Post by Admin on Sept 21, 2009 20:23:14 GMT -8
Sat Nov 22, 2008 11:44 pm
AreaneCreator wrote:
“You’ll be safe here. Wait for me.”
Jess stepped out of the room. Her boots clicked softly, echoing through the small, enclosed section of the library. The books seemed to absorb the sound, stealing it from the air almost before Jess shut the door and turned the lock.
Darlin’ sat in an old, wooden chair. Strawberry sat partly on the table before Darlin’, both women facing the door. Strawberry crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes intense as she stared into the shadows. She always seemed to be looking for something, but she never seemed to find it. Darlin’ looked away from Strawberry, her eyes down on the table, the books, the floor, her hands, everywhere but at the woman that sat before her.
Suddenly, Darlin’ broke the silence, her questions welling painfully within her.
“How do you feel?” The question was innocent enough, and Darlin’ silently cursed herself for not being bolder, but she knew Strawberry would understand.
“What you meant to ask was if I regret killing Torrence.”
Darlin’ sighed slightly. Strawberry always knew.
“I want to know if you’re alright,” Darlin’ whispered, but she knew how transparent she was to Strawberry. She was naked before her.
“I don’t feel terrible or guilty, if that’s what you mean.”
Darlin’ fell silent for an instant. “I know you’ve killed before, Strawberry. I’ve been there with you. But this girl wasn’t a slave trader. She wasn’t a corrupt business woman. She was a teenager.”
“A teenager who was tormenting her younger sister.”
“My big sister wasn’t so nice to me when we were kids either,” Darlin’ almost whispered.
“I don’t regret what I did.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You expect me to. You want me to.”
“No, I don’t.”
Strawberry opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it again. She knew what Darlin’ was doing. She was testing her. Silently. Subconsciously. Strawberry prayed in her heart and walked toward the bookshelves. She picked up a comic book. She began to flip through it.
“I’m not so easy to archetype, am I?” she questioned. “Am I the shining hero? Perhaps the hero in the night. Maybe even the antihero?”
“Strawberry,” Darlin’ began hesitantly, wishing she hadn’t brought anything up.
“Or perhaps you are asking if I’m the villain?”
Strawberry paused. Darlin’ tensed. “Of course not.”
“Because you wouldn’t be the first to think as much.”
“Strawberry…”
Strawberry turned around and slammed her hand down on the table. “I am not sorry for what I did. Anyone else would look at that situation and say I took an innocent life. A terrible life, yes, but still a young one. Even in our corrupt court systems she would have been given another chance. She never attacked me. But I dispensed my own justice. I killed her. I threw her off a building and watched her die.”
“You’re not a villain. You are a hero.”
“What do you think? That this is going to play out like some comic book? You think we’re caped crusaders? That we are destined to defend the world until the people reject us and we go from hero to hated? Or are you starting to fear that we are the crazy vigilantes and that we’re destined to destroy everything?”
Darlin’ was silent. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t wondered if they were really doing the right thing. And Strawberry knew it.
Strawberry turned back to the books on the shelf. “Look at these books. All of them full of heroes. From all over the world. From every time period. The same heroes, the same stories. Over and over again. The same nemesis, the same thoughts and ideals.” Strawberry paused. She stared at the books, her hands reaching out and fingering the spines. She swept them off the shelf, the volumes crackling and shuffling as they hit the ground in a jumbled pile. “But we are not archetypes. We aren’t planned out in our own minds with a formulaic way to act and think. I didn’t plan on killing her, I didn’t plan on living like this. I didn’t *plan* anything!”
She spun around, throwing her comic down in front of Darlin’. The pages fell open to a shot of the villain hiding in the shadows. “I have spent most of my life thinking I’m crazy. I hear voices. I don’t think. Don’t plan. I act. And I know I’m right. Even now I know it like a memory. Like a movie playing in my mind. I see her crushed body, crumpled on the ground. I see a knife in her pocket, a woman leaning over her and stealing back the knife and the money she was paid to kill her sister that night.”
