Post by Gem on May 11, 2014 0:15:31 GMT -5
The white dawn approached over the tree-covered horizon in the distance. The silent aura of the approaching light awakened the chirping of the birds, and the late spring morning brought about feelings of peace. The damp leaves of the surrounding trees shimmered in the improving vision across the great spectacle of nature.
I'd been there all night.
Retracing every step, re-planning my entire strategy, swearing at myself internally; how did I mess this up? How did I bring about such failure so quickly? What kind of legacy was I leaving where the first chance I got to show what I could do against worthy competition, I'd made a huge embarrassing failure out of myself? This is not how father trained me to be an assassin. This is not how a hired gun is supposed to achieve goals. This is the mark of an impostor.
I hadn't slept since it happened. Allowing myself to be overcome. Maybe father was right; maybe I was too young, too naive, not knowing enough about the world yet. After all, I hadn't known this world very young. Until he started my training, I'd known another world much better than this one. A world where stupid mistakes and blunders are not tolerated, for they can cost you survival. Maybe I needed to return to those roots, using what I have learned, so that I don't make these mistakes again.
I stood up, the sun shining brightly now and needing my hand to shade its rays. Walking around the ancient oak where many a night my head lay, the words came back to my mind. "You should've known better than to think you were worth something," it echoed. "You're a stupid little girl. Dumb little girls don't get what they want."
Having not spoken since the woman who had proven my faults encountered me first, I wasn't prepared to verbally address them. That voice never went away. It was always taunting me, holding my darkest fears above me; that I'd never be able to live up to my father's hopes. Leaving the shadow of his presence did more harm than good, didn't it? Look what I had done!
I closed my eyes, trying to make the negative energy leave my head. "I'm not a stupid little girl," I thought. "I'm not."
"You don't know anything. Your father is going to be so disappointed in you. You're a failure in his eyes and everyone else's. Stupid little girl."
"No!" I screamed.
My voice cracked. I hadn't used it in over a week. The shock caught me by surprise, and I drifted into the tree, shaking violently. "No," I returned to thinking, as it seemed safer, "I am not a failure. My father loves me."
"Is that you, darling?"
A different voice entered my silent world. I knew this voice, though I hadn't heard it in years. It was female, deep, rasp, but in the realm of comfort somehow. "Auntie Dee?" I called out to the not-yet visible source.
"Who else would know to find you here," I heard her respond as she stepped around the other side of the tree.
"Auntie Dee!" I gleefully cheered, skipping twice and embracing her. I'd gotten taller in recent years than her 5'2 frame, but the rough grip of her arms hadn't changed. Silently, I realized how badly I needed to be held after facing such internal crisis.
"Child," she touched my cheeks with her hands. "You haven't been sleeping again, have you?"
Stepping back ashamed, I let her hands fall down to her sides. I wasn't prepared to look her in the face and know I'd let her down too. "No," I admitted.
"And why not?"
I felt a tiny tear well up in my left eye, and I quickly removed it as subtly as I could. "I don't know," I lied. "I just haven't."
Suddenly, my wrist was in an iron vice. Auntie Dee's thumb and forefinger pulled me within inches of her fiery eyes. "Don't you think I know you better than that, little girl? Don't you stand there and spew that bullshit at me." Her grip released, and the redness in her face subsided. She breathed, as if releasing a demon from her soul, and she sat at the base of the old oak. "Sit, child," she suggested, patting the side of the tree next to her.
Cautiously, I slid against the grass until my silk pants slipped against the dampened dew. She caught me before I could fall, as she always did when I was younger, and pulled me under her arm. Safe is how I felt. Yes, safe... This is nice.
"My dear little girl," she began, in that comforting tone she always gave when I accidentally upset Daddy, "What are you?"
"I'm an 18-year-old..."
"No, dear. Your age isn't important, though it is the source of your exaggerated reaction to a temporary setback. I want to know what you are," she repeated.
"I'm a professional..."
"No," she cut me off again. "You aren't qualified to call yourself a professional yet. You're a young girl with two matches who is acting like the world is ending because you lost the second match of your career. What, did you expect to never face defeat? To come right out of the box impeccable? Did you think that at a mere 18 years of age that no one would ever be able to touch you?"
My face flushed while my palms soaked with sweat. Why was Auntie Dee being so mean? "Auntie Dee, I thought father trained me to be better than..."
"You're a little girl, not a machine," Auntie Dee scolded in only the way she could. She grabbed my face again and pulled me toward her, demanding non-verbally that I look her dead in the eye. "Your father does want the best for you, but he isn't always sure how to communicate the trials you'll face along the way. Nobody goes through anything without experiencing failure, disappointment, and setbacks. You think you're the only 18-year-old to ever fuck up?"
