Post by Kari Muffin on Nov 2, 2009 21:36:01 GMT -5
So Rosewood finally told me his past. At least, part of it. If you read this, be warned, there's gore and some nasty imagery.
<3
WC: 1364
He never knew what his parents did when they were out. He didn't particularly care. The swan sat comfortably in his room, reading the book that his grandmother had given him.
She hadn't seen her for a while. He couldn't help but wonder where she was. It wasn't like her to miss his birthday, in fact this had been the first time he could remember her missing such an event.
He flipped the page.
In the middle of reading he stopped. Something dripped down onto the pages. What? His brow crinkled as another drop hit the page. Carefully he tried to rub the substance off of the page, only to find the consistency odd, and the substance wasn't black like he originally thought.
Red? A brownish red.
Slipping off of his bed he set the book down on his nightstand to locate the source of the dripping. There between the boards was a small spot of dripping red. He reached up, standing on his toes to properly get to it.
His hand immediately snapped back.
He sniffed his hand. Blood. It smelled like blood, it felt like blood, so... how was blood dripping from his ceiling?
It wasn't like he could ignore the blood that was now dripping on his bed. He had to find out what was going on. Perhaps he should wait for his parents to come home? But who knew when that would happen. When they were gone they could be gone for days.
The attic, that was the only thing above his room. Maybe something had crawled up there to die? Walking out of his room he grabbed the nearest blunt object, just in case. He made his way down the hallway to the attic stairs.
They were always foreboding. He was told never to go inside the attic. Though it was a place supposedly just for storage, his parents said it was for his own safety. He swallowed hard as he pulled down the stairs.
A light, he needed a light. The swan scrambled into one of the other rooms, grabbing a candle on the nightstand in the nearest room, he returned to the foot of the stairs. The dim light flickered as he took each step carefully.
The smell was hard to miss. He choked as he pulled himself into the attic. The small light only illuminating the area around him. Whatever was up here, it was clearly dead.
Slowly, on his knees he pressed forward. The attic was large enough for him to stand and properly walk, but he didn't want to take any chances. What if whatever it was was hanging from the ceiling or something? The swan made a concerned noise as the smell grew stronger.
The forms suddenly appeared in the candle light. Rosewood froze, his eyes widening as he processed the information.The pale image of a woman, her bright red eyes glazed over, her expression one of complete and utter horror. Her throat was slit from ear to ear, other marks of mutilation were clearly on her body. Stabbed, cut, everything. Blood was pooling around her propped up body, the source of dripping was now as clear as day.
That was the reason why his grandmother had missed his birthday.
The sound that escaped the swan was a cross between a whimper and a scream. Of course there was no one there to hear him, or so he thought. To his alarm the other from that had only briefly caught the candle light moved.
He found himself backing away as the figure struggled to pull itself up right. It had clearly been cut several times and sewn back up, the color of it's fur was a dirty white, with purple and copper on it in odd places. An Outsider? What was an outsider doing in his attic? He was about to scream when the monster made a pitiful noise.
It wasn't until then did the swan notice that the Outsider's mouth had been clamped shut, and their legs were clearly disabled by the awkward angle one was at. As it reached out a clawed hand the swan made a honking sound as he dropped his candle. The light flickered but didn't go out, giving the swan enough light to see what the Outsider was doing.
With a painstaking amount of tenderness it was brushing the hair out of his dead grandmother's face. For a moment his heart fluttered. Hadn't his grandmother spoken of someone on the outside that she had fallen in love with when he was younger? Was this poor thing the man? He didn't have time to ask anymore questions when he heard the sound downstairs. It was a clear indication that his parents had finally come home.
And he was in a place he shouldn't be.
He panicked as he grabbed the candle, scrambling towards the stairs he pulled it up. Now what? He still heard the footsteps! They must have heard him running. He looked around wide eyed, the dim light of the candle illuminated one hiding space. Blowing it out he jumped behind a bookshelf. His heart was pounding in his chest as he curled up behind the shelter waiting for the stairs to open up.
After what seemed like an eternity he heard the creaking of the stairs. The dim light from below filled the spot above the stairs. He curled up tighter, praying that his parents wouldn't see him. What would happen if they did? Would they give him the same treatment as his grandmother?
