(no subject)
ooc -
All right, so yay, one computer is up and running, boo Telnet refuses to run on it. And it's not my computer so I can't DL a mu* client. Hopefully it'll only be another day or so before I can get on for maybe a night or two before I disapear for another week. But hey, a day or two is better than nothing! But until then, I was bored and this is the result.
A bedroom ripped to shreds, a living room to match. Not enough alcohol in the entire apartment to soothe away the betrayal of her own mind.
What did I do?
Strips of leather, plush and dark lay strewn about the floor amidst the fluffy white foam it once contained. Cracked wood, clawed at by unsharpened nails. Angry, defiant scratches that only further proved her humanity. They stared at her from amongst the pile of debris. She could feel them. Of course it could just be the splinters. Her skin had healed back over them so they poked at her flesh attempting to free themselves, only to heal once more, not allowing for escape.
Just like everything else in her life. The wounds would heal with the splinters still stuck inside. And not a damn thing she did could pull them free. Was she even really trying?
What do I do?
How does one make the pain stop, when it’s all that they have left? How do you go back to a life of feeling nothing? Using, abusing. The slaughter of innocence for the sheer delight of their screams. To lose herself to that, to feel a heart beating in her hands before she used it to continue the beating in her own. To know that these beasts, this cattle was put here for her enjoyment, for her survival. To know who she was, and what she was doing here. To know.
Not only my life. But theirs. I can’t do this to them.
Maybe she never knew. So wrapped up in the glory, the power of being at his side. At anyone’s side. No.. no it was his side. To feel wanted. To be needed. The only thing she’d ever wanted.
Acceptance.
Her own mother hadn’t ever wanted her. How is it she could expect anyone else to?
A scream. Like a caged animal that’s given up any hope of release, just making sure it’s lungs still work. Incase it’ll ever need them again. Doubtful. They don’t need her. Does she even need herself? How could things have gotten so messed up?
Fucking Telepaths.
Snarled. Unconvincing. A person can only go so long blaming everyone and everything else for their failings. Jean Grey should have died. Charles Xavier should have died. She’d had them both on a table. She had plenty of opportunity. So why?
Weak.
But is arrogance weakness?
Arrogance to a fault. The thought that these powerful creatures could do nothing, knowing she could have them, kill them if she’d wanted. How stupid. How naïve. Does that make him naïve?
No. Arrogance doesn’t beget naivety. Stupidity does.
Stupid bitch.
Cracked nails tighten in the bloody, dusty carpet.
Chipped a nail.
Because appearance is so important.
Fuck you. I hate you.
Hating herselff. Well why not. Everyone else hates her. God. The hate in those eyes before they closed. And even still the urge to go to him. To make sure he was ok. To assure herself he was fine and then plunge the blade into his chest. With each plunge an apology. For failing. A cleansing in blood.
The first to abandon her. So easy to blame him isn’t it? After all, if he’d never entered her life she’d be doing just fine. She’d know nothing of Xavier and his school, and his precious X-Men. His precious Sea..
No.
Thinking the name. It’s all it took to send a tremble along that curved spine. Eyes thought to be long since dried once more springing forth the proof of pain. A couple of days. He’ll abandon her like the rest of them. No room for love in a life like hers. She should have just stuck to what she was good at; Destroying.
It’s all I can do.
It’s all she can do. Get up.
Trembling legs and arms, strained, taut as they flex. How long has it been since she’d attempting to stand. No matter. An ache to remind her. Underneath it all, she’s just cattle. Just a human with a varied gene.
No.
Snarled. Convincing. Long strands of hair dip in front green eyes. Furious green flashing as cracked nails twist inward, pressing against the firm, soft flesh of her palm. She doesn’t need anyone. Fuck them all. She survived. Every day of her life she’s survived.
"Fuck them all."
Bare feet press into carpet, wobbly and uncertain on legs that have lain still for hours on end. Towards the shower, hot water. Bloody, ripped clothes fall to her feet. She’ll show them all. She’s survived. She’ll survive.
She’ll show them all.
The blood streams pink around pale flesh as the heat of the shower beats against her skin. She’ll show them all. Once she’s clean.