"Of course not," I laughed a little, "But..."
"But nothing, sweetheart," Auntie Dee continued. "You're not perfection, and neither is that hussy that thinks she is. So she got the better of you one time. Do you think that's it? Do you think you're permanently scarred by not managing to win your second professional match ever?"
"I didn't want to let father down," I replied.
Auntie Dee finally paused, looking off in the distance as she thought of my father. My father was dear to her, but he kept her at a distance, like he did everyone else but me. I was the only one who knew of those nights where he'd scream. I was the only one who knew of the times where I'd have to hold him until the nightmares ended. I was the only one who saw the shattered pieces in his eyes every time he was left alone. She adored my father, but never knew the darkest hours.
"Darling, you are the most important thing to ever happen to your father," Auntie Dee explained. "You could never let him down."
"But I failed his training, Auntie Dee. I couldn't complete the objective."
"You're a wrestler, not a Navy Seal!" Auntie Dee responded with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
She stood up, bringing me with her. We looked off into the meadow, glistening with the heat quickly reaching the surface. "Darling, you have so much yet to learn. Training will only get you so far, and you haven't reached the stage where you can rely on that anymore. Experience is going be the only real teacher you'll have, and at times, it's really going to suck. You're going to hate everything and want to run away, back to where it's safe."
Auntie Dee bent down and picked up a dandelion. "You'll never grow if you can't handle learning from your mistakes. You have to make them to know what they are. No one has their shit together at 18. No one. And those who pretend they do usually end up being the biggest freaks of them all."
Her words struck a chord. Freaks. There were freaks where I'd come from, before my father came to get me. Freaks were everywhere, holding the night hostage from hope. My father saved me from that hell. He taught me how to defend myself and how to strike out on my own, but he hadn't prepared me for this. Auntie Dee was always there to set me straight sometimes.
"I know you think you're crazy. Worry about your next opponent, who thinks that's something to be proud of, to wear it as a moniker. Worry about that, and prepare for it just like your father taught you."
Yes, to wear craziness like a badge of courage. Like having a voice in your head telling you that you'll always screw everything up is some kind of joyride. A crazy boy, yet an experienced veteran looking to strike against a vulnerable child. If I wasn't careful, I'd make the same mistakes and allow him to look down on me like a stupid kid, just like I did Stacy Jones. I don't want to be anyone's stupid kid. I don't want anyone to feel bad for me. I've heard their names, I know what they say.
I had to recover, to return to my training and do what I had to do. I needed to clear my mind, focus on the precision strikes that could break the overconfident stature of any boy, even the crazy ones. Not allowing my back to hit that mat for extended failure; that was out of the question. I didn't care about championships or tournaments. I only wanted to be respected, loved, and seen as a competitor. Maybe hired for what I was trained to do; being sent out to complete the objectives that were too personal to be done on their own. Daddy taught me I needed to be an assassin, and assassins get hired. Stupid little girls crying over mistakes don't.
"And sweetie?"
"Yes, Auntie Dee?"
"Learn to talk to people other than me and your father," she answered.
Speaking to other people? No. I don't think I could do that. They're all older, more experienced, and they looked down on me.
"I know what you're thinking," she cut back in. "But you have to. You'll drive yourself crazy if you don't."
Crazy? I don't want to be crazy. I don't want to be like a crazy boy. I needed to be me. I needed to be Gem fucking Stone. I am the silent assassin, the destroyer of minds and breaker of souls, just like Daddy taught me to be. Those voices? They could dance on the head of a pin for all I cared.
As I watched Auntie Dee head into the distance, I walked the other way, back toward civilization. I didn't know when I'd see her again, but that was her way. She appeared when she wanted to, and vanished just as quickly. Auntie Dee was amazing when she was around, but you could never rely on her to be there. It was like she lived in a different world... one even more different than the one I came from.
Finally, as I returned to the building, the cold metal door seemed so ominous and threatening. Standing in front of it for a few seconds, I repeated again to myself: "I'm not an embarrassing failure. I'm not a stupid little girl."
The door swung open, nearly smacking me in the face. A stagehand jumped back when he saw me standing there. "Oh, Gem! I'm sorry, didn't see you there."
I silently stared, hoping he'd stop looking at me for a response. But dammit, I needed to learn to talk to people. Say something, say anything! Speak to the man, he's harmless!
"I..." When I finally looked up, he was gone. I sighed, knowing I'd done what I did in my previous match; let myself become vulnerable, and taken too long to respond.