His father was the first one visible through the cracks in the shelf. His form was followed by the sleek figure of his mother. The peacock and swan didn't seem to mind the horrible smell, and neither of them looked truly concerned about the situation. His father's steps were heavy as he moved across the the attic floor. "It must have been a rat, the damn Esterberry hasn't moved. I told you I properly broke it's leg."
"Let's just kill it!" the woman said as she pulled up the stairs. "If the neighbors find out the truth..."
"It's your fault for having a whore for a mother."
Rosewood could feel his feathers standing on end. His grandmother, a whore? She was the greatest woman he had ever met. Better than any other person from the Wood. How dare he...
"Yes, it's my fault she slept with the Esterberry trash. I'll keep that in mind." The woman said with an annoyed snarl.
Rosewood peered around the bookshelf. Neither of them were paying attention to their surroundings, so maybe he could slip down the stairs. They did fall down by themselves sometimes... and his mother was moving away.
"There was blood in Rosewood's bed room," his father said as he grabbed the Esterberry by the neck. It squirmed, the claws of the claws of the canine digging into the white bird's flesh. "You should clean that up while I take care of this mess."
"It's my mess to take care of," the woman stated flatly.
The man didn't argue as he removed his taloned hands from the canine's neck. The woman didn't hesitated to hand off the light to her husband. With a quick motion she had grabbed the Esterberry's head, one of her fingers looping in the stitches that were holding the creature's mouth shut.
It was a quick motion, and there was a lot of blood and screaming that followed. Rosewood found it impossible to watch after a few moments. He remained hidden even after the screaming had stopped. Even after his parents had left, he remained curled up behind the bookshelf.
They had killed Grandma slowly and painfully just like that Esterberry. That... that Esterberry was his grandfather. That was the man that his Grandmother had always spoke so lovingly about. The mysterious part of his past that he had never known.
In the dark he found himself crawling, crawling until he reached the body of his grandmother. Slowly he felt around, trying to find her face. His fingers brushed against something hard... leather? He pulled whatever it was towards him. A book. It must have been her diary. She always carried the thing around with her. He hugged it tightly to his chest.
He whispered, the words barely audible, "I'm going to get them for this. I promise I'm going to make them pay."
<3
WC: 1364
Lost Candle Light
He never knew what his parents did when they were out. He didn't particularly care. The swan sat comfortably in his room, reading the book that his grandmother had given him.
She hadn't seen her for a while. He couldn't help but wonder where she was. It wasn't like her to miss his birthday, in fact this had been the first time he could remember her missing such an event.
He flipped the page.
In the middle of reading he stopped. Something dripped down onto the pages. What? His brow crinkled as another drop hit the page. Carefully he tried to rub the substance off of the page, only to find the consistency odd, and the substance wasn't black like he originally thought.
Red? A brownish red.
Slipping off of his bed he set the book down on his nightstand to locate the source of the dripping. There between the boards was a small spot of dripping red. He reached up, standing on his toes to properly get to it.
His hand immediately snapped back.
He sniffed his hand. Blood. It smelled like blood, it felt like blood, so... how was blood dripping from his ceiling?
It wasn't like he could ignore the blood that was now dripping on his bed. He had to find out what was going on. Perhaps he should wait for his parents to come home? But who knew when that would happen. When they were gone they could be gone for days.
The attic, that was the only thing above his room. Maybe something had crawled up there to die? Walking out of his room he grabbed the nearest blunt object, just in case. He made his way down the hallway to the attic stairs.
They were always foreboding. He was told never to go inside the attic. Though it was a place supposedly just for storage, his parents said it was for his own safety. He swallowed hard as he pulled down the stairs.
A light, he needed a light. The swan scrambled into one of the other rooms, grabbing a candle on the nightstand in the nearest room, he returned to the foot of the stairs. The dim light flickered as he took each step carefully.
The smell was hard to miss. He choked as he pulled himself into the attic. The small light only illuminating the area around him. Whatever was up here, it was clearly dead.
Slowly, on his knees he pressed forward. The attic was large enough for him to stand and properly walk, but he didn't want to take any chances. What if whatever it was was hanging from the ceiling or something? The swan made a concerned noise as the smell grew stronger.