Darlin’ gasped. “Did the Ladybird tell you this? Tell you to kill her?”
“No. Not everything I do is whispered to me. ‘take ye no thought how or what thing ye shall answer, or what ye shall say: For the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same hour what ye ought to say.’ ”
“When did you memorize scripture?” Darlin’ asked.
“I didn’t. I just knew what to say. To do.”
Strawberry took off her brown leather jacket and sweater, revealing a thin, white tank top. Darlin’ couldn’t help but look her over, taking in the sight of Strawberry’s creamy skin that she always kept so very concealed. Her eyes strayed to the scars on Strawberry’s wrist that she had glimpsed during the rare times that Strawberry wore short sleeves. Strawberry held out her wrist, pointing out the scars.
“I got these as a child. A man tried to kidnap me from the orphanage. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. But suddenly I knew I had to run. So I did. His nails cut through my skin, he was holding me so tightly, but I got away.” She then bent over and pulled the top of her tank down, revealing a long, thin, pearly scar that cut across the top of her breast. “The dad of the first family I went to live with. Used to hit me. I ran away from him and hit a neighbor’s high-voltage electric fence.”
She turned around and pulled her tank up to her neck. A long, rough scar ran from the base of her shoulder blade to the top of her left hip. Darlin’ gasped in shock and instinctively reached out in horror, running her fingers lightly over the smooth scar. Strawberry tensed beneath Darlin’s fingers, her muscles contracting, but she didn’t move.
“From my dear sister in my third family. She was a lot like Torrance. She got drunk and threw a kitchen knife at me. I ducked, but not fast enough.”
Strawberry lowered her tank and, for a brief moment, Darlin’s hand rested beneath the fabric, the scar beneath her, and she suddenly felt she symbolically knew Strawberry better than she ever had before.
“So you question if you killed Torrance from inspiration or revenge. I know you. You didn’t want to kill her.”
“Did Joan of Arc want to lead an army? Did Paul from the New Testament want to be imprisoned before he could preach before the Romans? Or Nephi, in the Mormon scripture, did he want to kill Laban? Probably not. But they, like me, knew when God was using them. And you can’t deny your calling. Even if it’s hard. Even if you stand alone in what you’re asked to do. No, I didn’t want to kill her. I didn’t want to watch my family die. I didn’t want these scars, and I didn’t want to become an avenging angel. But I did.’
“But if you don’t want it, why take it? If it truly hurts, why do it? I don’t understand.”
Strawberry turned back around to face Darlin’. “You understand more than you think.”
She sat beside Darlin’, the dim lighting of the library reflected across her hair, her cheeks, and bare shoulders and played between her creamy collar bones. Darlin’ found she suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“Tell me you love me.”
Darlin’ let out a feeble breath as the words escaped Strawberry’s lips. Darlin’ opened her mouth to speak, but no words would escape her lips. She knew what she wanted to say. What she wanted to do. But after a moment she closed her mouth and looked away. “You can’t, can you? Because you know what I do. That we’ve been called. That we can’t be distracted. You know what, after all my years, I didn’t want the most?”
“What, Strawberry?” Darlin’s words were soft. Gasping.
Strawberry moved quietly toward Darlin’. She held Darlin’s head lightly, her fingers in the other woman’s hair. She leaned in to Darlin’s ear. She breathed in deeply, letting Darlin’s soft, rose scent wash over her. She opened her mouth to speak, but a sob escaped instead. She took another deep breath and held Darlin’ tighter.
“I didn’t want to fall in love.”
Darlin’ reached up and ran her hand through Strawberry’s hair.
“Strawberry,” she gasped. Strawberry shook her head and moved her hand from Darlin’s hair and covered Darlin’s mouth.
“No. Don’t speak. Darlin’, we aren’t crazy. We are chosen by God to do something completely unique. And as long as we can speak like this, we are doing right. Because the first rule about a true hero is that the hero doesn’t want to be one.”
Darlin’ chuckled softly, tears glittering in her eyes.
“Oh, Strawberry. Now we are heroes? You’re contradicting yourself.”
