Post by Gem on May 24, 2014 21:20:17 GMT -5
Crashed.
Curled up on the bottom of the basement steps, the sliver of light taunted me with the promise of freedom. Father told me I shouldn't have been down here, but I was so curious. In the midst of the darkness, I'd slipped on something on the way back up. My neck had just missed the edge of the molding wooden steps, but the back of my head crashed against the cement block wall.
The beam started to split in two, then four, dancing in circles around the depths of my irises. "The light is pretty," I remember saying out loud before it turned to blackness.
I don't remember how old I was then. I barely know now, as no one has ever told me my birthday. All I remember after that is waking up with Auntie Dee carrying me into my small bedroom. The teal blue walls were a blur, as Auntie Dee's dark red hair gently brushed my cheek. "You shouldn't be down in the basement," she warned. "You know your father doesn't want you there."
"I just want to know, Auntie Dee," I had begged. "Why doesn't he want me to know?"
Auntie Dee looked off in the distance. "Your father has known great pain. One day you'll understand that as a parent, he wants to shield you from seeing him hurt."
Auntie Dee then pulled open one of my eyelids with her thumb. "You've got a concussion, sweetie. You must've hit your head very hard. Let's get you to the doctor before your father comes home."
It had only been a few years ago, but that feeling of dread paralyzed me like nothing else ever could. I'd only begun training then, and I knew how frustrated he got when I didn't understand things like he did. The world was so new to me, and I approached it with an open mind and a willing heart. But I could see it in his eyes; he feared the outside world. His scars, physical and emotional, had been obtained by great cost, and as much as he tried to hide them from me, I saw them. His eyes told many stories he'd rather bury in the basement with those memories.
The dread of disappointing my father hadn't been so great since that moment where I'd knowingly disobeyed one of his few requests. I didn't understand why he wanted to hide his great past from me so much. The way people looked at him, talked to him... I knew there was so much he had achieved before I was around, but many of those stories in his eyes also happened then.
I got into the business because I only wanted to make him proud. Here I was, the epitome of his work, the focus of his training; his prodigal daughter in action, and I failed him yet again. The worst part wasn't knowing that a good assassin didn't have losing streaks or fall victim to such weaknesses. That was easy; rookies are supposed to have mishaps, right? Maybe bumps in the road would provide further underestimation to utilize against less savvy opponents.
No, I was embarrassed because I didn't want to let my father down. I didn't want to disappoint him like so many had before me. For once, I wanted to see those eyes light up with life instead of the dark crystal only reflecting the spark of what once was. I was his pride; he mentored me until he felt that he could no longer, and sent me into the world of Pure Class Wrestling with a chip on my shoulder and something to prove, but all I really wanted to prove was how much I loved him and wanted to do well for his sake.
His calloused hand had grazed near my hairline to wake me up in the hospital bedroom. The empty walls were less comforting than the soft colors of my own room, but the comforting smile from Auntie Dee in the background helped make it okay.
"Your Auntie tells me you took quite a fall," he lowly stated.
"Yes, father."
"How did this happen?"
"I was..."
Auntie Dee cut me off. "She was training, and caught her head on a beam," she lied.
My father's head suspiciously turned in her direction. He knew she was lying, but wasn't about to cut her off at the knees when I was around. "That happens sometimes," he mumbled, which I took to mean: "You're lucky she's here to cover for you."
That look was in his eye. I knew the one. It wasn't the expression from when he woke up from nightmares and would spend hours staring into a chimney fire. It was the one where I knew he wanted the best out of me, and I hadn't been able to deliver that. He never asked it of me, but I knew it was there. I was his little girl; the only person who'd never hurt him, but I'd let him down by doing something I shouldn't have.
He never brought it up again.
I could hear him coaching my flaws as I'd let my opponents get the better of me. "You let yourself be vulnerable," his low voice would say. "Don't let them see your weakness. Professionals won't let you get away with mistakes."
I wanted to cry out into the darkness: "Father, without being vulnerable, we can't ever grow! I need to learn from these mistakes! I can't let the disappointment overwhelm me!"
But then, who the hell would I be talking to? No one was here.
Closing my eyes again and focusing on the corrections of where I'd fallen, a peaceful melody danced through my ears. A soft piano rhythm, similar to the one that accompanied me to my recent cavalcade of failure, but I found it guiding me through the possibility of redemption. The Invitational, where I'd let Hussy LaRue get the better of me, had a final chance.