Appearance is everything.
All right, so yay, one computer is up and running, boo Telnet refuses to run on it. And it's not my computer so I can't DL a mu* client. Hopefully it'll only be another day or so before I can get on for maybe a night or two before I disapear for another week. But hey, a day or two is better than nothing! But until then, I was bored and this is the result.
A bedroom ripped to shreds, a living room to match. Not enough alcohol in the entire apartment to soothe away the betrayal of her own mind.
What did I do?
Strips of leather, plush and dark lay strewn about the floor amidst the fluffy white foam it once contained. Cracked wood, clawed at by unsharpened nails. Angry, defiant scratches that only further proved her humanity. They stared at her from amongst the pile of debris. She could feel them. Of course it could just be the splinters. Her skin had healed back over them so they poked at her flesh attempting to free themselves, only to heal once more, not allowing for escape.
Just like everything else in her life. The wounds would heal with the splinters still stuck inside. And not a damn thing she did could pull them free. Was she even really trying?
What do I do?
How does one make the pain stop, when it’s all that they have left? How do you go back to a life of feeling nothing? Using, abusing. The slaughter of innocence for the sheer delight of their screams. To lose herself to that, to feel a heart beating in her hands before she used it to continue the beating in her own. To know that these beasts, this cattle was put here for her enjoyment, for her survival. To know who she was, and what she was doing here. To know.
Not only my life. But theirs. I can’t do this to them.
Maybe she never knew. So wrapped up in the glory, the power of being at his side. At anyone’s side. No.. no it was his side. To feel wanted. To be needed. The only thing she’d ever wanted.
Acceptance.
Her own mother hadn’t ever wanted her. How is it she could expect anyone else to?
A scream. Like a caged animal that’s given up any hope of release, just making sure it’s lungs still work. Incase it’ll ever need them again. Doubtful. They don’t need her. Does she even need herself? How could things have gotten so messed up?
Fucking Telepaths.
Snarled. Unconvincing. A person can only go so long blaming everyone and everything else for their failings. Jean Grey should have died. Charles Xavier should have died. She’d had them both on a table. She had plenty of opportunity. So why?
Weak.
But is arrogance weakness?
Arrogance to a fault. The thought that these powerful creatures could do nothing, knowing she could have them, kill them if she’d wanted. How stupid. How naïve. Does that make him naïve?
No. Arrogance doesn’t beget naivety. Stupidity does.
Stupid bitch.
Cracked nails tighten in the bloody, dusty carpet.
Chipped a nail.
Because appearance is so important.
Fuck you. I hate you.
Hating herselff. Well why not. Everyone else hates her. God. The hate in those eyes before they closed. And even still the urge to go to him. To make sure he was ok. To assure herself he was fine and then plunge the blade into his chest. With each plunge an apology. For failing. A cleansing in blood.
The first to abandon her. So easy to blame him isn’t it? After all, if he’d never entered her life she’d be doing just fine. She’d know nothing of Xavier and his school, and his precious X-Men. His precious Sea..
No.
Thinking the name. It’s all it took to send a tremble along that curved spine. Eyes thought to be long since dried once more springing forth the proof of pain. A couple of days. He’ll abandon her like the rest of them. No room for love in a life like hers. She should have just stuck to what she was good at; Destroying.
It’s all I can do.
It’s all she can do. Get up.
Trembling legs and arms, strained, taut as they flex. How long has it been since she’d attempting to stand. No matter. An ache to remind her. Underneath it all, she’s just cattle. Just a human with a varied gene.
No.
Snarled. Convincing. Long strands of hair dip in front green eyes. Furious green flashing as cracked nails twist inward, pressing against the firm, soft flesh of her palm. She doesn’t need anyone. Fuck them all. She survived. Every day of her life she’s survived.
"Fuck them all."
Bare feet press into carpet, wobbly and uncertain on legs that have lain still for hours on end. Towards the shower, hot water. Bloody, ripped clothes fall to her feet. She’ll show them all. She’s survived. She’ll survive.
She’ll show them all.
The blood streams pink around pale flesh as the heat of the shower beats against her skin. She’ll show them all. Once she’s clean.
Appearance is everything.