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Thread: Traitor (Pt. 2, Ch. 3-4)

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    Newbie Shinigami Kira is off to a good start Shinigami Kira's Avatar
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    Traitor (Pt. 2, Ch. 3-4)

    This is a continuation of the thread "Traitor" I posted quite a while back. I haven't logged on since August, so I haven't had time to put anything enw up. If you haven't read the first thread, I qould suggest looking at my profile and finding the original two chapters, otherwise, you'd likely be lost. And for those who did read the first two, there were some tweaks I made, but the only significant one is that Cassie keeps track of her favorite album and song of the day (as music has become the closest thing to emotion she can experience). Not only is there something that can be gleaned from any part of the album, title, or artist, but this will also tie into the ending somewhat.
    Thanks if you're reading this, and even more so if you read the first thread.



    3

    Home. A refuge to those who experience hardship, suffering, pain, though they know not the true meaning of hurt. A comfort to the soul. Love lies in wait for those away that now return. Except for me. Home is no more than another place of neglect and more unhappiness.

    I stood at the front door and groped around my backpack for the key to the house. Once I procured the key, I unlocked the door and walked inside. The house was empty, but I would not have expected it otherwise. In the hallway I dumped my bag on the carpet and went to the kitchen. As expected, I found a note on the phone from my mother. It read:

    At friend’s house. Will be there for long time. Cereal in pantry, don’t have any milk or drinks.

    This is how things usually were. My mother would be over at some friend’s house getting drunk and staying there past midnight. She barely even went shopping for food anymore. Most of the time I would have to buy something at school and save it to eat at home. I ripped off the note and threw it in the trash. I was walking into the den, when something caught my eye.

    It was a picture. And it was a rather old picture. The picture itself was probably four years old. A year before The Suffering began. I looked at it. Back then, I was a bit older than ten years old. I seemed so happy. And my father, only thirty-two, seemed happy and carefree. His face bore no lines of worry creasing his forehead, and a genuine smile occupied much of his lower face.

    And my mother stood on my left side, seemingly without concern or heavy thought occupying her mind. But if you stared into her eyes, you could see something. Something bothersome, something that was occupying her mind. That, I later learned, was the beginning of all our problems.

    But when you looked into my father’s eyes, you couldn’t see anything out of place, troublesome. My father had always been gifted with the ability to conceal his real emotions, unlike me. That trait probably was one reason he was such a good traitor.

    Traitor. Every time I heard, thought, or said that word, I felt a kind of extremity, something harsh, something that made me hate the word. Something that broke the love and deep bond I had for my father. Because my father was a traitor to more than just his country. And what he did hurt worse than knowing he betrayed our country. It was one of the deep secrets I locked away within me. One of the dark secrets. A very dark secret, in my mind. And in my heart.

    But it was no secret. Everyone knew. And they made sure I knew it too. How could I not know? He was my father, the closest family member I had. And that was why they treated me the same way. Like a traitor.

    Yet there was still one secret that no one else knew. My secret. The secret that made my life more miserable than it already was. The secret hiding in my past, waiting there, searching for a crevice in the stone wall that my heart had become to escape. It would never get out, I made sure of it, though. If my heart was stone, than it was layered with five feet of eternal cement.

    * * * * * *


    An hour later, I was sitting on the couch in the den of my house. I was sprawled over the couch, staring at the screen in front of me.

    This was one my boring traditions.

    I would walk into my house, dump my backpack, crumple my mother’s note, and plop lazily onto a couch and stare without comprehension at the pictures that danced about the TV.

    There was nothing better to do anyway.

    After about four more stupid reruns, I trudged up the stairs to my room like a sloth. Once I was completely inside my room, I closed the door and grabbed a magazine. I threw myself onto my black bed. It used to be pink and happy, but I have no reason to be happy. Unlike the people in my Teen Magazine. They were all perfect and happy.

    And why shouldn’t they be? They were famous, had millions of adorers, and made millions a year.

    I hated them.

    I hated their stupid faces.

    I hated their little perfect lives.

    I hated everything.

    But I knew they didn’t really have it all. And that was what made me smile smugly to myself whenever I read or heard anything about celebrities. It let me laugh at them for being what they were, and fawn over them like a mindless idiot.

