Totality
February 14th, 2013, 03:21 PM
So this is a new novella I've been working on, let me know what you all think.
It was raining. The drops of water crashing down against the blackness of the night sky, there was no wind in the air, not even a simple breeze. You could hear the water drop on the rocks and stones, it was silent otherwise. Within the darkness, stood the figure of most derelict scenery of an old manor house, against the darkness of the sky, you couldn’t see much, except the outline of the building, and a most curious spire.
Morning came abruptly, the sun shone over the village of Stanton, within the window of a most simple house; you could almost make out the silhouette of a girl crying. In the room, sat a seventeen year old girl, tears were streaming down her face, blood was pouring from her arm and in her hand, sat the blade that caused it all. She had cut herself; it was her only coping method, from the abusive father and elusive mother. She wasn’t a daughter to them; she was a ragdoll, something for them to cause pain to.
Since the age she turned 14, her father had physically and sexual abused her, she turned to the blade after he had done it the second time. The blade comforted her; it helped her cope with everything she was going through; to know she could still feel something, it gave the small spark of life that kept her alive.
She dropped the blade and poured her blood into a small glass bottle; she always kept her blood, it was a reminder of the price she paid to live. Abigail was what some may call, a weird teenager.
“Abigail! Abigail! Where are you?!” screeched her father up the stairs.
Abigail began to fear for her life; she quickly hid her blade and put the bottle of blood up on her wardrobe. Her father stormed through her door and grabbed hold of her. He grabbed her t-shirt and ripped it from her chest exposing her black bra, he dove his head into her chest while unclipping her bra from behind; she kept attempting to struggle but he hit her over the head; she was dazed. He continued to push himself onto her; she felt his weight onto of her as he grabbed her hair and forced her down onto the bed as her tore of the shorts she was wearing.
“You know you was asking for this right? The way you dress in my fucking house! Serves you right! You little whore!” He shouted at her as he slowly took his trousers off. Abigail started to scream but he just hit her again.
“Don’t say a fucking word! No one can hear you anyway”
He managed to get his trousers off and rip off Abigail’s panties, she was naked and there was her father raping her.
He threw her across the floor, she could feel his breathing on the back of her neck as he forced himself into her from behind, she screamed and he merely hit her.
She felt his overbearing weight as she attempted to move away, he just laughed. She could see him gleaming from her mirror as she heard him starting to ejaculate into her. She began to cry as he started to hit her, she couldn’t do anything but cry and take it; she had considered attacking him with her blade; but it was out of reach, and what would it accomplish; she’d know the truth; it wouldn’t take away the years of abuse or rape.
He threw her against the wall where she felt her head hit it with force after that he simply left, like nothing had happened; Abigail slumped down at the wall right there, tears streaming down her face.
There sat a girl; nothing more; nothing less than a girl that a grown man had just raped, not just any man, but her own father. Abigail picked up the blade that she once hidden before he came; she placed it against her wrist and slowly pierced it into her skin; it began to colour red as her own blood stained the blade; she quickly grabbed another bottle and slowly let her blood drop into it. She continued to cut across her wrist as the blood dripped into her bottle. It was beautiful in its own way; a bottle of red substance that denoted exactly what life was; in her very hand. Abigail continued with the blade across her wrist, it was like a hot knife through butter, which was the way the blade felt going through her skin; so simple and so easy, yet it helped her so much through what was her life.
Abigail stood up and went to put the bottle up on her wardrobe along with all the others, and proceeded to go for a shower, just to get that vile man’s scent from clinging to her body.
She switched the shower on as high as it would go, it may scold her, but at least it rid her of the scent of her father, she stepped into the shower and let the water wash down her body. She furiously scrubbed her body until she was red-raw from it, it felt painful, painful but good. The water washed over her skin, stinging where she had scrubber her skin off.
Abigail stepped out of the shower, and started to dry herself off with a towel. She slowly started to dress, pulling up her panties and putting on a bra. She decided she was going to go for the night, nothing and no one was going to stop her; the question was; what was she going to wear?
She decided on a pair of green skinny jeans and a simple hoodie to cover all her shame. Abigail was an alternate teenager, she had long brunette hair which she dyed a multitude of colours, she put on a collar and wristband, and she instantly looked like a different girl; she was a drop dead gorgeous emotional teenager. Upon her collar she had a heart-shaped container, it had her own blood in it. Something she always wore when she went out; it defined her. It was her. She strapped up her hoodie, and jeans, put her phone in her pocket, headphones in and left the house as quickly as she could, she didn’t want any interactions with the devils that call themselves her parents.
