Post by Greenie on Dec 30, 2007 15:08:17 GMT -5
"Mother?" A small ferret darted out from under a table and wrapped herself around the legs of the feline sitting on a chair near her. "Mother? Ma. What's wrong, ma?"
The feline didn't respond, but was too wracked with tears to do much other than continue to sob.
".. Ma?" The ferret's voice grew quieter and more subdued, as if she knew she wouldn't be getting a response today.. but wanted to try anyways. Today was more unusual than any other day, though. The shudders on what few windows they had were shut and barricaded, the door was closed and tightly barred. Only one light was on in the small kitchen/dining/living area, and the dim bulb was alive enough to flicker dark shadows across the whole room.
The entire space was a mess. Discarded clothing were everywhere. Newspapers, books, and a few small photo albums were strewn across the floor and the table, many in pieces. A few remnants of food remained, but the ferret seemed to have done her best to clean up anything that would mold or rot quickly. The little girl, while not bothered by the mess itself, was more worried about what the mess meant.
Mom always cleaned up. Always. And when she didn't, it meant bad things were going to happen, because when the bad people came over they criticized Mom, and then Mom cried, and she had to go stay in her room for a long time. Sometimes it was only a few hours, but sometimes it was days. Once it had even been an entire week.
Thankfully Mom didn't know that she could sneak out. It wasn't that Mom meant to starve her--she loved her, and she knew that--but Mom was forgetful when she was upset, and often forgot that she had a ferret upstairs that needed to be fed. So she snuck out through the attic entrance in her room, which connected with the kitchen. After Mom fell asleep, in bed or somewhere else, she would sneak down and grab something.. and then go back to her room.
There was no where else to go.
This time, though, Mom had forgotten to lock her up. The bad people hadn't come.. not yet, at least. Mom seemed to care even less than usual. Often she went into a frenzy and tried to clean up.. but this time she just sat at the table, listlessly crying. Worried and confused, the ferret simply wrapped herself around her mother's legs and huddled against her, wanting to comfort her but not knowing how. After a while, she fell into a light doze.
Knocking awoke both of them--the ferret from her sleep, the feline from her crying--and it was becoming progressively louder. The feline went into a panic, grabbing the ferret and holding her close, while simultaneously checking to make sure the door was as secure as a flimsy piece of wood could get. She rushed into the ferret's room and threw them both inside--the ferret could only cling in fear. What was going on? The bad people never locked, they just.. came. Even when the door was locked.
Mom only gave her a quick hug and a kiss and made her promise to stay in her room, then she fled once more, locking the door behind her.
It was days later when they found her. She'd been too afraid to leave.
--
Her mother had fled. Vessatha knew that now. The whole town seemed to know that now. The whole town had likely known long before she had--years. At first she was too small to know and understand the details, but they had put off telling her what had happened for far too long, preferring to whisper behind her back and send her fearful looks from across the room.
It was annoying, and it was unnerving at times.
Even though she knew that most of the glances and gossip was over the fact that her mother had fled in the first place, but another part was why she fled. That Vessatha had had to figure out herself, because no one would dare speak to her of something so abhorrent.
The reason was her father. She'd never known him. She didn't know what he looked like, or even what his name was. Vessatha didn't even know if her mother knew, because her mother spoke of him only once, to tell her that he had left, and wasn't going to come back, so she'd best get used to it and not tell any of her friends.
Not that she'd had any friends. No child wanted to talk to her, in fear of getting inflicted with the "curse" she'd been given--by their own parents. Vessatha was not sick. Vessatha was not cursed. It wasn't her fault her father left, or that her mother had even gotten pregnant by him. They transferred blame regardlessly, though, and never had friends throughout her childhood. Even now, in her late teens, she had no real friends. People talked to her, if they had to. She was stuck working as a bar wench, because it was the only place that would hire her, and telling her what kind of beer they wanted required speech.
That was all she got, though. Conversation was reserved to other less.. blasphemous.. wenches than she. Wenches that had fathers that loved them, and still knew them, if they weren't living at home.
Wenches that still had mothers, for that matter.
Vessatha had yet to see her mother again after that day. She wasn't entirely sure why she chose that day to flee, either. Where the taunts and horrors inflicted upon them from the town so terribly hard to bear? Vessa was managing it, but her mother's easily could have been much worse.
Then again, maybe not. Her mother had never completely managed to instill the manners and perfectionism that all Kahmdeners--well, most Kahmdeners--were born with. At least a portion of Vessa's problems with the town were due to her sarcasm, bad posture, and partial manners.
That, at least, she found amusing. They were all so stuck up, and it was fun to poke at them.. until they got really mad. She'd gotten kicked out of her own bar before. The people here were sickening, with their constant need to never be in the spotlight (yet to always be the best), to never present anything less than a perfect image to their neighbors. But Vessatha couldn't leave.
Could she?
This was home, this was where she was born. And you didn't just leave Kahmden. The only thing worse than being ostracized in her own town was leaving her town..and being ostracized elsewhere.
But she didn't have to go elsewhere, and she didn't have to leave Kahmden. The forest was all around them, and much of it was simply that--forest. Few people, a lot of nature, and a lot of freedom. Vessatha knew bits and pieces about living in the forest.. but if she needed something, she could always steal. She would just be going back into hiding anyways, so who really cared?
Her mind made up, Vessatha slammed a glass onto the table hard enough to crack it, grinned toothily at the bar owner who was turning an interesting shade of red, and stalked out of the bar. He followed her, but she was faster--within minutes she was gone through the tree lines.
