keys:
y/n = your name
h/c = hair color
e/c = eye color
s/c = skin color
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A LONE WOMAN LET A DEEP BREATH escape her as she tilted her head downwards, her bleached blonde hair flowing down, succumbing to gravity as her eyes closed lightly, her limbs in the air being supported by her tied up, shedded clothes that left her in her white boy shorts and equally as boring tank top. Under the seemingly flying woman was a variety of stuffed animals, plastic Barbie jewellery and strewn open letters - they were gifts and letters, from who though?
She adjusted her position in the air as she opened her eyes - though not completely as she lowered her hands to play with her chemical-damaged hair, the steel poles of her cage not bothering her in the slightest as she relaxed in her aerial position. She heard the gate open, the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing with the sounds of demands being yelled out, she smiled as a heavy handed man quite literally pounded at her cage, "Karlsson, get down from there! Rec time's starting!" the gruff man, a guard, demanded, his small eyes glaring at the blissful woman.
The woman grinned "Gracias, Julio." she giggled, flipping down from her tied up clothes and carelessly walked over the letters and gifts towards the door, paying no mind to the guards who stood more alertly as she walked towards the big man, "Put on some clothes, we don't need another case of sexual assault." Julio ordered, his Brooklyn accent shining through proud and clear, 'Karlsson' blew a raspberry as she begrudgingly pulled down the tied up dress before loosely pulling on the striped garment on her body then moving to the cell's door and allowing Julio to cuff her hands and legs, but not before glancing at a framed photo that sat prettily and neatly between the mess of gifts and letters.
Sometimes the letters are from people who say they're praying for her, they tell her everything will be okay if she just accepted Jesus Christ into her heart. She says the words, but nothing ever happens.
No body ever comes back, she thought solemnly, staring at the boy- no, at the man whose grin stole the spotlight in the photo. No body gets off the cross.
Occasionally, she'd get presents from starfuckers who saw my pictures all over and want to marry her or something. They think they can take her away from all this. As if she'd really date a perverted Chester with a hard-on for jailbait, she's insane, but she's not desperate or a cheating fuck.
Her small smile stretched into her infamous grin appearing on her permanent red painted lips as the gate closed behind her. Her hands rubbed her wrists that were bruised from the handcuffs they'd put on her everyday, the yard turned quiet as soon as she arrived, the atmosphere turning tense as the criminally insane inmates stared at the woman who walked past them all before continuing their activities though more tensely. Karlsson could practically smell the fear in the actions.
Welcome to the mental Olympics where they're big on recreation. Inmates were sort of forced to participate in sports such as tennis or punching bags to pass time, it was entertaining. But then again, if their sanity was converted to temperature it would make 0 kelvin look like the Bahamas, so she didn't doubt that staring at a wall would be just as entertaining as this to them. But, who was she to judge them?
She then found herself in the cafeteria, her tray empty with only a plain biscuit as she walked through the rows of black and white striped men and women whose behavior was akin to that of a trained dog, Karlsson always thought that they, the 'sane' people were just trying to wear them out, to keep us sluggish so there won't be an uprising. While those JV tactics won't work against me, I'm a kicker. K I C K E R.
It even says so on my chart, she thought gleefully.
"Just one toast, huh?" Karlsson slowly turned towards the familiar voice, her smile was present on her face yet a glare was coursing through her dead, extremely light blue eyes that she couldn't remember if she was born with or not. "It's a biscuit. I like biscuits." she deadpanned.
"Well, that's good. But, I'm not sure if one biscuit can provide sufficient energy during the day." Her therapist expressed, false worry clouding her voice, Karlsson hated that, she hated her. "I'd recommend more complex carb--" she received a strong kick to her chest before completing her sentence, the faux blonde's sheer and angry strength knocked the heavy woman over a table behind her with a groan, taking down an inmate along the way.
