Don't feat the reaper. [Jesse]
Posted: 23 Jun 2015, 21:53
Odette, a name born of elegance, of beauty and grace, a name that brought such weight upon it's owner. A weight to live up-to the image that her parents had of the beautiful swan that would blossom into society, that would grace the socialites with dignity and an aura of high class up-bringing. Unfortunately for the parents in question that daughter had chosen a path they couldn't even begin to grasp the concept of; tattoos, cigarettes, alcohol, parties, motorcycle clubs, rock. They had spent the last 10 years watching their hopes crash and burn, the hope that their daughter would transform into a skilled pianist; would dine in extravagant restaurants with other ladies born of privilege; would graduate with honours in either medicine or law; marry a man worthy of the family riches and titles.
And instead of seeing what they had envisioned when conceiving the life almost 25 years ago, they had to witness the development of an anarchist, a female who painted her body with ink, that tainted her innards with smoke and alcohol, that enjoyed the raw nature of a fight, and often ended up in the A&E after getting too aggressive with a group of people.
Too many times they'd had to bail her out of situations, and given the lecture of how it would look upon the family, how she should try to attend a church meeting once in a while, to grasp that relationship with Jesus, the relationship that seemed to suck the life out of her parents, and they couldn't even see it.
They hadn't even experienced the raw sensation of throwing a fist into the face of another, feeling the crack of bone. They hadn't enjoyed the freedom that being inebriated wrought upon you, the lack of restraint on the truth you kept hidden, the lack of responsibility.
No. Her parents knew nothing of what it was truly like to enjoy life. They were too afraid of the image they had been born into, and what would tarnish it.
And these were the thoughts that raced through her mind, like a leaf on the wind trying to match the speed of a train. Lean legs moved effortlessly as she jogged, trying to rid herself of the newest conversation her father had tried to spur on her moments before she'd took her keys and fled for her daily routine of exercise. Marriage. And not just marriage, an arranged one. Over her dead ******* body. She'd rather be dead that be controlled in anyway. And marriage was control. No. This caused her legs to move faster, the sound of the feet clapping to the concrete the only sound for miles. That was, until she heard a masculine voice. And then many. It caused her to come to a halt, her heart racing erratically as it attempted to begin composure from her extreme activity.
Emerald irises scanned the area she was now stood within, unfamiliar and dark. Though she was capable of handling herself, or at least destroying a few people in the process, she knew this situation would devolve into something deadly. So she tried to pinpoint exactly where the suspicious behaviour was coming from.
And that had been the last thing she recalled, before an object had struck her mercilessly from behind, cracking the side of her face and rendering her unconscious. When she had awoke she was tied to a chair, her hair clung to the blood that had leaked from the wound, and her mind a groggy mess. All she could seem to make out was some men talking about capturing the daughter and now they could call for ransom, and when could the rape and kill her. Well ****. Now was the only time she'd wished she'd taken her fathers words seriously. ''You need to be more careful out there, you'll get killed one day.'' Yes. Now was that time. Attempting to struggle and break free would alert them to her awareness and that could bring on a whole can of worms she was not able to handle on her own. So she'd bid her time, hoping, maybe even praying something would swing in her favour.
And instead of seeing what they had envisioned when conceiving the life almost 25 years ago, they had to witness the development of an anarchist, a female who painted her body with ink, that tainted her innards with smoke and alcohol, that enjoyed the raw nature of a fight, and often ended up in the A&E after getting too aggressive with a group of people.
Too many times they'd had to bail her out of situations, and given the lecture of how it would look upon the family, how she should try to attend a church meeting once in a while, to grasp that relationship with Jesus, the relationship that seemed to suck the life out of her parents, and they couldn't even see it.
They hadn't even experienced the raw sensation of throwing a fist into the face of another, feeling the crack of bone. They hadn't enjoyed the freedom that being inebriated wrought upon you, the lack of restraint on the truth you kept hidden, the lack of responsibility.
No. Her parents knew nothing of what it was truly like to enjoy life. They were too afraid of the image they had been born into, and what would tarnish it.
And these were the thoughts that raced through her mind, like a leaf on the wind trying to match the speed of a train. Lean legs moved effortlessly as she jogged, trying to rid herself of the newest conversation her father had tried to spur on her moments before she'd took her keys and fled for her daily routine of exercise. Marriage. And not just marriage, an arranged one. Over her dead ******* body. She'd rather be dead that be controlled in anyway. And marriage was control. No. This caused her legs to move faster, the sound of the feet clapping to the concrete the only sound for miles. That was, until she heard a masculine voice. And then many. It caused her to come to a halt, her heart racing erratically as it attempted to begin composure from her extreme activity.
Emerald irises scanned the area she was now stood within, unfamiliar and dark. Though she was capable of handling herself, or at least destroying a few people in the process, she knew this situation would devolve into something deadly. So she tried to pinpoint exactly where the suspicious behaviour was coming from.
And that had been the last thing she recalled, before an object had struck her mercilessly from behind, cracking the side of her face and rendering her unconscious. When she had awoke she was tied to a chair, her hair clung to the blood that had leaked from the wound, and her mind a groggy mess. All she could seem to make out was some men talking about capturing the daughter and now they could call for ransom, and when could the rape and kill her. Well ****. Now was the only time she'd wished she'd taken her fathers words seriously. ''You need to be more careful out there, you'll get killed one day.'' Yes. Now was that time. Attempting to struggle and break free would alert them to her awareness and that could bring on a whole can of worms she was not able to handle on her own. So she'd bid her time, hoping, maybe even praying something would swing in her favour.