Post by heartstring on Nov 15, 2011 23:00:07 GMT -5
Midnight. Location, unknown. The cool fall breezed threatened to reveal Izzie’s face through her tattered grey hoodie. She grabbed hold of its sides and pulled them together, shielding her mouth from the eyes of the ever-watching creatures lurking in the dark. Even within the shadow of the night she feared discovery.
Tomorrow would mark two months since she had looked another person in the eye. Ever since a middle-aged man in a rusty old pick-up truck got a look at her and dumped her on the side of the road in God-Knows-Where, NY she’d kept her head down and her voice low. A handful of nights using her curse for a free meal and a few handfuls more of an empty stomach had brought her here. And ‘here’, it seemed, was nowhere.
She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she was searching for, but it wasn’t this. Then again, ‘this’ was better than what had come before. As she stumbled along (you would think that after all the nights spent rummaging through the woods she would get better at it) she pondered over the events that lead her to this very place.
Her father was a good man and her mother, she was told, was a saint. They were high school sweethearts; as much in love as two people could ever hope to be. What should have completed their love, the birth of their first child, instead took her mother from this Earth. What was left was Izobel.
Izzie’s father loved her dearly, but he was never able to fully recover from his wife’s death. He worked hard to provide a good life for her, but nothing he did could pull him from his misery. His slow march to meet his wife in death began when Izzie’s power manifested and he saw his wife’s face for the first time in fourteen years. Afterwards, alcohol became his second child. Night after night he cradled a bottle (or two) in his arms until one night he succeeded in joining her.
From then on Izzie’s life was a blur, especially to her. After several broken hearts, a few classless jobs, and a lot of drunken nights she decided she wanted to head to Westchester, NY to ask assistance from the only people who may be able to help her. Of course, she wasn’t expecting it to be this difficult.
“Did I mention that I hate nature?” she asked nothing in particular. “Well, I do.”
Tomorrow would mark two months since she had looked another person in the eye. Ever since a middle-aged man in a rusty old pick-up truck got a look at her and dumped her on the side of the road in God-Knows-Where, NY she’d kept her head down and her voice low. A handful of nights using her curse for a free meal and a few handfuls more of an empty stomach had brought her here. And ‘here’, it seemed, was nowhere.
She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she was searching for, but it wasn’t this. Then again, ‘this’ was better than what had come before. As she stumbled along (you would think that after all the nights spent rummaging through the woods she would get better at it) she pondered over the events that lead her to this very place.
Her father was a good man and her mother, she was told, was a saint. They were high school sweethearts; as much in love as two people could ever hope to be. What should have completed their love, the birth of their first child, instead took her mother from this Earth. What was left was Izobel.
Izzie’s father loved her dearly, but he was never able to fully recover from his wife’s death. He worked hard to provide a good life for her, but nothing he did could pull him from his misery. His slow march to meet his wife in death began when Izzie’s power manifested and he saw his wife’s face for the first time in fourteen years. Afterwards, alcohol became his second child. Night after night he cradled a bottle (or two) in his arms until one night he succeeded in joining her.
From then on Izzie’s life was a blur, especially to her. After several broken hearts, a few classless jobs, and a lot of drunken nights she decided she wanted to head to Westchester, NY to ask assistance from the only people who may be able to help her. Of course, she wasn’t expecting it to be this difficult.
“Did I mention that I hate nature?” she asked nothing in particular. “Well, I do.”