    After I had thrown a few darts into some celebrity pictures, I went back downstairs and grabbed a box of cereal. In the other room, I flicked on the TV to Wheel of Fortune, and ate with my hand straight out of the cereal box.

    I don’t see why I even turned on the stupid show. I don’t like it, and why should I want to watch a bunch of strangers win a lot of money?

    I’d rather watch people lose money, or something.

    Disgusted, I dropped the box and Cheerios rolled to the floor.

    Stomping up the stairs, angry for no reason, I kicked open the door to my room and flung myself to the floor. On the floor still, I reached under my bed and drew my hand back with a picture in it.

    The picture was one of five years ago.

    I was crying, tears mixing with dirt, sitting on the steps to my home. It had been cut out from the newspaper the day it arrived and I saw myself like that.

    The caption underneath read as follows: Nine-year-old Cassie Maiek sits outside her house crying. Her father, Thomas Maiek, had received the death penalty on an act of extreme treason.

    I fell asleep on the floor a few minutes later, the picture clutched tightly in my hand.

    Album: Once (Music from the Motion Picture)
    Artist: Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova
    Favorite Song Today: Falling Slowly




    4

    “Mom?” I tugged at the hem of my mother’s shirt. “Mom? Where does Daddy go all the time?”

    “I don’t know,” Mother didn’t seem to want to talk.

    “But how come you don’t know?” I persisted. “Doesn’t Daddy tell you what he does?”

    “No, he doesn’t,” Mother looked at me with that look she had started using. “Go to bed, why don’t you, got it?”

    “But Mommy!” I whined. “It’s only seven. Please, can I stay up longer.”

    “Go to bed NOW!” Mother almost screamed, pointing at the stairs and rubbing her temples.

    I whimpered and my lip began to quiver, but I walked slowly up the stairs. As I made my way up, I could hear Mother crying to herself.

    “Why? What happened to us? Oh Thomas, why can’t you just be the same as you were when we were happy?” I heard my mother wail, almost to my room.

    The next day, as I sat in the kitchen table eating breakfast, I saw some strange looking papers on Mother’s small desk in the corner of the room. Leaving my cereal to get soggy, I walked over to the desk and flipped through the papers.

    They were divorce certificates.
    Last edited by Shinigami Kira; Nov 11, 2007 at 09:47 PM.

    In the future reflected in the fruit
    I change my dream into an ideal

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    Newbie midnightrain is off to a good start
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    Re: Traitor (Pt. 2, Ch. 3-4)

    [QUOTE=Shinigami Kira;553849]This is a continuation of the thread "Traitor" I posted quite a while back. I haven't logged on since August, so I haven't had time to put anything enw up. If you haven't read the first thread, I qould suggest looking at my profile and finding the original two chapters, otherwise, you'd likely be lost. And for those who did read the first two, there were some tweaks I made, but the only significant one is that Cassie keeps track of her favorite album and song of the day (as music has become the closest thing to emotion she can experience). Not only is there something that can be gleaned from any part of the album, title, or artist, but this will also tie into the ending somewhat.
    Thanks if you're reading this, and even more so if you read the first thread.

    [quote]


    its an awsome story

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    Angelic Lasura may be famous one day Lasura's Avatar
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    Re: Traitor (Pt. 2, Ch. 3-4)

    Ooooh... a second part ^^ How glad am I to see this ^^


    And I really like this story. I like how you write, nice... you write really well. Something still seemed odd, but I can't say what (I dunno... maybe I'm jelous of how good this is )

    And yea... the way you put those songs in is great. And I bet the ending will be pectacular

    Anyways- I'm waiting forward for the next chapter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please continue!

    My recommended fanfic: "Dreamer" by Scourge

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    Otaku Dune Bashing In Dubai Champion, Yetisports 10 - Icicle Climb Champion, Yeti Bubbles Champion overload is off to a good start overload's Avatar
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    Re: Traitor (Pt. 2, Ch. 3-4)

    I never saw that you had posted a second part...
    well I have read it now, I cannot think of anything to say.
    other than it is a wonderfully written and compelling story.
    good for you, and write more.

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