The forms suddenly appeared in the candle light. Rosewood froze, his eyes widening as he processed the information.The pale image of a woman, her bright red eyes glazed over, her expression one of complete and utter horror. Her throat was slit from ear to ear, other marks of mutilation were clearly on her body. Stabbed, cut, everything. Blood was pooling around her propped up body, the source of dripping was now as clear as day.
That was the reason why his grandmother had missed his birthday.
The sound that escaped the swan was a cross between a whimper and a scream. Of course there was no one there to hear him, or so he thought. To his alarm the other from that had only briefly caught the candle light moved.
He found himself backing away as the figure struggled to pull itself up right. It had clearly been cut several times and sewn back up, the color of it's fur was a dirty white, with purple and copper on it in odd places. An Outsider? What was an outsider doing in his attic? He was about to scream when the monster made a pitiful noise.
It wasn't until then did the swan notice that the Outsider's mouth had been clamped shut, and their legs were clearly disabled by the awkward angle one was at. As it reached out a clawed hand the swan made a honking sound as he dropped his candle. The light flickered but didn't go out, giving the swan enough light to see what the Outsider was doing.
With a painstaking amount of tenderness it was brushing the hair out of his dead grandmother's face. For a moment his heart fluttered. Hadn't his grandmother spoken of someone on the outside that she had fallen in love with when he was younger? Was this poor thing the man? He didn't have time to ask anymore questions when he heard the sound downstairs. It was a clear indication that his parents had finally come home.
And he was in a place he shouldn't be.
He panicked as he grabbed the candle, scrambling towards the stairs he pulled it up. Now what? He still heard the footsteps! They must have heard him running. He looked around wide eyed, the dim light of the candle illuminated one hiding space. Blowing it out he jumped behind a bookshelf. His heart was pounding in his chest as he curled up behind the shelter waiting for the stairs to open up.
After what seemed like an eternity he heard the creaking of the stairs. The dim light from below filled the spot above the stairs. He curled up tighter, praying that his parents wouldn't see him. What would happen if they did? Would they give him the same treatment as his grandmother?
His father was the first one visible through the cracks in the shelf. His form was followed by the sleek figure of his mother. The peacock and swan didn't seem to mind the horrible smell, and neither of them looked truly concerned about the situation. His father's steps were heavy as he moved across the the attic floor. "It must have been a rat, the damn Esterberry hasn't moved. I told you I properly broke it's leg."
"Let's just kill it!" the woman said as she pulled up the stairs. "If the neighbors find out the truth..."
"It's your fault for having a whore for a mother."
Rosewood could feel his feathers standing on end. His grandmother, a whore? She was the greatest woman he had ever met. Better than any other person from the Wood. How dare he...
"Yes, it's my fault she slept with the Esterberry trash. I'll keep that in mind." The woman said with an annoyed snarl.
Rosewood peered around the bookshelf. Neither of them were paying attention to their surroundings, so maybe he could slip down the stairs. They did fall down by themselves sometimes... and his mother was moving away.
"There was blood in Rosewood's bed room," his father said as he grabbed the Esterberry by the neck. It squirmed, the claws of the claws of the canine digging into the white bird's flesh. "You should clean that up while I take care of this mess."
"It's my mess to take care of," the woman stated flatly.
The man didn't argue as he removed his taloned hands from the canine's neck. The woman didn't hesitated to hand off the light to her husband. With a quick motion she had grabbed the Esterberry's head, one of her fingers looping in the stitches that were holding the creature's mouth shut.
It was a quick motion, and there was a lot of blood and screaming that followed. Rosewood found it impossible to watch after a few moments. He remained hidden even after the screaming had stopped. Even after his parents had left, he remained curled up behind the bookshelf.
They had killed Grandma slowly and painfully just like that Esterberry. That... that Esterberry was his grandfather. That was the man that his Grandmother had always spoke so lovingly about. The mysterious part of his past that he had never known.
In the dark he found himself crawling, crawling until he reached the body of his grandmother. Slowly he felt around, trying to find her face. His fingers brushed against something hard... leather? He pulled whatever it was towards him. A book. It must have been her diary. She always carried the thing around with her. He hugged it tightly to his chest.
He whispered, the words barely audible, "I'm going to get them for this. I promise I'm going to make them pay."
Wow. Very dark. No wonder poor Rosewood never talks about it. >_> Well-written though. Eerie.