Strawberry smiled softly and nodded.
“So I am.”
AreaneCreator wrote:
“You’ll be safe here. Wait for me.”
Jess stepped out of the room. Her boots clicked softly, echoing through the small, enclosed section of the library. The books seemed to absorb the sound, stealing it from the air almost before Jess shut the door and turned the lock.
Darlin’ sat in an old, wooden chair. Strawberry sat partly on the table before Darlin’, both women facing the door. Strawberry crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes intense as she stared into the shadows. She always seemed to be looking for something, but she never seemed to find it. Darlin’ looked away from Strawberry, her eyes down on the table, the books, the floor, her hands, everywhere but at the woman that sat before her.
Suddenly, Darlin’ broke the silence, her questions welling painfully within her.
“How do you feel?” The question was innocent enough, and Darlin’ silently cursed herself for not being bolder, but she knew Strawberry would understand.
“What you meant to ask was if I regret killing Torrence.”
Darlin’ sighed slightly. Strawberry always knew.
“I want to know if you’re alright,” Darlin’ whispered, but she knew how transparent she was to Strawberry. She was naked before her.
“I don’t feel terrible or guilty, if that’s what you mean.”
Darlin’ fell silent for an instant. “I know you’ve killed before, Strawberry. I’ve been there with you. But this girl wasn’t a slave trader. She wasn’t a corrupt business woman. She was a teenager.”
“A teenager who was tormenting her younger sister.”
“My big sister wasn’t so nice to me when we were kids either,” Darlin’ almost whispered.
“I don’t regret what I did.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You expect me to. You want me to.”
“No, I don’t.”
Strawberry opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it again. She knew what Darlin’ was doing. She was testing her. Silently. Subconsciously. Strawberry prayed in her heart and walked toward the bookshelves. She picked up a comic book. She began to flip through it.
“I’m not so easy to archetype, am I?” she questioned. “Am I the shining hero? Perhaps the hero in the night. Maybe even the antihero?”
“Strawberry,” Darlin’ began hesitantly, wishing she hadn’t brought anything up.
“Or perhaps you are asking if I’m the villain?”
Strawberry paused. Darlin’ tensed. “Of course not.”
“Because you wouldn’t be the first to think as much.”
“Strawberry…”
Strawberry turned around and slammed her hand down on the table. “I am not sorry for what I did. Anyone else would look at that situation and say I took an innocent life. A terrible life, yes, but still a young one. Even in our corrupt court systems she would have been given another chance. She never attacked me. But I dispensed my own justice. I killed her. I threw her off a building and watched her die.”
“You’re not a villain. You are a hero.”
“What do you think? That this is going to play out like some comic book? You think we’re caped crusaders? That we are destined to defend the world until the people reject us and we go from hero to hated? Or are you starting to fear that we are the crazy vigilantes and that we’re destined to destroy everything?”
Darlin’ was silent. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t wondered if they were really doing the right thing. And Strawberry knew it.
Strawberry turned back to the books on the shelf. “Look at these books. All of them full of heroes. From all over the world. From every time period. The same heroes, the same stories. Over and over again. The same nemesis, the same thoughts and ideals.” Strawberry paused. She stared at the books, her hands reaching out and fingering the spines. She swept them off the shelf, the volumes crackling and shuffling as they hit the ground in a jumbled pile. “But we are not archetypes. We aren’t planned out in our own minds with a formulaic way to act and think. I didn’t plan on killing her, I didn’t plan on living like this. I didn’t *plan* anything!”
She spun around, throwing her comic down in front of Darlin’. The pages fell open to a shot of the villain hiding in the shadows. “I have spent most of my life thinking I’m crazy. I hear voices. I don’t think. Don’t plan. I act. And I know I’m right. Even now I know it like a memory. Like a movie playing in my mind. I see her crushed body, crumpled on the ground. I see a knife in her pocket, a woman leaning over her and stealing back the knife and the money she was paid to kill her sister that night.”
Darlin’ gasped. “Did the Ladybird tell you this? Tell you to kill her?”
