ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: ꜱᴄɪᴀᴍᴀᴄʜʏ

4.2K 143 40
                                    


act i. good days

"As the years flew by, I fixated more and more on the girl beside me, rather than the impending doom in front of me"

"As the years flew by, I fixated more and more on the girl beside me, rather than the impending doom in front of me"

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.


(n.) a battle against imaginary enemies

♡♡♡

I was not my mother's favorite. It was strangely apparent. In fact, I considered myself quite distant from her.

It's not that I knew she had malicious intent from the start- really, she just chose favorites. As a more antisocial child; I fell near the bottom of her list. Not that it mattered to me. However, we did bond over one thing: the babies.

I've always been inclined to play with children much younger than myself. It happened so commonly, I subconsciously split the orphanage into two parts. The older, and the younger. When mother took notice of this quirk, she kindled it best she could. Every day since I was six, my mother would let me into her room to help care for the toddlers and infants. We didn't talk, we listened instead; to the babbles and soft cries of the kids. Mother would fawn over the youngest ones, and croon sweet nothings into the shells of their ears as she dressed them. My favorite memories of her were when she was like this.

I didn't make a lot of friends other than the young children. Looking back, I suppose I distanced myself from the children my age too. They weren't sour towards me though. Every once in a while, a little hand would pry on my shirt, and ask me to play tag or another game outside. I would always tell them "I prefer to read here, inside" it didn't bring me joy to see the disappointment on their faces, but It had to be done. We were too different to get along, and they would realize such soon enough.

I was content with what I was doing, they were content with what they were doing. What reason was there to change anything? They didn't need me for their game, I was simply saving them the hassle. That made me different in the long run. I was never the one willing to disturb the peace- never the one to take risks. Maybe if I was, things would have turned out different. How apathetic of me.

Mother was an excellent pretender. I pieced together the puzzle of the century when I was about seven. An older child, June, was leaving to meet her parents. My curious mind got the best of me, and I followed her and mother from behind. I had the horrendous courtesy of watching the blood drain from her body, into a hauntingly beautiful, vermillion flower.

With dinner in the soft palate of my mouth and blurry vision- I recall speeding away as quickly as possible. I vomited afterward. Abruptly, any feelings of guilt of not being like my mother dissipated. For weeks, there was a gaping hole in my heart where the guilt once resided.

After the incident, watching the children was torture. Every night, as usual, I would return to my mother's room. I would watch her pretend with the children- pretend with me. She spun nimble stories with the tips of her fingers and told sweet lies with her sharp, silver tongue.

"They're having too much fun for letters" or, "it must have been lost in the mail- our home is in quite the obscure location" she would smile and wave them away. I quickly found myself hyperaware of the numbers on our necks, the ones on hers, too.

All reason was lost when it came to the family. My mother's lulling to the babies further solidified that theory. I took a final glance from the doorway at her, she might as well have been singing to butchered meat. Despite my distaste for her, the things I was feeling didn't motivate me to leave. Even after that morbid display, I couldn't find it in myself to care anymore.

I spent breakfast alone as always. As I pondered my own restless thoughts, number 73584 took a seat beside me. I would eventually learn to recognize her as Isabella. Her glossy black hair shone in the morning sun, her eyes were bright. I remember vividly how lovely she was to me. She asked me to read with her. For the first time, I offered a hesitant approval.

I'm not sure what drew her to me, like a moth to a flame. Maybe it was my enlightened soul. I was going to die anyway, might as well get to know the strangers around beforehand. Isabella led me to the base of an oak, next to 71584, a boy who resembled spring.

♡♡♡

【Vault】

✘ (y/n)'s number is 71325

✘ Extreme stress and/or anxiety can cause (y/n) to vomit

♡♡♡

WC: 753

So that's the first chapter! Before we continue, I would like to inform you all that:

a. the mood will eventually change. Yes, I know it's dreary at the moment- but once (y/n) gets over herself and stops reminiscing, we can get into the fun shit.

b. I still haven't read the manga 🤧

c. I will hopefully be updating once a week, I have a few chapters planned out so far.

Current concerns:

- Is the pacing weird? I feel like it's weird.

- Does my organization make sense?

- How tf does punctuation work in quotations?

- Is it boring? 😃🔫

Leave feedback and point out any writing mistakes! I'll see you next week,

rem

ꜱʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ┃ɪꜱᴀʙᴇʟʟᴀWhere stories live. Discover now