Post by Rae on Apr 27, 2008 20:26:03 GMT
BUTTERFLY
Have you ever noticed the buzz of adrenaline, when it courses through your fingertips, tingling like pins and needles as your warm palms close over your cold extremities, your feet pounding at frozen ground as the chilling rain shoots arrows of ice through your hair, piercing your skin. I could see my breath, rushing from my cracked lips and billowing back into my eyes. I couldn't see, but I had to keep running. This was all I could do to stay alive. Now that I was alone.
The blood still stained my hands, and the saline tears still shone among the glistening rain upon my face. A strand of burning red hair was plastered over my left eye, the rain running through the soft strands and flicking over my shoulder. My bare arms were starting to burn from the cold, and as the mud softened it began to seep up the legs of my jeans, soaking through my trainers. Gasping, the gunshots still ringing in my ears, I threw myself behind the water trough. I was close now, the smell of the sea rife in my nostrils. For the first time since the bullet wound hit I felt the pain. Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes fell in the soft, silver wing, the feathers splayed at the bone and a fair amount of diluted blood was mingled with the soft down. I closed my eyes, running a hand through my crimson hair, tucking it behind the dark, soaked ears that protruded from the top of my head. I hated myself. I should never have come back here. And now I was sat here, in the middle of a field in the south of England, freezing rain biting my skin. And my mother was dead. And it was all my fault.
My name is Evelyn Hannah Fleet, and I am sixteen years of age. I have been free now for nine weeks and five days. I'm a normal girl, I enjoy horse riding, dancing, RnB, my favourite subject at school is art, and I live with my grandfather in Massachusetts, but I'm not from round there. Half of my bloodline leads back to the streets of New York, and half leads back here, to the cold, yet beautiful South West of England. The Bristol Channel to be precise, which was where I was. I had run so far. Finally it seemed I was somewhere near the seaside town of Weston Super Mare, but my fight had begun a long way back, all the way through the county capital, to the beautiful Clifton Suspension Bridge. That was where she fell. All because I had been so stupid. I'll take you back to the beginning. To where this all began. Back to Massachusetts, and the home of my grandfather, Jack Lancet, and his wife Carmella. Everything was quiet, and calm, and my life was near normal, thanks to the genetic suppressant medication I took. The control it gave me, the power to just be normal, and go to high school, and get on with my life. The freedom was something I know my parents would have forgotten. Not that I remember them together much. Time takes its toll on a relationship. Especially as they were so young. So it was Grandpa and aunt Carmella who looked after me, from when I started school until I was fifteen. And that was when I did the stupid thing. aunt Carmella used to call me Bella Farfalla, the beautiful butterfly. She said it was because I was so free, so... calm. I was so at peace. And there was so much she didn't know about her Farfalla. Then again there were things she knew that I had no idea about, until I found my mother. And now, as the rain takes away my warmth, I close my eyes, leaning back against the stone and metal behind me, I wish it was me that had been shot.
Or that I had jumped when I had the chance.
My name is Evelyn Hannah Fleet. And I am not a normal girl.
[/sub][/center]Have you ever noticed the buzz of adrenaline, when it courses through your fingertips, tingling like pins and needles as your warm palms close over your cold extremities, your feet pounding at frozen ground as the chilling rain shoots arrows of ice through your hair, piercing your skin. I could see my breath, rushing from my cracked lips and billowing back into my eyes. I couldn't see, but I had to keep running. This was all I could do to stay alive. Now that I was alone.
The blood still stained my hands, and the saline tears still shone among the glistening rain upon my face. A strand of burning red hair was plastered over my left eye, the rain running through the soft strands and flicking over my shoulder. My bare arms were starting to burn from the cold, and as the mud softened it began to seep up the legs of my jeans, soaking through my trainers. Gasping, the gunshots still ringing in my ears, I threw myself behind the water trough. I was close now, the smell of the sea rife in my nostrils. For the first time since the bullet wound hit I felt the pain. Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes fell in the soft, silver wing, the feathers splayed at the bone and a fair amount of diluted blood was mingled with the soft down. I closed my eyes, running a hand through my crimson hair, tucking it behind the dark, soaked ears that protruded from the top of my head. I hated myself. I should never have come back here. And now I was sat here, in the middle of a field in the south of England, freezing rain biting my skin. And my mother was dead. And it was all my fault.
My name is Evelyn Hannah Fleet, and I am sixteen years of age. I have been free now for nine weeks and five days. I'm a normal girl, I enjoy horse riding, dancing, RnB, my favourite subject at school is art, and I live with my grandfather in Massachusetts, but I'm not from round there. Half of my bloodline leads back to the streets of New York, and half leads back here, to the cold, yet beautiful South West of England. The Bristol Channel to be precise, which was where I was. I had run so far. Finally it seemed I was somewhere near the seaside town of Weston Super Mare, but my fight had begun a long way back, all the way through the county capital, to the beautiful Clifton Suspension Bridge. That was where she fell. All because I had been so stupid. I'll take you back to the beginning. To where this all began. Back to Massachusetts, and the home of my grandfather, Jack Lancet, and his wife Carmella. Everything was quiet, and calm, and my life was near normal, thanks to the genetic suppressant medication I took. The control it gave me, the power to just be normal, and go to high school, and get on with my life. The freedom was something I know my parents would have forgotten. Not that I remember them together much. Time takes its toll on a relationship. Especially as they were so young. So it was Grandpa and aunt Carmella who looked after me, from when I started school until I was fifteen. And that was when I did the stupid thing. aunt Carmella used to call me Bella Farfalla, the beautiful butterfly. She said it was because I was so free, so... calm. I was so at peace. And there was so much she didn't know about her Farfalla. Then again there were things she knew that I had no idea about, until I found my mother. And now, as the rain takes away my warmth, I close my eyes, leaning back against the stone and metal behind me, I wish it was me that had been shot.
Or that I had jumped when I had the chance.
My name is Evelyn Hannah Fleet. And I am not a normal girl.