And she learned how to really live.
The feline didn't respond, but was too wracked with tears to do much other than continue to sob.
".. Ma?" The ferret's voice grew quieter and more subdued, as if she knew she wouldn't be getting a response today.. but wanted to try anyways. Today was more unusual than any other day, though. The shudders on what few windows they had were shut and barricaded, the door was closed and tightly barred. Only one light was on in the small kitchen/dining/living area, and the dim bulb was alive enough to flicker dark shadows across the whole room.
The entire space was a mess. Discarded clothing were everywhere. Newspapers, books, and a few small photo albums were strewn across the floor and the table, many in pieces. A few remnants of food remained, but the ferret seemed to have done her best to clean up anything that would mold or rot quickly. The little girl, while not bothered by the mess itself, was more worried about what the mess meant.
Mom always cleaned up. Always. And when she didn't, it meant bad things were going to happen, because when the bad people came over they criticized Mom, and then Mom cried, and she had to go stay in her room for a long time. Sometimes it was only a few hours, but sometimes it was days. Once it had even been an entire week.
Thankfully Mom didn't know that she could sneak out. It wasn't that Mom meant to starve her--she loved her, and she knew that--but Mom was forgetful when she was upset, and often forgot that she had a ferret upstairs that needed to be fed. So she snuck out through the attic entrance in her room, which connected with the kitchen. After Mom fell asleep, in bed or somewhere else, she would sneak down and grab something.. and then go back to her room.
There was no where else to go.
This time, though, Mom had forgotten to lock her up. The bad people hadn't come.. not yet, at least. Mom seemed to care even less than usual. Often she went into a frenzy and tried to clean up.. but this time she just sat at the table, listlessly crying. Worried and confused, the ferret simply wrapped herself around her mother's legs and huddled against her, wanting to comfort her but not knowing how. After a while, she fell into a light doze.
Knocking awoke both of them--the ferret from her sleep, the feline from her crying--and it was becoming progressively louder. The feline went into a panic, grabbing the ferret and holding her close, while simultaneously checking to make sure the door was as secure as a flimsy piece of wood could get. She rushed into the ferret's room and threw them both inside--the ferret could only cling in fear. What was going on? The bad people never locked, they just.. came. Even when the door was locked.
Mom only gave her a quick hug and a kiss and made her promise to stay in her room, then she fled once more, locking the door behind her.
It was days later when they found her. She'd been too afraid to leave.
--
Her mother had fled. Vessatha knew that now. The whole town seemed to know that now. The whole town had likely known long before she had--years. At first she was too small to know and understand the details, but they had put off telling her what had happened for far too long, preferring to whisper behind her back and send her fearful looks from across the room.
It was annoying, and it was unnerving at times.
Even though she knew that most of the glances and gossip was over the fact that her mother had fled in the first place, but another part was why she fled. That Vessatha had had to figure out herself, because no one would dare speak to her of something so abhorrent.
The reason was her father. She'd never known him. She didn't know what he looked like, or even what his name was. Vessatha didn't even know if her mother knew, because her mother spoke of him only once, to tell her that he had left, and wasn't going to come back, so she'd best get used to it and not tell any of her friends.
Not that she'd had any friends. No child wanted to talk to her, in fear of getting inflicted with the "curse" she'd been given--by their own parents. Vessatha was not sick. Vessatha was not cursed. It wasn't her fault her father left, or that her mother had even gotten pregnant by him. They transferred blame regardlessly, though, and never had friends throughout her childhood. Even now, in her late teens, she had no real friends. People talked to her, if they had to. She was stuck working as a bar wench, because it was the only place that would hire her, and telling her what kind of beer they wanted required speech.
That was all she got, though. Conversation was reserved to other less.. blasphemous.. wenches than she. Wenches that had fathers that loved them, and still knew them, if they weren't living at home.
Wenches that still had mothers, for that matter.
Vessatha had yet to see her mother again after that day. She wasn't entirely sure why she chose that day to flee, either. Where the taunts and horrors inflicted upon them from the town so terribly hard to bear? Vessa was managing it, but her mother's easily could have been much worse.
Then again, maybe not. Her mother had never completely managed to instill the manners and perfectionism that all Kahmdeners--well, most Kahmdeners--were born with. At least a portion of Vessa's problems with the town were due to her sarcasm, bad posture, and partial manners.
That, at least, she found amusing. They were all so stuck up, and it was fun to poke at them.. until they got really mad. She'd gotten kicked out of her own bar before. The people here were sickening, with their constant need to never be in the spotlight (yet to always be the best), to never present anything less than a perfect image to their neighbors. But Vessatha couldn't leave.
Could she?
This was home, this was where she was born. And you didn't just leave Kahmden. The only thing worse than being ostracized in her own town was leaving her town..and being ostracized elsewhere.
But she didn't have to go elsewhere, and she didn't have to leave Kahmden. The forest was all around them, and much of it was simply that--forest. Few people, a lot of nature, and a lot of freedom. Vessatha knew bits and pieces about living in the forest.. but if she needed something, she could always steal. She would just be going back into hiding anyways, so who really cared?
Her mind made up, Vessatha slammed a glass onto the table hard enough to crack it, grinned toothily at the bar owner who was turning an interesting shade of red, and stalked out of the bar. He followed her, but she was faster--within minutes she was gone through the tree lines.
And she learned how to really live.
