Post by ANSEL DEUCALION RHINE on Sept 25, 2013 18:54:36 GMT
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style, background-color: #423c42;,true][cs=2] WHEN YOU TRY YOUR BEST AND YOU DON'T SUCCEED WHEN YOU GET WHAT YOU WANT BUT NOT WHAT YOU NEED WHEN YOU FEEL SO TIRED BUT YOU CAN'T SLEEP STUCK IN REVERSE - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - FIX YOU | |
| [atrb=width,240] The day had started out like any other; hateful comments, jeers, sneers, rough jabs, and barbed words aimed in his direction. Everywhere he turned, everywhere he looked, angered scowls were directed at him. He was dirt, the filthiest of the filth. It didn't matter that he had nice clothes or nice hair. It didn't matter that he was good looking or smart. All that mattered to them was that he was different; alike them in so many ways, and scorned for a single difference. He wanted to run, to hide away from the cruelness of his classmates and peers. He would never understand how they could scorn someone who was obviously in so much pain, though he wasn't she he ever wanted to. He wanted them to see though, to understand -- they never would though. They didn't care about him or the pain he felt, the torture he endured. For a moment, however brief, he wished they did. He wished they knew, that they understood. He wished they were forced to endure it just as he had to. The weight of his desire and his thoughts settled low in his stomach and guilt instantly consumed him. No one, however cruel, deserved that sort of pain. So, whey then, should he have to? No answer would ever come, but he still found himself asking it. As the final bell rang, Ansel was out of his seat and out of the door before anyone else. He pushed through the filling halls, shouldering past people and weaving around the swarms of students loitering the already cramped space. He wished he had the guts to tell them to move, to stop standing in the middle of the halls, but as always he kept his head bowed and his lips sealed. He stared at his locker, eyes said as they skimmed over the words scrawled across the metal. The snickering of the antagonizers reached his ears. A searing heat spread from his toes to his nose, his body felt as if it were on fire and being stretched apart. Stuffing his backpack into his locker, Ansel bolted as soon as he was sure his locker was shut firm and tight. The laughing grew louder as he shoved past students. He shoved past his best friend, ignoring the worried look that crossed the other teen's face, and pushed himself out the door, stumbling and tripping down the cobblestone steps. The heat grew stronger, more persistent. The young shifter had let his anger and pain get the best of him, and now he was paying the price. He pushed himself harder, bursting through the door of his father's manor only to come barreling into the man's chest. "You stupid fuck!" the man bellowed in outrage, a large, black stain now covering a once perfectly white and pressed shit. An empty Styrofoam coffee cup lay crushed on the floor, a growing puddle circling around the item. Ansel cringed and tried to back away but the door was suddenly there, slammed shut by his father. His back slammed into the wood, eyes growing wide as he stared at the red faced man, his own face growing paler and paler as the man stalked towards him. "I....I'm sorry! I.... I didn't mean to, Sir! I'm sorry!" His words fell upon deaf ears and a bulky fist rose into the air. Ansel yelped and dove forward, diving under his father's arm and scrambled up the stairs, tripping and stumbling. He made it half way up before his leg was grabbed and he fell face first onto the oak steps, his cheek slicing open in the process. He felt a harsh tug at his leg and he slipped down another stair, his head slamming into the lower step. Another tug and he tumbled down five more, his head banging against each step as he went. With a final tug, Ansel flew from the remaining six steps and landed in a crumpled head on the floor. A steal-toed boot connected with his stomach, forcing Ansel forward, curling around the boot and choking back a series of bloody coughs. Curled in on himself, Ansel began to count. 1; Another blow landed against his stomach. The rush of the knuckles ramming into his stomach as his father clambered on top of him, pushing in just the right spot, nearly caused him to regurgitate what little he'd eaten that day. It took everything in him to not throw up. 2; A fist tangled itself in his hair, nails biting into his scalp. His head was lifted and slammed back down. His vision went hazy for the briefest of moments before clearing, only for it to get hazy once more as his head was once again lifted then dropped. 3; A thick knee slammed into his groin, an agonizing scream ripped its way from his lips. The cruel laugh that followed only fueled his hate for the man he was forced to call his father. The knee dug itself in the crook of his legs, pressing harsher and harsher against the organ. Ansel's cry and pleas were muffled by a course hand. 4; A fist landed against his cheek, throwing his head to the side, only for it to wind up slamming against the bottom step. His father's breath, reeking of black coffee, was warm against his cheek. 5; With his head twisted at a seemingly impossible angle, Ansel could see his younger half-sister watching. Her hate filled eyes were nearly as bad as her mother and father's, cold and calculating as the clothes were stripped from his body. Ansel suddenly hated her, just as he hated his father and step-mother. He didn't know how long it lasted, he didn't know how long the abuse continued. He was pretty sure he blacked out for a majority of it, but he could have merely blocked the memories. It wouldn't have been the first time he did that. "You killed him," he could faintly hear his step-mother's voice, but he remained silent and unmoving. He heard the zip of his father's pants as clear as day, however. The two spoke in hushed whispers then before he was suddenly being dressed and rolled into a blanket. He felt his limbs being moved and suddenly found himself laying in the trunk of his father's Mercedes. He was tossed and rolled around in the trunk as his father drove down a rocky, dirt path. They drove for what seemed like hours before the car stopped and the sound of a door slamming shut. The trunk opened and he was dragged out, thrown to the ground, then the sound of the trunk shutting and the car leaving. He lay curled in a heap before slowly untangling himself. The soreness of his limbs hit him like a freight train. Ansel didn't know how long he laid like that before finally pushing himself up into a sitting position. He doubted his father would ever expect to see him again, and maybe this was his chance to get away -- for him to finally escape. Maybe he would, even if just for a short while. Maybe see how things went? As the cold slowly began to seep into his tired limbs, Ansel wasn't sure he could last on his own though. He ducked his head, and he prayed. He prayed for protection. He prayed for a friend. He prayed that he would be safe. His prayers had once been answered, and while he may not have believed in a god, he did believe in angels. Maybe one would have mercy on him, maybe one would rescue him from this hell. He wasn't sure, but he hoped they would. He watched as the sun dipped just behind the canopy above him. He took in the way the forest seemed to stretch on and on, and the way the darkness seemed to stretch from the distance and push into his very being. The chill of the shadows settled in his bones and the wind whispered tenderly in his ear, tussling his usually perfect hair. The trees swayed to and fro, whispering their secrets to one another and their limbs reached out deliberatly, pulling and tugging at his clothes. Ansel allowed himself to be pulled into their embrace, relishing in the peacefulness that was nature. | [atrb=width,140] words , # 1 4 1 8 tagged , Jae Sun Choi notes , Sorry it's so suckish :( I'm just getting back into being use to Ansel and posting and yeahhhhhh. Hope you enjoy? |
| [cs=2] TEMPLATE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING OF CAUTION 2.0 |
