I regret nothing. I was star struck, love at first sight, and every other cliché that only seems probable in fantasy. How could anyone be so horribly beautiful? How could anything short of a God have that firm, tanned body? Such striking blue eyes, that silky soot colored hair that fell in such a messy array that still looked perfect, like he spent hours attempting to train his locks to fall as such over his eyes; obscuring them as he himself was obscured and somehow apart from everything.

And me? I was nobody. A meek little thing that practically quivered under his six feet. I was a five foot nothing girl with large green eyes and even larger glasses, tangled blonde hair, and a body that was far from statuesque. My father and mother faired no better, but it was selfish to blame everything on genes.

It was obviously a surprise when this real life Adonis strode up and caught me by the arm and eyes, holding and capturing and owning me as he did with every room he walked into. There was no doubt in his mind that I was his from the very first second. He pushed me carefully - though firmly - against the wall, manipulating me as if I were some expensive piece of exquisite china and not a chipped antique tea cup.

Oh, he smelt so wonderfully, something nutty, earthy, it reminded me of autumn and the way pigment in the leaves slowly caught fire and smoldered into soft shades of red, orange, and yellow.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, only managing to lock the oxygen into my lungs and clutch my books while he hunched over his prey, appraising his lack luster catch. A soft touch, trailing feather light across my jaw caused me to start with a sharp “Ah” noise that barely managed to trickle from my lips. I tried to advert my eyes, but his fingers suddenly grew strong against my chin and held me there.

“No no,” his voice was a purr, and I could see the smile playing on the corners of his lips. “Don’t look away, Mon Chéri… I’ve finally mustered the will to tell you how empty I feel looking anywhere but into your eyes,” his own closed partly and his speech lengthened to a quiet whispered drawl. “Must you torture me so…”

He spoke like a romantic, like a true man that dreamt in metaphors and spoke in poetry. I was even more smitten by his words than looks, and I was sure he saw me sigh by how his lips pulled back, flashing an almost devilish grin.

Henry whisked me away that night. Back to his car, then to the lavish apartment his parents provided while he was in school… Perhaps it was a foolish thing, to fall in love so haphazardly and give myself away so easily, but Henry proved to be nothing short of what I had imagined.

The next few years blurred past my eyes too rapidly to clutch hold of, maybe faster than I would have liked. With a shock, there was no more innocence, no more school, no more protection cast from expertly erected walls of education, and I was to be married.

No luxury was spared, I needed to only being to utter a sigh of wanting more roses, more color, more beauty, and the word “Done” bubbled from my love’s lips.

He catered to me.

My will was his to execute. For a while, it made me feel awkward, but after some time I better appreciated the gestures. A time or two I might have taken advantage of his generosity, but who wouldn’t? I’m not perfect, I’ll be the first to admit that.

The wedding was lavish and spectacular. Everything was completely perfect and I was hard pressed to keep my makeup from blurring with tears. I felt like I was in a fairytale as my carefully measured steps brought me down the isle. My hands gripped at the bouquet, choking the pretty little necks of each and every flower. His words trickled delicately through my ears while my own came in shaking whispers of noises that could have been words. No one understood me.

He said my vows were phenomenal.

Our honey moon was…Well. Adult as I am, I can’t delve into the details of the night Henry once again swept me into his arms and set me aflame with passion.

A few weeks later we found what else had been given to us. I was panicked, but he was ecstatic. At ages twenty-five and twenty-seven, we were soon to have a child of our very own.

Oh, and what a baby he was! Such an adorable little thing with a lithe body and the most inquisitive - and yet horrifying - lime eyes. Not green, lime, almost with a tint of yellow bubbling in the depths. The second my baby boy opened his eyes, my breathing hitched in my lungs. I was dumbstruck.

So out of place were those eyes, glinting in the fluorescent light in such a way I could have sworn seemed like he knew much more than I ever would.

Feral, dangerous.

I shivered then, just a little, but drew my baby deeper into my arms none the less, protecting him with my own body.

It took some time to name our too-intelligent looking child, but we finally settled on something fitting for his eyes. Caleb, a name that was originally Hebrew. The book we used said the name meant bold.

“Fitting.” Henry chucked, and thus our boy was named.




June 26th

I stopped early last night. I should have kept writing, it’s not like my boy even tries to learn when we put so much time and money into his home schooling - then again, he doesn’t seem to need the lessons. No, he just lashes out in a way that no seven year old should. I try to be patient… But it’s just so… so hard. It’s difficult to work through the tantrums, to deal with him when his eyes are electrocuting your own with their vibrancy. We’ve been trying fruitlessly to teach our boy for two years but it has been just that, fruitless. Odd, how he fights knowledge but how much he carries inside.

You see, they distribute tests yearly to be sure our Caleb - and every other home schooled child - has learned everything that other children are being taught in school. It’s imperative to his education to be on par with his would-be peers. Each year the tests are issued, and each year our son completes them with ease and deft speed.

We’re often questioned for cheating or somehow tampering with the test, perhaps a hidden ear piece. Many things that are completely absurd. It’s just as bizarre for them, I suppose, to find a child so sharp you can practically feel him cutting into you.

To be driven to home schooling, though, wasn’t necessarily our choice…

Our boy… My Caleb. My lovely boy is…troubled. He has been violent since he was a toddler, constantly breaking his toys, viciously throwing all sorts of things at Henry and myself. At first, we thought he just had a frustrated temper that most children his age had, but instead of getting better…progressively his attitude soured.

His first day of school was horrible, for the students.

