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Jan. 31st, 2006 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tsukinofaerii(cough) This is newer... as in, about two years ago. It's dark. VERY. DARK. Strangely enough though, it was written in happier times. I wrote this for my fiction class. We were supposed to try and evoke a mood. I don't even know what mood I pulled anymore, but this was the result.
Title: Special 1/1
By![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tsukinofaerii
Rating: SNAP
Genre: Generic/Tragedy
Warnings: Disturbing, violence
Disclaimer: For once, I own this. This story is entirely fictional. I (the author) in no way support or endorse any acts of sexual or non-sexual violence against anyone. (Did you GET THAT Six Apart?)
Summary: She loved her Daddy. Complete ficlet.
She loved her Daddy.
That was at the center of everything. He took care of her and played the Special games with her and told her stories at night when she was little. He was her Daddy. That was all there was to it.
Sometimes he got angry, and she couldn't understand why or how, and certainly never figured out when until too late. When it first started, he had always been very sorry. He'd cried and called her his little girl and then he'd buy her something pretty and everything would be okay again until next time. Sometime between ribbons and candy and learning to put on make-up before any of the other girls at school, he'd stopped crying. She could see that he was sorry. She knew she could. He just didn't say it anymore. She thought that he knew she knew, and there was nothing left to say.
None of the teachers asked why she was wearing make-up. She heard them talk about it though, when they thought she wasn't there, or when she passed the teacher lunch room. They said she would "be trouble when she grew up" and they were very sad that she didn't have "a good mother-figure" or a "strong female role model", whatever those were. She knew most people had mothers and fathers, but it seemed like a silly idea. Why have a mother when all you really needed was a Daddy?
Besides, she only wore the make-up because Daddy thought it made her look pretty. He said that his bouts, that was what he called them, made bruises and that bruises weren't pretty. So she wore make-up to hide them. After all, doesn't every little girl want to be pretty?
She didn't learn the word "rape" until she was eight. They'd had a special class on things in school because Mr. Johnson wasn't there to teach them anymore. Everyone made a big fuss and explained about "naughty places" and who to tell. She thought the whole thing was rather awkward, or would have if she'd understood the word. She never even thought of applying the word to herself. After all, from what the teachers and the nice lady said, this rape thing was horrible and scary. Daddy loved her. That meant he couldn't be horrible or scary. Their games were strange and hurt sometimes, but it was Daddy.
That had to make it alright, didn't it?
Later she started to understand that some things even Daddies shouldn't do. It hurt. It was like finding out about Santa all over again, but this time didn't even have that small "I knew it" feeling that almost made the whole Santa thing okay. She'd only told Daddy that she was too old to play games anymore. He'd told her that this game she was never going to be too old for, and made her anyways. After, when she had been taking a bath, she had prodded a big purple bruise on her side. It occurred to her that that was what they had meant by rape.
Now she's fourteen, and watching Daddy be buried. The preacher says that he's going to Heaven, but she doesn't think so. She's making herself cry for everyone else, but nothing seems very real anymore. He'd hurt her lots, but he was her Daddy, and underneath it all was that part that still felt that because he had been Daddy it was all okay. She wondered if she would ever lose that part. He had died in a car crash. Silly, really, when there were so many other ways. Someone had been driving drunk, and Daddy hadn't been able to swerve. Everyone had cried and she's going to her Aunt and Uncle's in the morning.
Watching Daddy being lowered into the ground, it suddenly occurs that things could have been much worse. Daddy could have ended up being the man on the T.V. show. She could still hear the voice in her head. It had given her nightmares, hearing what was happening. Daddy had held her and petted her and then done it again.
She can hear the voice now.
"Mortimer Jamesin, you are under arrest for the abuse, rape and murder of Abeline and Mary Jamesin. You have the right to remain silent..."
Her Aunt puts an arm around her shoulder. It's all over now, and Daddy's really gone. She puts down the flowers she had brought just for Daddy and goes with her Aunt. She doesn't think she'll tell them about the Special games. It doesn't really matter anymore, after all.