"I recommend you shut the fuck up!" Karlsson growled out before spitting on the bloodied nose woman, "Alright-" a guard cut in, grabbing the faux blonde as the inmates let out sudden cheers and yells — they were encouraging her behavior, they were tired of this terrible cycle but they were too scared to do anything, they're pussies. The annoying therapist on the floor spit out her own blood once her tongue came in contact with a hard and small object, and to her horror it turned out to be an equally as bloody tooth.
Karlsson grabbed the man in anger by his collar before propelling him against the wall, though another guard quickly grabbed her by her waist - pulling her up in the air, but that only caused her to kick her legs uncontrollably, her feet coming in contact with the face of the slightly dazed guard that she pushed earlier.
She was thrown into a small, empty room. The roof high, higher than she's ever seen as the metal door was slammed shut, "Don't fuck with me!" she yelled in anger, though her lips and eyes were still smiling, "You're so fucked when I get out!" she laughed out before letting out an anguished yell. Her chest heaving up and down quickly, her furrowed eyebrows loosened and her heated face contorted into an awfully delighted expression as if she didn't knock out the teeth of a grown woman twice her size earlier.
I wasn't always like this.
She was normal, well as normal as any girl under the influence of teenage hormones. She looked up, noticing a stray window at the very top. But, after those crackheads stopped the bus I felt...I don't know, loose around the edges or something. It didn't take long for the sky to darken, her face now highlighted with deep blue and it never lost it's cheerful smile.
Suddenly, familiar music started to play. Karlsson looked up, now noticing a speaker near the window, "Through the trees, I will find you. Heal the ruins left inside you. And the stars will remind you, we'll meet again..." The song went.
God, I hate this fucking song, she clammed her hands on her ears, feeling wetness pooling underneath her eyes as she closed them, trying to drown out the familiar song that caused a rush of feelings to wash over her as she fell to her side. Even though the song was annoying to her, it still gave her a bit of reassurance that she'd see him again, she lost him twice, hopefully he comes back for a third time to happen.
It went all down in Gotham, the name sounds gloomy and trust me it and so is everything else involving it; the people, the buildings, even the weather is shady as fuck.
PROLOGUE - "DON'T FUCK WITH ME"
A LONE HOUSE VEILED BY SHADOWS with only one window that allowed some faint blue light to pass through into the yard, gently painting the grass with a blue hue. A middle aged woman —gnawed on a tuft of her long h/c hair, her face wrinkled with age and stress making her look older. As she anxiously watched the tv, trying to get her mind off something that was stressing her out— she's old enough to be a mother, maybe a child of hers disappeared? Or maybe they failed a class in school?
The darkened face of Karlsson suddenly appeared in the window of the older woman's room, her usual cheerful facade replaced with a grimace as she stared at the woman and then at her reflection. She recognized this woman, Julie Karlsson, her mother. She used to be a spitting image of her mother, what happened?
Mother looked emaciated, her face sunken in and her body frail, her eye bags are comparably to those of a rich girl going on her daily shopping spree and her hair looked as dry as hay, she was writing in a notebook, ignoring the sound of the fitness show she's watching in the background with the occasional glance at the TV every now and then before sighing, she laid the notebook on her stomach and hesitantly closed her tired eyes.
She hasn't been sleeping or feeding well in weeks, the photograph next to her truly expressed how different she looked than how she usually did, the woman in the picture was utterly beautiful in every shape or form, but the woman in the bed only looked like a shell of that woman.
Karlsson focused on her own image for a second, comparing herself to the woman laying on the bed. Though she still had her gorgeous features, her hair was a blunt blonde that was obviously bleached, impossibly pale blue eyes, permanent red lips and a deathly shade of s/c skin. She frowned.
I didn't always look this rough. I was the prettiest girl in St. Ignatius High when I wasn't so...I don't know, hungry for action I guess?
She watched her reflection become who she used to be, a gorgeous face with healthy skin, natural e/c eyes and shiny h/c hair. She would've called herself now a shell of who she used to be, and that isn't a lie, she wasn't free back then.
Just a while ago I was a completely normal person. I was my yearbook pictures, nothing more, nothing less.