The obstacles were numerous, and the experience far greater than my own. Without father here to coach me, and still not reaching the point of comfort in talking to people, I could only go on what I'd heard. First, I needed to correct the failure of the self-proclaimed Crazy one. Starting with the most recent mistake, I could make progress by ruining his dream the same way he'd broken my promise to Father to not let this get the best of me.
From there, the names took on varying feelings of familiarity, save for one.
Grimm.
I knew this name, long before I'd debuted. It held prestige in my mind, though I wasn't sure why. His reputation preceded him, and even an assassin-in-training had to give the elegance the respect it deserved. That was the biggest thing standing in my way of getting back where I belonged in order to show father that not everything for which he hopes ends up like me trying to learn more about him, crashed at the bottom of the basement stairs, with only the small beam of light to give me hope to rise again.
The match was named a "Last Chance," and while I knew it wouldn't be my last to deliver the best I had to offer, it was an opportunity to solidify a reputation around here. Father would've wanted that; to be appropriately respected, feared, and sought out for services. To know that the name could inspire feelings other than sympathy and hilarity, I would have to strike at the emotional core of those who had wronged me, those who sought to overcome me, and those who were experienced enough to handle even the best of enigmas in the darkness.
Like the light at the top of the stairs, it felt unobtainable. Even as it started spinning and multiplying, the chances of reaching it grew slimmer and felt out of reach. But I knew it wasn't, and this time it wouldn't take my Auntie making excuses for me. I needed to make father proud by showing that a rookie little girl could hang with the best. I needed this more than probably even he knew, not just for him, but for myself.
I didn't like disappointing him, but I also didn't like knowing that I could do better. I could've done so much better, and that feeling prevailed into my overwhelming slush of confidence. Presenting the illusion of collected had proven difficult, but I knew it was necessary in order to complete the next mission.
Just climbing, even one step at a time, without Auntie Dee's help would get me there. This staircase must be done on my own, and at the top, a chance to become a surprise entrant with a last chance and a damn helluva lot to prove. The mountain needed a gem to shimmer at the top like the light to which I was crawling.
Funny enough, I knew of just the perfect tone.
Curled up on the bottom of the basement steps, the sliver of light taunted me with the promise of freedom. Father told me I shouldn't have been down here, but I was so curious. In the midst of the darkness, I'd slipped on something on the way back up. My neck had just missed the edge of the molding wooden steps, but the back of my head crashed against the cement block wall.
The beam started to split in two, then four, dancing in circles around the depths of my irises. "The light is pretty," I remember saying out loud before it turned to blackness.
I don't remember how old I was then. I barely know now, as no one has ever told me my birthday. All I remember after that is waking up with Auntie Dee carrying me into my small bedroom. The teal blue walls were a blur, as Auntie Dee's dark red hair gently brushed my cheek. "You shouldn't be down in the basement," she warned. "You know your father doesn't want you there."
"I just want to know, Auntie Dee," I had begged. "Why doesn't he want me to know?"
Auntie Dee looked off in the distance. "Your father has known great pain. One day you'll understand that as a parent, he wants to shield you from seeing him hurt."
Auntie Dee then pulled open one of my eyelids with her thumb. "You've got a concussion, sweetie. You must've hit your head very hard. Let's get you to the doctor before your father comes home."
It had only been a few years ago, but that feeling of dread paralyzed me like nothing else ever could. I'd only begun training then, and I knew how frustrated he got when I didn't understand things like he did. The world was so new to me, and I approached it with an open mind and a willing heart. But I could see it in his eyes; he feared the outside world. His scars, physical and emotional, had been obtained by great cost, and as much as he tried to hide them from me, I saw them. His eyes told many stories he'd rather bury in the basement with those memories.
The dread of disappointing my father hadn't been so great since that moment where I'd knowingly disobeyed one of his few requests. I didn't understand why he wanted to hide his great past from me so much. The way people looked at him, talked to him... I knew there was so much he had achieved before I was around, but many of those stories in his eyes also happened then.
I got into the business because I only wanted to make him proud. Here I was, the epitome of his work, the focus of his training; his prodigal daughter in action, and I failed him yet again. The worst part wasn't knowing that a good assassin didn't have losing streaks or fall victim to such weaknesses. That was easy; rookies are supposed to have mishaps, right? Maybe bumps in the road would provide further underestimation to utilize against less savvy opponents.