He had skipped cleanly over kindergarten - due to how bright he was - and directly into first grade, and was rather unhappy with the prospect of leaving his warm house and being away from me, I supposed. Caleb was nearly always violent, but often in the dead of night he’d silently slip from bed and crawl in along side me, curling into the smallest shape he could muster before fairly roughly bumping his head up against me, signaling for me to wrap my arms around him.

I used to sing to him on nights like that…

Gripping my skirts that first day, he protested quietly, but the tone still made me shudder faintly. His blonde hair fell around his rounded face in harsh chunks, product of another unsuccessful hair cut, and they slightly masked his features from me when he spoke.

“I don’t want to go, Mother.”

His voice was always so crisp when addressing me, even with the faint edge of childishness in his voice, it still seemed business-like.

“I want to go back in the house, now.”

He shifted barely and adjusted the back bag clutching his shoulders. Silently my hand stroked the nape of his neck, caressing his flesh while I searched for words. As my lips parted, though, he caught my breath swiftly with his eyes, crushing it and stuffing it back into my lungs. Lime eyes looked up at me sharply, as if silently scolding me for even fathoming sending him off. Somehow I managed to get my bearings back and smoothed my fingers through his hair.

“Caleb…” I sighed softly, cupping his cheek with my hands. “Sweetheart, you have to go. You’ll make all sorts of new friends and have a lovely time, I promise.” Leaning closer, I pressed a kiss to his forehead, hugging him close to me and receiving nothing in return. When I pulled away I had to purse my lips to challenge those eyes again. He could stare right into your soul, even so young…

The large bus lumbered down the road like some sort of old discolored, misshapen mythical beast, letting out a cough of exhaust as it rumbled to a stop. He looked at me for a long moment before twisting on his heel, stalking up the large steps without even looking back at me.

A chill shot down my spine, but I stood stoic, waving as the rust fatigued beast shambled away down the road and out of sight.

The day was scheduled to be a long game of patience, but the round was cut short by a shrill scream of the phone and a frantic voice spat obscenities at me from the other end.

“Mrs. Block?” The frantic bird chirped, squawking in such a way I had to distance my ear from the offending object just to be able to think correctly.

“This is she, is there a problem?” I replied calmly, not even realizing what could have happened.

“A problem is a fierce understatement! Your son Caleb has injured one of his peers! I need you to come to the school immediately to pick him up and discuss his punishment!”

The words barely sunk in but I found myself trapping the persistent bird in her plastic cage, fleeting the house without even bothering with my coat. The drive to the school was the longest I had ever taken and by the time I tore into the parking lot, I was frantic.

The scene in the school office was horrid. Teachers and parents - I’m assuming - running around like beheaded animals. I stood there for a while, taking in the scene while the most maternal part of me scanned for my Caleb. A sharp voice snapped my attention to the left and I quickly bustled into the adjacent room, knocking several pawns out of my way, a persistent queen.

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“Caleb?” My voice was more shrill than I thought it was, and I had to swallow several times as my gaze fell onto my boy and the blood smeared over his tiny hands and smooth face.

For several moments I was mute, my mouth working but the words falling short, entertaining themselves with a quick hand of cards until I bluntly pushed them force, making them tumble over one another chaotically.

“What happened here? What’s the meaning of all this?” I stormed over and gathered my boy in my arms, bundling him there and smearing blood all over myself in the process. I assessed my son with a critical eye, scanning for any flaws. When I was satisfied that the blood was someone else’s - not concerned yet with whose - I glowered at the nurse, my lips pursed in a thin, crooked line. She wasn’t answering me fast enough.

“Y-Your…your son, he stabbed another child with a rock, several times! You can see on him how much blood there is…That’s not even half of what happened to the other child! Your child is a monster!” The bird I recognized instantly from our brief phone call, and even as she explained the situation, I became more and more enraged.

Accusing me son of such things? He was violent occasionally…Yes, but…He wouldn’t intentionally stab another student. As that annoying canary chattered persistently onward, I was rapidly seeing myself as more of a cat than a quiet mouse. Lashing out myself, I took a hash step forward, rattling several glass jars nearby.

“You listen to me, Miss,” I spat venom with my words, my eyes setting fire to everything they touched while my son laid calmly in my arms, scratching dried blood from his palms. “My son has done no such thing, and if by some insane series of events the student was injured, I’m sure it wasn’t intentional! Caleb would never bodily harm someone, would you, Dear?”

Upon glancing down at the boy, I was met with a placid gaze. His face remained emotionless and rested cradled in the crook of my elbow.

“I stabbed him, Mother.” So soft, so completely tranquil, not even the faintest sign of remorse in his face as he spoke. “He made fun of my eyes and my height,” his head cocked like a curious pup. “so, I stabbed him.”

For the rest of my days I’ll remember that placid look, a face completely free of regret.



We started home schooling the boy the next day and after a surprisingly short lawsuit and a quick move, the whole incident was swept under the rug and completely removed from our minds.

Or so we liked to think.



Caleb was taken to several psychiatrists over the next few months, trying to find a reasoning to his aggressive behavior, but nothing came to bloom. He remained silent and precise, answering each of the questions in a measured tone. “Impossible,” I remember Henry uttering from my side, his hand gripping my waist urgently. “How… How is it even possible? How can a child speak that way…”

In part, we both tried to ignore the language and chalk it up to the way we spoke to him, never in a baby voice, never using too simple of a vocabulary, constantly trying to expand his vocabulary. But…

It was impossible to explain this.

I’ll continue tomorrow, my eyes are sore.





June 29th

Something terrible has happened.
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Evu
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FAN801 X-T3RM1NAT0R
I've read this a while ago and it's still super-creepy. Which is good cuz that's the point.

Two fangs down. Which is the direction they're supposed to go. So that's good.
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Daaku
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Whut...?
o_o; that was good...
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