Next time. I'd do better next time. I had to. I couldn't let a crazy boy ruin that for me.
Not for father. Not for Auntie Dee. And not for me.
I'm not a stupid little girl.
I'd been there all night.
Retracing every step, re-planning my entire strategy, swearing at myself internally; how did I mess this up? How did I bring about such failure so quickly? What kind of legacy was I leaving where the first chance I got to show what I could do against worthy competition, I'd made a huge embarrassing failure out of myself? This is not how father trained me to be an assassin. This is not how a hired gun is supposed to achieve goals. This is the mark of an impostor.
I hadn't slept since it happened. Allowing myself to be overcome. Maybe father was right; maybe I was too young, too naive, not knowing enough about the world yet. After all, I hadn't known this world very young. Until he started my training, I'd known another world much better than this one. A world where stupid mistakes and blunders are not tolerated, for they can cost you survival. Maybe I needed to return to those roots, using what I have learned, so that I don't make these mistakes again.
I stood up, the sun shining brightly now and needing my hand to shade its rays. Walking around the ancient oak where many a night my head lay, the words came back to my mind. "You should've known better than to think you were worth something," it echoed. "You're a stupid little girl. Dumb little girls don't get what they want."
Having not spoken since the woman who had proven my faults encountered me first, I wasn't prepared to verbally address them. That voice never went away. It was always taunting me, holding my darkest fears above me; that I'd never be able to live up to my father's hopes. Leaving the shadow of his presence did more harm than good, didn't it? Look what I had done!
I closed my eyes, trying to make the negative energy leave my head. "I'm not a stupid little girl," I thought. "I'm not."
"You don't know anything. Your father is going to be so disappointed in you. You're a failure in his eyes and everyone else's. Stupid little girl."
"No!" I screamed.
My voice cracked. I hadn't used it in over a week. The shock caught me by surprise, and I drifted into the tree, shaking violently. "No," I returned to thinking, as it seemed safer, "I am not a failure. My father loves me."
"Is that you, darling?"
A different voice entered my silent world. I knew this voice, though I hadn't heard it in years. It was female, deep, rasp, but in the realm of comfort somehow. "Auntie Dee?" I called out to the not-yet visible source.
"Who else would know to find you here," I heard her respond as she stepped around the other side of the tree.
"Auntie Dee!" I gleefully cheered, skipping twice and embracing her. I'd gotten taller in recent years than her 5'2 frame, but the rough grip of her arms hadn't changed. Silently, I realized how badly I needed to be held after facing such internal crisis.
"Child," she touched my cheeks with her hands. "You haven't been sleeping again, have you?"
Stepping back ashamed, I let her hands fall down to her sides. I wasn't prepared to look her in the face and know I'd let her down too. "No," I admitted.
"And why not?"
I felt a tiny tear well up in my left eye, and I quickly removed it as subtly as I could. "I don't know," I lied. "I just haven't."
Suddenly, my wrist was in an iron vice. Auntie Dee's thumb and forefinger pulled me within inches of her fiery eyes. "Don't you think I know you better than that, little girl? Don't you stand there and spew that bullshit at me." Her grip released, and the redness in her face subsided. She breathed, as if releasing a demon from her soul, and she sat at the base of the old oak. "Sit, child," she suggested, patting the side of the tree next to her.
Cautiously, I slid against the grass until my silk pants slipped against the dampened dew. She caught me before I could fall, as she always did when I was younger, and pulled me under her arm. Safe is how I felt. Yes, safe... This is nice.
"My dear little girl," she began, in that comforting tone she always gave when I accidentally upset Daddy, "What are you?"
"I'm an 18-year-old..."
"No, dear. Your age isn't important, though it is the source of your exaggerated reaction to a temporary setback. I want to know what you are," she repeated.
"I'm a professional..."
"No," she cut me off again. "You aren't qualified to call yourself a professional yet. You're a young girl with two matches who is acting like the world is ending because you lost the second match of your career. What, did you expect to never face defeat? To come right out of the box impeccable? Did you think that at a mere 18 years of age that no one would ever be able to touch you?"
My face flushed while my palms soaked with sweat. Why was Auntie Dee being so mean? "Auntie Dee, I thought father trained me to be better than..."
"You're a little girl, not a machine," Auntie Dee scolded in only the way she could. She grabbed my face again and pulled me toward her, demanding non-verbally that I look her dead in the eye. "Your father does want the best for you, but he isn't always sure how to communicate the trials you'll face along the way. Nobody goes through anything without experiencing failure, disappointment, and setbacks. You think you're the only 18-year-old to ever fuck up?"
"Of course not," I laughed a little, "But..."
