charloft Sunday Prompt
We're not a tree. We're a knot. All of us linked together, hand in hand and blood to blood. We have the same roots and leaves and branches. I don't know how I can draw it.
My Daddy
I used to dream about Daddy before he found me. There was a monster snapping at my heels. He ripped out little Anne's throat and danced in her blood, painting pretty pictures on the church walls with her insides. I didn't understand the songs he used to sing.
He snapped my rosary. I can't remember my prayers anymore. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. That was my favourite, but the words are all wrong. The Spirit got lost. It floated away. Daddy didn't catch it. Daddy didn't want to. He made me instead.
He's all gone now. The Angel Beast isn't the same. We wanted to bring him back, but my brother was born instead. I can't see him anymore and I don't have a photograph. I don't think he died. I think he was just forgotten. Poor little Connor.
My Dear Baby Grandmummy
Grandmother is gone too, now. She used to hold me underwater when I asked nicely and helped me shop for pretty dresses. Pretty hats. I felt Daddy push the stake into her heart, but I didn't break into pieces. I had to wait for her to return again. I helped pull the nasty human soul out of her, burying her into the ground until she was all new again. We burned together, like two little candles, and hid in the sewers until a better moon shone down on us.
She came to me to ask about my brother, but the pixies told me not to tell. I could hear the baby whispering to me, and he mixed up the words so I didn't know what was real. The pictures in my head were too loud and I had to run away. I think we would have been good friends. Grandmother loved him.
My Darling Deadly Boy
Sweet William. We danced right across Europe, with a red moon shining down on us and blood under our fingernails. He changed his name to Spike. He changed everything. We stayed with Grandmother and Daddy for a while, but he wanted to cut his own path. A bloody path. I was his Princess and he was my black knight.
He was mine first. Before he loved the Slayer and before the nasty tin soldiers stuck their switches in his brain. He was mine. He still is. He doesn't know it anymore, but he is.
I think he must have looked beautiful when he burned. He always looked beautiful. He had such pretty eyes. I could have eaten him all up. I did. I ate him up and made him mine. Grandmother used to say I was like her, but I didn't understand until it was too late. (People say such silly things sometimes. The pixies are so much easier to understand.) One that loved not wisely but too well.
I can wait. They all come back to me in the end. I won't be on my own forever.
My Daddy
I used to dream about Daddy before he found me. There was a monster snapping at my heels. He ripped out little Anne's throat and danced in her blood, painting pretty pictures on the church walls with her insides. I didn't understand the songs he used to sing.
He snapped my rosary. I can't remember my prayers anymore. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. That was my favourite, but the words are all wrong. The Spirit got lost. It floated away. Daddy didn't catch it. Daddy didn't want to. He made me instead.
He's all gone now. The Angel Beast isn't the same. We wanted to bring him back, but my brother was born instead. I can't see him anymore and I don't have a photograph. I don't think he died. I think he was just forgotten. Poor little Connor.
My Dear Baby Grandmummy
Grandmother is gone too, now. She used to hold me underwater when I asked nicely and helped me shop for pretty dresses. Pretty hats. I felt Daddy push the stake into her heart, but I didn't break into pieces. I had to wait for her to return again. I helped pull the nasty human soul out of her, burying her into the ground until she was all new again. We burned together, like two little candles, and hid in the sewers until a better moon shone down on us.
She came to me to ask about my brother, but the pixies told me not to tell. I could hear the baby whispering to me, and he mixed up the words so I didn't know what was real. The pictures in my head were too loud and I had to run away. I think we would have been good friends. Grandmother loved him.
My Darling Deadly Boy
Sweet William. We danced right across Europe, with a red moon shining down on us and blood under our fingernails. He changed his name to Spike. He changed everything. We stayed with Grandmother and Daddy for a while, but he wanted to cut his own path. A bloody path. I was his Princess and he was my black knight.
He was mine first. Before he loved the Slayer and before the nasty tin soldiers stuck their switches in his brain. He was mine. He still is. He doesn't know it anymore, but he is.
I think he must have looked beautiful when he burned. He always looked beautiful. He had such pretty eyes. I could have eaten him all up. I did. I ate him up and made him mine. Grandmother used to say I was like her, but I didn't understand until it was too late. (People say such silly things sometimes. The pixies are so much easier to understand.) One that loved not wisely but too well.
I can wait. They all come back to me in the end. I won't be on my own forever.