“No. Not everything I do is whispered to me. ‘take ye no thought how or what thing ye shall answer, or what ye shall say: For the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same hour what ye ought to say.’ ”
“When did you memorize scripture?” Darlin’ asked.
“I didn’t. I just knew what to say. To do.”
Strawberry took off her brown leather jacket and sweater, revealing a thin, white tank top. Darlin’ couldn’t help but look her over, taking in the sight of Strawberry’s creamy skin that she always kept so very concealed. Her eyes strayed to the scars on Strawberry’s wrist that she had glimpsed during the rare times that Strawberry wore short sleeves. Strawberry held out her wrist, pointing out the scars.
“I got these as a child. A man tried to kidnap me from the orphanage. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. But suddenly I knew I had to run. So I did. His nails cut through my skin, he was holding me so tightly, but I got away.” She then bent over and pulled the top of her tank down, revealing a long, thin, pearly scar that cut across the top of her breast. “The dad of the first family I went to live with. Used to hit me. I ran away from him and hit a neighbor’s high-voltage electric fence.”
She turned around and pulled her tank up to her neck. A long, rough scar ran from the base of her shoulder blade to the top of her left hip. Darlin’ gasped in shock and instinctively reached out in horror, running her fingers lightly over the smooth scar. Strawberry tensed beneath Darlin’s fingers, her muscles contracting, but she didn’t move.
“From my dear sister in my third family. She was a lot like Torrance. She got drunk and threw a kitchen knife at me. I ducked, but not fast enough.”
Strawberry lowered her tank and, for a brief moment, Darlin’s hand rested beneath the fabric, the scar beneath her, and she suddenly felt she symbolically knew Strawberry better than she ever had before.
“So you question if you killed Torrance from inspiration or revenge. I know you. You didn’t want to kill her.”
“Did Joan of Arc want to lead an army? Did Paul from the New Testament want to be imprisoned before he could preach before the Romans? Or Nephi, in the Mormon scripture, did he want to kill Laban? Probably not. But they, like me, knew when God was using them. And you can’t deny your calling. Even if it’s hard. Even if you stand alone in what you’re asked to do. No, I didn’t want to kill her. I didn’t want to watch my family die. I didn’t want these scars, and I didn’t want to become an avenging angel. But I did.’
“But if you don’t want it, why take it? If it truly hurts, why do it? I don’t understand.”
Strawberry turned back around to face Darlin’. “You understand more than you think.”
She sat beside Darlin’, the dim lighting of the library reflected across her hair, her cheeks, and bare shoulders and played between her creamy collar bones. Darlin’ found she suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“Tell me you love me.”
Darlin’ let out a feeble breath as the words escaped Strawberry’s lips. Darlin’ opened her mouth to speak, but no words would escape her lips. She knew what she wanted to say. What she wanted to do. But after a moment she closed her mouth and looked away. “You can’t, can you? Because you know what I do. That we’ve been called. That we can’t be distracted. You know what, after all my years, I didn’t want the most?”
“What, Strawberry?” Darlin’s words were soft. Gasping.
Strawberry moved quietly toward Darlin’. She held Darlin’s head lightly, her fingers in the other woman’s hair. She leaned in to Darlin’s ear. She breathed in deeply, letting Darlin’s soft, rose scent wash over her. She opened her mouth to speak, but a sob escaped instead. She took another deep breath and held Darlin’ tighter.
“I didn’t want to fall in love.”
Darlin’ reached up and ran her hand through Strawberry’s hair.
“Strawberry,” she gasped. Strawberry shook her head and moved her hand from Darlin’s hair and covered Darlin’s mouth.
“No. Don’t speak. Darlin’, we aren’t crazy. We are chosen by God to do something completely unique. And as long as we can speak like this, we are doing right. Because the first rule about a true hero is that the hero doesn’t want to be one.”
Darlin’ chuckled softly, tears glittering in her eyes.
“Oh, Strawberry. Now we are heroes? You’re contradicting yourself.”
Strawberry smiled softly and nodded.
“So I am.”