Abigail raced along in the village, she decided where she wanted to go, she didn’t have many friends, and she doubted any of them would actually be there; she decided it would best just to walk around, it was one of her favourite pastimes; walking around the village in the dead of the night. It became her; she was at one with the night; no one could see her pain or her shame; they couldn’t see the abuse that she went through every day. She walked through the desolate and dark village towards the old strange building that stood just on the outskirts; she didn’t know what it was, but it was beautiful in its own way; it was different, like her.
She sat outside the building, against a large oak tree. The protrusions on the tree pushed against her raw back and stung her however she liked the feeling; it made her feel alive. She just sat there listening to the music as she stared at the building.
The building seemed to shimmer in the moonlight; it made her feel peaceful and relaxed. It was an old derelict building that was fenced on, not that it stopped her at times. The building itself was extremely run down and creepy, that might be why she felt at home here, either way; it was her escape from home; escape into a world entirely her own. She laid there for hours, wondering if there would ever be a different life for her one day.
Whether or not she could escape and be free; it was either that or killing herself, admittedly she had thought about it a lot of times; tried to do twice; her father had always found her and stopped her right there before proceeding to hit her claiming she has to learn respect for them.
Abigail slowly started to fall asleep where she was laid, it wouldn’t have been the first time, and it’s not like her parents would care. It must’ve been around two in the morning, she decided to lay down for the night. She rested her head on the great trees roots, they were uncomfortable but better than the ground, she laid there shivering until she drifted off into her dreams. Abigail slept there that night, not wanting to go home or be anywhere near her parents. It was sensual to her; falling asleep underneath the dark sky; no one knew where she was and no one knew who she was; the darkness was her friend; the only one she could rely on.
As Abigail lay asleep in front of the building, the darkness slowly began to disappear as morning was coming. As the sun began to rise, its beams of light hit the derelict building and lit up a sign that said:
Stanton Penitentiary for the Mentally Impaired
Abigail began to stir in her sleep, she could start to feel the roots under her head again, and she took this as a sign to wake up.
“Shit!” Exclaimed Abigail as she realised the wet grass had stained her jumper. She wasn’t particularly cared where she had fell asleep, it was usual to her. She didn’t know what she had been dreaming about but she was pretty sure it was intense by the way she had obviously dug out the grass at her sides, she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad; either way she didn’t want to remember it. As Abigail started to get composure she started to walk back to the village; blade in hand.
It is formatted properly in my word document...it's just on the thread.
It was raining. The drops of water crashing down against the blackness of the night sky, there was no wind in the air, not even a simple breeze. You could hear the water drop on the rocks and stones, it was silent otherwise. Within the darkness, stood the figure of most derelict scenery of an old manor house, against the darkness of the sky, you couldn’t see much, except the outline of the building, and a most curious spire.
Morning came abruptly, the sun shone over the village of Stanton, within the window of a most simple house; you could almost make out the silhouette of a girl crying. In the room, sat a seventeen year old girl, tears were streaming down her face, blood was pouring from her arm and in her hand, sat the blade that caused it all. She had cut herself; it was her only coping method, from the abusive father and elusive mother. She wasn’t a daughter to them; she was a ragdoll, something for them to cause pain to.
Since the age she turned 14, her father had physically and sexual abused her, she turned to the blade after he had done it the second time. The blade comforted her; it helped her cope with everything she was going through; to know she could still feel something, it gave the small spark of life that kept her alive.
She dropped the blade and poured her blood into a small glass bottle; she always kept her blood, it was a reminder of the price she paid to live. Abigail was what some may call, a weird teenager.
“Abigail! Abigail! Where are you?!” screeched her father up the stairs.
Abigail began to fear for her life; she quickly hid her blade and put the bottle of blood up on her wardrobe. Her father stormed through her door and grabbed hold of her. He grabbed her t-shirt and ripped it from her chest exposing her black bra, he dove his head into her chest while unclipping her bra from behind; she kept attempting to struggle but he hit her over the head; she was dazed. He continued to push himself onto her; she felt his weight onto of her as he grabbed her hair and forced her down onto the bed as her tore of the shorts she was wearing.
“You know you was asking for this right? The way you dress in my fucking house! Serves you right! You little whore!” He shouted at her as he slowly took his trousers off. Abigail started to scream but he just hit her again.
“Don’t say a fucking word! No one can hear you anyway”
He managed to get his trousers off and rip off Abigail’s panties, she was naked and there was her father raping her.
He threw her across the floor, she could feel his breathing on the back of her neck as he forced himself into her from behind, she screamed and he merely hit her.