"You have the right to an attorny. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you..."
Yes. It doesn't matter any more.
Title: Special 1/1
By
tsukinofaeriiRating: SNAP
Genre: Generic/Tragedy
Warnings: Disturbing, violence
Disclaimer: For once, I own this. This story is entirely fictional. I (the author) in no way support or endorse any acts of sexual or non-sexual violence against anyone. (Did you GET THAT Six Apart?)
Summary: She loved her Daddy. Complete ficlet.
She loved her Daddy.
That was at the center of everything. He took care of her and played the Special games with her and told her stories at night when she was little. He was her Daddy. That was all there was to it.
Sometimes he got angry, and she couldn't understand why or how, and certainly never figured out when until too late. When it first started, he had always been very sorry. He'd cried and called her his little girl and then he'd buy her something pretty and everything would be okay again until next time. Sometime between ribbons and candy and learning to put on make-up before any of the other girls at school, he'd stopped crying. She could see that he was sorry. She knew she could. He just didn't say it anymore. She thought that he knew she knew, and there was nothing left to say.
None of the teachers asked why she was wearing make-up. She heard them talk about it though, when they thought she wasn't there, or when she passed the teacher lunch room. They said she would "be trouble when she grew up" and they were very sad that she didn't have "a good mother-figure" or a "strong female role model", whatever those were. She knew most people had mothers and fathers, but it seemed like a silly idea. Why have a mother when all you really needed was a Daddy?
Besides, she only wore the make-up because Daddy thought it made her look pretty. He said that his bouts, that was what he called them, made bruises and that bruises weren't pretty. So she wore make-up to hide them. After all, doesn't every little girl want to be pretty?
She didn't learn the word "rape" until she was eight. They'd had a special class on things in school because Mr. Johnson wasn't there to teach them anymore. Everyone made a big fuss and explained about "naughty places" and who to tell. She thought the whole thing was rather awkward, or would have if she'd understood the word. She never even thought of applying the word to herself. After all, from what the teachers and the nice lady said, this rape thing was horrible and scary. Daddy loved her. That meant he couldn't be horrible or scary. Their games were strange and hurt sometimes, but it was Daddy.
That had to make it alright, didn't it?
Later she started to understand that some things even Daddies shouldn't do. It hurt. It was like finding out about Santa all over again, but this time didn't even have that small "I knew it" feeling that almost made the whole Santa thing okay. She'd only told Daddy that she was too old to play games anymore. He'd told her that this game she was never going to be too old for, and made her anyways. After, when she had been taking a bath, she had prodded a big purple bruise on her side. It occurred to her that that was what they had meant by rape.
Now she's fourteen, and watching Daddy be buried. The preacher says that he's going to Heaven, but she doesn't think so. She's making herself cry for everyone else, but nothing seems very real anymore. He'd hurt her lots, but he was her Daddy, and underneath it all was that part that still felt that because he had been Daddy it was all okay. She wondered if she would ever lose that part. He had died in a car crash. Silly, really, when there were so many other ways. Someone had been driving drunk, and Daddy hadn't been able to swerve. Everyone had cried and she's going to her Aunt and Uncle's in the morning.
Watching Daddy being lowered into the ground, it suddenly occurs that things could have been much worse. Daddy could have ended up being the man on the T.V. show. She could still hear the voice in her head. It had given her nightmares, hearing what was happening. Daddy had held her and petted her and then done it again.
She can hear the voice now.
"Mortimer Jamesin, you are under arrest for the abuse, rape and murder of Abeline and Mary Jamesin. You have the right to remain silent..."
Her Aunt puts an arm around her shoulder. It's all over now, and Daddy's really gone. She puts down the flowers she had brought just for Daddy and goes with her Aunt. She doesn't think she'll tell them about the Special games. It doesn't really matter anymore, after all.
"You have the right to an attorny. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you..."
Yes. It doesn't matter any more.