No, I was embarrassed because I didn't want to let my father down. I didn't want to disappoint him like so many had before me. For once, I wanted to see those eyes light up with life instead of the dark crystal only reflecting the spark of what once was. I was his pride; he mentored me until he felt that he could no longer, and sent me into the world of Pure Class Wrestling with a chip on my shoulder and something to prove, but all I really wanted to prove was how much I loved him and wanted to do well for his sake.
His calloused hand had grazed near my hairline to wake me up in the hospital bedroom. The empty walls were less comforting than the soft colors of my own room, but the comforting smile from Auntie Dee in the background helped make it okay.
"Your Auntie tells me you took quite a fall," he lowly stated.
"Yes, father."
"How did this happen?"
"I was..."
Auntie Dee cut me off. "She was training, and caught her head on a beam," she lied.
My father's head suspiciously turned in her direction. He knew she was lying, but wasn't about to cut her off at the knees when I was around. "That happens sometimes," he mumbled, which I took to mean: "You're lucky she's here to cover for you."
That look was in his eye. I knew the one. It wasn't the expression from when he woke up from nightmares and would spend hours staring into a chimney fire. It was the one where I knew he wanted the best out of me, and I hadn't been able to deliver that. He never asked it of me, but I knew it was there. I was his little girl; the only person who'd never hurt him, but I'd let him down by doing something I shouldn't have.
He never brought it up again.
I could hear him coaching my flaws as I'd let my opponents get the better of me. "You let yourself be vulnerable," his low voice would say. "Don't let them see your weakness. Professionals won't let you get away with mistakes."
I wanted to cry out into the darkness: "Father, without being vulnerable, we can't ever grow! I need to learn from these mistakes! I can't let the disappointment overwhelm me!"
But then, who the hell would I be talking to? No one was here.
Closing my eyes again and focusing on the corrections of where I'd fallen, a peaceful melody danced through my ears. A soft piano rhythm, similar to the one that accompanied me to my recent cavalcade of failure, but I found it guiding me through the possibility of redemption. The Invitational, where I'd let Hussy LaRue get the better of me, had a final chance.
The obstacles were numerous, and the experience far greater than my own. Without father here to coach me, and still not reaching the point of comfort in talking to people, I could only go on what I'd heard. First, I needed to correct the failure of the self-proclaimed Crazy one. Starting with the most recent mistake, I could make progress by ruining his dream the same way he'd broken my promise to Father to not let this get the best of me.
From there, the names took on varying feelings of familiarity, save for one.
Grimm.
I knew this name, long before I'd debuted. It held prestige in my mind, though I wasn't sure why. His reputation preceded him, and even an assassin-in-training had to give the elegance the respect it deserved. That was the biggest thing standing in my way of getting back where I belonged in order to show father that not everything for which he hopes ends up like me trying to learn more about him, crashed at the bottom of the basement stairs, with only the small beam of light to give me hope to rise again.
The match was named a "Last Chance," and while I knew it wouldn't be my last to deliver the best I had to offer, it was an opportunity to solidify a reputation around here. Father would've wanted that; to be appropriately respected, feared, and sought out for services. To know that the name could inspire feelings other than sympathy and hilarity, I would have to strike at the emotional core of those who had wronged me, those who sought to overcome me, and those who were experienced enough to handle even the best of enigmas in the darkness.
Like the light at the top of the stairs, it felt unobtainable. Even as it started spinning and multiplying, the chances of reaching it grew slimmer and felt out of reach. But I knew it wasn't, and this time it wouldn't take my Auntie making excuses for me. I needed to make father proud by showing that a rookie little girl could hang with the best. I needed this more than probably even he knew, not just for him, but for myself.
I didn't like disappointing him, but I also didn't like knowing that I could do better. I could've done so much better, and that feeling prevailed into my overwhelming slush of confidence. Presenting the illusion of collected had proven difficult, but I knew it was necessary in order to complete the next mission.
Just climbing, even one step at a time, without Auntie Dee's help would get me there. This staircase must be done on my own, and at the top, a chance to become a surprise entrant with a last chance and a damn helluva lot to prove. The mountain needed a gem to shimmer at the top like the light to which I was crawling.
Funny enough, I knew of just the perfect tone.
