"i'm lost in my own fantasies, i can't escape"
in which a young girl is a famous musician, only to be anonymous. she grew up, used the funds to run away, finding herself in finland.
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mentions of abuse and depression within the story, warnings will...
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
"you look awful"
MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE
act two chapter 'seitsemän' seven
it was a rainy afternoon, blonde hair trailed behind the child from the wind. she had a small skip to her step, a bag indicating her return from school.
her pace was rushed, wanting to get to shelter as quickly as possible. she held her backpack over her head, in hopes to shield the droplets from her new clothes.
she couldn't be older than twelve, and clearly hadn't started secondary school yet. her height wasn't too far off a fully grown adult, possibly an early bloomer.
as she reached her home, she bounced up and down impatiently. her previous knocks were often ignored, causing her to hit the wooden slab multiple times.
growing footsteps indicated for her to stop, the abrupt sound startling her. she stopped her bouncing, now standing tensely on her doormat.
"why are you late?" a low voice questioned. the thuds had stopped, and was replaced with metal clanking.
the door was pulled in towards the house, there stood a frightening male figure before her. her father peered down at her, rubbing his eyes as if he'd just woken up.
the man dragged her by the arm, her fragile body unable to keep up with the impact. she urged to fall forward, but the father's grip continued to hold her up.
she dropped her bag on the floor, moving it out of the way with her foot. using both his and her own strength, she regained her balance.
the unnatural blonde tried to refrain from expressing fear, but the idea was soon out the window. his tight grip on her arm cut the blood circulation off, her arm soon turning purple.
"it's past four."
"only by two minutes," the younger vasliki managed to get out, "let me go, please."
the innocence of a child could always be forgotten with a traumatic experience.
"you are late," he emphasised with distaste, a small pause between each word. "sure, i'll let you go," the man was clearly stronger than the girl, her body providing no strength to counteract his throw.
she slid down the wall, a loud thud ringing through her ears. she refused to let out a sign it hurt, she tried to convince herself it was alright.
but not if they're unable to recognise it.
pulling herself up, she started to reach for her bag again, only to be kicked away by some brown, ripped sneakers.
