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Memories
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
792
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
792
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Journal Entry 1
::Warnings:: Diary of a life. A real life? Who knows. Angst, abuse of many kinds. Not for the weak, or the easily squicked.
Memories
Journal Entry 1
My earliest memory, is of flat, thick carpeting, the design many shades of brown and yellow. A small hint of green in the center of a yellow diamond outlined in green again. The mass of the carpet was brown, an ugly brown, reminding me of dirt. The walls were white, stained a strange shade by the smoke of cigarettes and other things. The air smells like stale incense, a strange acrid stench trying to hide beneath it.
There is a door in my room. I am lying under the covers, its warm, and dark, but I know outside, the sun is shining a golden orange, the same colors as the trees. There is a knock on the door, and I peek out from under the covers, my breath hot against bare skin that is not my own. The door opens. He doesn't have to leave the bed to open it. I remember that. The shift of the bed, the smell of his sweat against my nose as his bare chest and legs press against my much smaller body.
I hear a small, high-pitched voice, muffled by the covers now thrown back over my head. The air is cold; I can feel it against the backs of my thighs through the thin sheets as the bed shifts.
"She can't come out and play today, sweetie, she is busy. Tomorrow after school." I can hear the smile in his voice, the smile that scares me sometimes, tells me that it's our time. No one will disturb us, and it is our secret.
The door closes and I feel the large hands tangling in my hair, pushing me back down. I close my eyes. I don't feel anything; I just know that Daddy loves me because of this. He tells me so. Mommy doesn't love me; she doesn't do what Daddy does.
Memories
Journal Entry 1
My earliest memory, is of flat, thick carpeting, the design many shades of brown and yellow. A small hint of green in the center of a yellow diamond outlined in green again. The mass of the carpet was brown, an ugly brown, reminding me of dirt. The walls were white, stained a strange shade by the smoke of cigarettes and other things. The air smells like stale incense, a strange acrid stench trying to hide beneath it.
There is a door in my room. I am lying under the covers, its warm, and dark, but I know outside, the sun is shining a golden orange, the same colors as the trees. There is a knock on the door, and I peek out from under the covers, my breath hot against bare skin that is not my own. The door opens. He doesn't have to leave the bed to open it. I remember that. The shift of the bed, the smell of his sweat against my nose as his bare chest and legs press against my much smaller body.
I hear a small, high-pitched voice, muffled by the covers now thrown back over my head. The air is cold; I can feel it against the backs of my thighs through the thin sheets as the bed shifts.
"She can't come out and play today, sweetie, she is busy. Tomorrow after school." I can hear the smile in his voice, the smile that scares me sometimes, tells me that it's our time. No one will disturb us, and it is our secret.
The door closes and I feel the large hands tangling in my hair, pushing me back down. I close my eyes. I don't feel anything; I just know that Daddy loves me because of this. He tells me so. Mommy doesn't love me; she doesn't do what Daddy does.