"But nothing, sweetheart," Auntie Dee continued. "You're not perfection, and neither is that hussy that thinks she is. So she got the better of you one time. Do you think that's it? Do you think you're permanently scarred by not managing to win your second professional match ever?"
"I didn't want to let father down," I replied.
Auntie Dee finally paused, looking off in the distance as she thought of my father. My father was dear to her, but he kept her at a distance, like he did everyone else but me. I was the only one who knew of those nights where he'd scream. I was the only one who knew of the times where I'd have to hold him until the nightmares ended. I was the only one who saw the shattered pieces in his eyes every time he was left alone. She adored my father, but never knew the darkest hours.
"Darling, you are the most important thing to ever happen to your father," Auntie Dee explained. "You could never let him down."
"But I failed his training, Auntie Dee. I couldn't complete the objective."
"You're a wrestler, not a Navy Seal!" Auntie Dee responded with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
She stood up, bringing me with her. We looked off into the meadow, glistening with the heat quickly reaching the surface. "Darling, you have so much yet to learn. Training will only get you so far, and you haven't reached the stage where you can rely on that anymore. Experience is going be the only real teacher you'll have, and at times, it's really going to suck. You're going to hate everything and want to run away, back to where it's safe."
Auntie Dee bent down and picked up a dandelion. "You'll never grow if you can't handle learning from your mistakes. You have to make them to know what they are. No one has their shit together at 18. No one. And those who pretend they do usually end up being the biggest freaks of them all."
Her words struck a chord. Freaks. There were freaks where I'd come from, before my father came to get me. Freaks were everywhere, holding the night hostage from hope. My father saved me from that hell. He taught me how to defend myself and how to strike out on my own, but he hadn't prepared me for this. Auntie Dee was always there to set me straight sometimes.
"I know you think you're crazy. Worry about your next opponent, who thinks that's something to be proud of, to wear it as a moniker. Worry about that, and prepare for it just like your father taught you."
Yes, to wear craziness like a badge of courage. Like having a voice in your head telling you that you'll always screw everything up is some kind of joyride. A crazy boy, yet an experienced veteran looking to strike against a vulnerable child. If I wasn't careful, I'd make the same mistakes and allow him to look down on me like a stupid kid, just like I did Stacy Jones. I don't want to be anyone's stupid kid. I don't want anyone to feel bad for me. I've heard their names, I know what they say.
I had to recover, to return to my training and do what I had to do. I needed to clear my mind, focus on the precision strikes that could break the overconfident stature of any boy, even the crazy ones. Not allowing my back to hit that mat for extended failure; that was out of the question. I didn't care about championships or tournaments. I only wanted to be respected, loved, and seen as a competitor. Maybe hired for what I was trained to do; being sent out to complete the objectives that were too personal to be done on their own. Daddy taught me I needed to be an assassin, and assassins get hired. Stupid little girls crying over mistakes don't.
"And sweetie?"
"Yes, Auntie Dee?"
"Learn to talk to people other than me and your father," she answered.
Speaking to other people? No. I don't think I could do that. They're all older, more experienced, and they looked down on me.
"I know what you're thinking," she cut back in. "But you have to. You'll drive yourself crazy if you don't."
Crazy? I don't want to be crazy. I don't want to be like a crazy boy. I needed to be me. I needed to be Gem fucking Stone. I am the silent assassin, the destroyer of minds and breaker of souls, just like Daddy taught me to be. Those voices? They could dance on the head of a pin for all I cared.
As I watched Auntie Dee head into the distance, I walked the other way, back toward civilization. I didn't know when I'd see her again, but that was her way. She appeared when she wanted to, and vanished just as quickly. Auntie Dee was amazing when she was around, but you could never rely on her to be there. It was like she lived in a different world... one even more different than the one I came from.
Finally, as I returned to the building, the cold metal door seemed so ominous and threatening. Standing in front of it for a few seconds, I repeated again to myself: "I'm not an embarrassing failure. I'm not a stupid little girl."
The door swung open, nearly smacking me in the face. A stagehand jumped back when he saw me standing there. "Oh, Gem! I'm sorry, didn't see you there."
I silently stared, hoping he'd stop looking at me for a response. But dammit, I needed to learn to talk to people. Say something, say anything! Speak to the man, he's harmless!
"I..." When I finally looked up, he was gone. I sighed, knowing I'd done what I did in my previous match; let myself become vulnerable, and taken too long to respond.
Next time. I'd do better next time. I had to. I couldn't let a crazy boy ruin that for me.
Not for father. Not for Auntie Dee. And not for me.
I'm not a stupid little girl.
