Death Can Lead You To The Most...Exquisite of Places.
Chapter One: Part One
Bony knees pulled up to her chin, she sat there with naive blue eyes swarming with curiosity. From the black, worn-out leather couch, the little girl quietly watched her mother hunched over the chipped coffee table. The room, which reeked with the smell of heavy alcohol, mildew, and cigarettes, was cramped and congested with trash and dingy furniture that appeared to be on its last leg (quite literally for some). If you try focusing on perhaps the crooked drapes or peeling walls, your senses slowly adapt to the stench, and it might just begin to feel like a home.
Of contempt, that is.
Though the house wasn't exactly upholding well, compared to the occupants living there, it was by far, the least thing in need of an S.O.S.
Now the mother, with atrociously dyed, knotty black hair--haphazardly strewn--guzzled the last bit of liquor in the disturbingly large glass bottle. Her daughter's brunette bangs fell into her eyes, slightly hiding the small eyebrows that pulled tightly together in confusion. She, the mother, then tossed the bottle to the filthy green carpeted ground below her feet. Her manic blue eyes, similar to that of her daughter’s, fell upon the tin foil neatly sprawled out on the coffee table. On this tin foil, held the very cause of the house's demolish, reason why neighbors quickly hurried past the house, casting frightened and displeased glances over their shoulders. The exact reason why the little girl slept on a damp pillow.
The daughter slightly nodded in recognition; she was used to seeing this particular substance, seeing as how it could have been considered to be on mommy's food pyramid. ‘Fairy dust' was what she was told it was. What else was a five year-old suppose to think? Surely, anything from the truth. However, she was merely confused as to why her mother breathed it up into her nose so frequently, so hastily. What sense did that make? Though, like many other children, she embraced the lies, like a child believing in Santa. Believing it was fairy dust led her to hope that there were truly small and dazzling winged creatures dancing among endless smiles in the world, creating endless sunrises and sunsets, and making every little girl feel like the princess she truly is.
That thin shred of hope led her to believe in an escape.
Nonetheless, she knew to not ask questions when mommy was doing her usual routine. If she did, well, sometimes her mother would lash out. The little girl would then receive the back of the mother’s pale, rough hand to her cheek. Or, rather tragically, dragged to the corner of the room, tears silently streaming from her vibrant oceanic eyes. She was a quiet child, only yelled whenever her mother was unresponsive on the floor, or was quivering violently, eyes rolled into the back of her head. She loved her mother, that she did. She, the mother, wasn’t particularly always violent, mainly when she’d have a little too much to drink and/or was on a high. And even so, the daughter was too young to really know the truth, too young to judge. She thought this was a normal thing; didn’t all mommies do this? Didn’t all mommies inject fluid from a needle into their veins, looking for some pathetic, indecent fun? Searching for a route cleared of memories that gnawed at the last threads of sanity? Don't they all snort shit up their noses because they no longer could find a vein?
This is Evangeline's story--The girl who only dreamt of fairies, magic and escape. The girl who dies, and within that death, gains all that she's never had.
Hey(: what do you think so far? Please lemme know! Comments are very appreciated.
It's kinda crappy, I know. I'm trying, I'm trying! D:
~Thanks for reading :3
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Evangeline Taylor: RebornTeen Fiction
Evangeline Taylor was only young when her mother became addicted to drugs and alcohol. She was only young when she prayed for an escape, something to break this reality. Her father was M.I.A., and his absence was one of the main causes of her mother...