Post by Brenna Gordon on May 23, 2016 20:56:45 GMT -5
There's times I wonder if she wasn't right.
I haven't set eyes on my mother in... coming up on five years, now. Or is it six? I should know this, should have the date burned into the forefront of my mind--but distance, both physical and temporal, gave me enough room to let the edges of some of my memories of her grow a little less sharp around the edges. Some of them turned outright sepia on me, a stunt that I sure as Hell don't appreciate. If those halcyon illusions ever ruled over me anew, I'd be lost forever. All it would take is for that siren's song to have a single sweet note and there'd go my free will, my ability to be anything but the second coming of Moira Gordon. I don't want to be dragged right back to being the adoring child that was ignorant of the monsters swimming in the black waters of her gaze because make no mistake--her eyes were as black as the night sky. Are as black as the night sky, technically, but it's easier to deal with the idea of my mother if I think of her in the past tense. Not that it protects me from her.
Protected me from her.
Maybe she was right about having supernatural powers, the way she's shown up in my dreams and in my thoughts despite the fact that the last time I saw her? I disowned her, screamed and raged and lashed out to try to punch that smug little smirk off of her face. Maybe I succeeded, maybe I didn't--I couldn't see past the half-dozen or so orderlies that it took to restrain me. It was only on account of what was written on the police report that I wasn't thrown into the loony bin next to hers. Something to do with my overemotional reaction being justified on account of what she did to me before the state took me from her custody. Tch-- like I need some shrink to validate the commotion in my mind, the fact that I've daydreamed about seeing if her corpse would dissolve in the water like a cube of sugar or if she'd just float like the rest of us. I'd take the prison time for that. Hell, I'd take ten lifetime sentences on if it meant not having her in my head anymore. Not that she has ever given a good God damn what I want.
Will give a damn what I want.
Fuck, I can't even keep my tenses straight anymore--that's how deep she is in my very being. If I could take a scalpel to myself and cut every shred of her out of me, I would... but how much of me would be left? Would there be enough for me to not bleed out on the spot? I can't say that I know for sure, and that? That's what scares me, what has scared me... and what will always scare me unless a way out presents itself. Maybe that's why my thoughts keep returning to Phinehas Dillinger, to sun-soaked fields and the chirp of crickets at dusk. Maybe he's the key to it all. Or maybe this is just my free will's last gasp before it gives up the ghost. I wish I knew which one it was.
It'd be a lot better than wondering.
I haven't set eyes on my mother in... coming up on five years, now. Or is it six? I should know this, should have the date burned into the forefront of my mind--but distance, both physical and temporal, gave me enough room to let the edges of some of my memories of her grow a little less sharp around the edges. Some of them turned outright sepia on me, a stunt that I sure as Hell don't appreciate. If those halcyon illusions ever ruled over me anew, I'd be lost forever. All it would take is for that siren's song to have a single sweet note and there'd go my free will, my ability to be anything but the second coming of Moira Gordon. I don't want to be dragged right back to being the adoring child that was ignorant of the monsters swimming in the black waters of her gaze because make no mistake--her eyes were as black as the night sky. Are as black as the night sky, technically, but it's easier to deal with the idea of my mother if I think of her in the past tense. Not that it protects me from her.
Protected me from her.
Maybe she was right about having supernatural powers, the way she's shown up in my dreams and in my thoughts despite the fact that the last time I saw her? I disowned her, screamed and raged and lashed out to try to punch that smug little smirk off of her face. Maybe I succeeded, maybe I didn't--I couldn't see past the half-dozen or so orderlies that it took to restrain me. It was only on account of what was written on the police report that I wasn't thrown into the loony bin next to hers. Something to do with my overemotional reaction being justified on account of what she did to me before the state took me from her custody. Tch-- like I need some shrink to validate the commotion in my mind, the fact that I've daydreamed about seeing if her corpse would dissolve in the water like a cube of sugar or if she'd just float like the rest of us. I'd take the prison time for that. Hell, I'd take ten lifetime sentences on if it meant not having her in my head anymore. Not that she has ever given a good God damn what I want.
Will give a damn what I want.
Fuck, I can't even keep my tenses straight anymore--that's how deep she is in my very being. If I could take a scalpel to myself and cut every shred of her out of me, I would... but how much of me would be left? Would there be enough for me to not bleed out on the spot? I can't say that I know for sure, and that? That's what scares me, what has scared me... and what will always scare me unless a way out presents itself. Maybe that's why my thoughts keep returning to Phinehas Dillinger, to sun-soaked fields and the chirp of crickets at dusk. Maybe he's the key to it all. Or maybe this is just my free will's last gasp before it gives up the ghost. I wish I knew which one it was.
It'd be a lot better than wondering.
