Fic: Purge (Bela)
Title: Purge
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The first thing she did after the dust had settled on her parents’ deaths was have the house torn down.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for chem15try, prompt #1: Redox.
The first thing she did after the dust had settled on her parents’ deaths was have the house torn down. She sat on that damned swing - where she had spent so many terrifying hours staring vacantly at the door, dreading the moment when her father would call her inside - and watched as the house pulled and torn apart until it was only a twisted pile of bricks and wood.
The workers had looked at her strangely as they left her staring at what had once considered, from the outside, a perfectly lovely home. What she saw before her was the remains of her private hell, broken, torn down, twisted beyond repair. Just like her.
She pulled the box from her pocket and struck one match. She tossed it onto the rubble and walked down the drive toward the very first purchase she had made with the sizeable fortune that her parents’ death had left to her - a sleek, black vintage Jaguar.
The spark and crackle of burning wood faded quickly behind her. She was as free now as she could possibly be. And she certainly didn’t intend to sit in the wreckage of her past, of the horrible things done to her and her horrible means of retribution, and feel sorry for herself.
As far as she was concerned, Abby had died in that fire. She could be whomever she wanted to be now. And in that, she found her greatest, most pure freedom. She would never be that girl again.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The first thing she did after the dust had settled on her parents’ deaths was have the house torn down.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. A girl can dream, but, alas, that's all it is.
Author's Note: Used for chem15try, prompt #1: Redox.
The first thing she did after the dust had settled on her parents’ deaths was have the house torn down. She sat on that damned swing - where she had spent so many terrifying hours staring vacantly at the door, dreading the moment when her father would call her inside - and watched as the house pulled and torn apart until it was only a twisted pile of bricks and wood.
The workers had looked at her strangely as they left her staring at what had once considered, from the outside, a perfectly lovely home. What she saw before her was the remains of her private hell, broken, torn down, twisted beyond repair. Just like her.
She pulled the box from her pocket and struck one match. She tossed it onto the rubble and walked down the drive toward the very first purchase she had made with the sizeable fortune that her parents’ death had left to her - a sleek, black vintage Jaguar.
The spark and crackle of burning wood faded quickly behind her. She was as free now as she could possibly be. And she certainly didn’t intend to sit in the wreckage of her past, of the horrible things done to her and her horrible means of retribution, and feel sorry for herself.
As far as she was concerned, Abby had died in that fire. She could be whomever she wanted to be now. And in that, she found her greatest, most pure freedom. She would never be that girl again.