She felt his overbearing weight as she attempted to move away, he just laughed. She could see him gleaming from her mirror as she heard him starting to ejaculate into her. She began to cry as he started to hit her, she couldn’t do anything but cry and take it; she had considered attacking him with her blade; but it was out of reach, and what would it accomplish; she’d know the truth; it wouldn’t take away the years of abuse or rape.
He threw her against the wall where she felt her head hit it with force after that he simply left, like nothing had happened; Abigail slumped down at the wall right there, tears streaming down her face.
There sat a girl; nothing more; nothing less than a girl that a grown man had just raped, not just any man, but her own father. Abigail picked up the blade that she once hidden before he came; she placed it against her wrist and slowly pierced it into her skin; it began to colour red as her own blood stained the blade; she quickly grabbed another bottle and slowly let her blood drop into it. She continued to cut across her wrist as the blood dripped into her bottle. It was beautiful in its own way; a bottle of red substance that denoted exactly what life was; in her very hand. Abigail continued with the blade across her wrist, it was like a hot knife through butter, which was the way the blade felt going through her skin; so simple and so easy, yet it helped her so much through what was her life.
Abigail stood up and went to put the bottle up on her wardrobe along with all the others, and proceeded to go for a shower, just to get that vile man’s scent from clinging to her body.
She switched the shower on as high as it would go, it may scold her, but at least it rid her of the scent of her father, she stepped into the shower and let the water wash down her body. She furiously scrubbed her body until she was red-raw from it, it felt painful, painful but good. The water washed over her skin, stinging where she had scrubber her skin off.
Abigail stepped out of the shower, and started to dry herself off with a towel. She slowly started to dress, pulling up her panties and putting on a bra. She decided she was going to go for the night, nothing and no one was going to stop her; the question was; what was she going to wear?
She decided on a pair of green skinny jeans and a simple hoodie to cover all her shame. Abigail was an alternate teenager, she had long brunette hair which she dyed a multitude of colours, she put on a collar and wristband, and she instantly looked like a different girl; she was a drop dead gorgeous emotional teenager. Upon her collar she had a heart-shaped container, it had her own blood in it. Something she always wore when she went out; it defined her. It was her. She strapped up her hoodie, and jeans, put her phone in her pocket, headphones in and left the house as quickly as she could, she didn’t want any interactions with the devils that call themselves her parents.
Abigail raced along in the village, she decided where she wanted to go, she didn’t have many friends, and she doubted any of them would actually be there; she decided it would best just to walk around, it was one of her favourite pastimes; walking around the village in the dead of the night. It became her; she was at one with the night; no one could see her pain or her shame; they couldn’t see the abuse that she went through every day. She walked through the desolate and dark village towards the old strange building that stood just on the outskirts; she didn’t know what it was, but it was beautiful in its own way; it was different, like her.
She sat outside the building, against a large oak tree. The protrusions on the tree pushed against her raw back and stung her however she liked the feeling; it made her feel alive. She just sat there listening to the music as she stared at the building.
The building seemed to shimmer in the moonlight; it made her feel peaceful and relaxed. It was an old derelict building that was fenced on, not that it stopped her at times. The building itself was extremely run down and creepy, that might be why she felt at home here, either way; it was her escape from home; escape into a world entirely her own. She laid there for hours, wondering if there would ever be a different life for her one day.
Whether or not she could escape and be free; it was either that or killing herself, admittedly she had thought about it a lot of times; tried to do twice; her father had always found her and stopped her right there before proceeding to hit her claiming she has to learn respect for them.
Abigail slowly started to fall asleep where she was laid, it wouldn’t have been the first time, and it’s not like her parents would care. It must’ve been around two in the morning, she decided to lay down for the night. She rested her head on the great trees roots, they were uncomfortable but better than the ground, she laid there shivering until she drifted off into her dreams. Abigail slept there that night, not wanting to go home or be anywhere near her parents. It was sensual to her; falling asleep underneath the dark sky; no one knew where she was and no one knew who she was; the darkness was her friend; the only one she could rely on.
As Abigail lay asleep in front of the building, the darkness slowly began to disappear as morning was coming. As the sun began to rise, its beams of light hit the derelict building and lit up a sign that said:
Stanton Penitentiary for the Mentally Impaired
Abigail began to stir in her sleep, she could start to feel the roots under her head again, and she took this as a sign to wake up.
“Shit!” Exclaimed Abigail as she realised the wet grass had stained her jumper. She wasn’t particularly cared where she had fell asleep, it was usual to her. She didn’t know what she had been dreaming about but she was pretty sure it was intense by the way she had obviously dug out the grass at her sides, she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad; either way she didn’t want to remember it. As Abigail started to get composure she started to walk back to the village; blade in hand.
It is formatted properly in my word document...it's just on the thread.