Wings or fangs, Saint or denial., chapter 1
'Kay this is a new story, I know I promised to go on with the sequel to my Teenies From hell and the band that saved the day story but this came to mind and I have to write it. Sorry, sequel will be coming soon, kay?
___
My name is Rachel. Rachel Marie. I always thought having a first name as a last name was stupid. I guess it doesnt matter anyways.
I had it all thought out. I thought this would be a simple, normal year. Yeah, considering me, I wouldn't say normal is the word to describe anything. First of all, I had no clue about myself until a few weeks ago. I mean, I always had that feeling I was different from the other girls. So let me start, get things straight.
When I was a kid, I was what every normal five year old was. I had pretty black hair that for some reason ALWAYS stays, always has been and probably always will be waist length.
After dying it a random fourteen times, its gotten a bit dull, but its still commented on by everyone I meet, even people who don't like me. I've always been a bit pale, but coming from the northern America, I wouldn't be surprised why. With little sunlight and not many tanning salons, I wouldn't wonder. When I moved to California years later, I was surprised there was even that much brightness, I thought it was only in stories.
Anyhow, so as I was saying, I was normal. I had two parents, both looking a lot like me who loved me and gave me Barbies to play with and everything. I had my friends, but at that age, nobody's enemies except for the random days when we would fight over a toy and hold a two hour long grudge. But by snack time, it was back to the friendliness that we knew and loved. By the time grade one started, I already had a best friend, Shannon.
I always dressed kind of like a Tomboy you can say, but even as a kid I said that I didn't believe in those stereotypes. While the girls in my class insisted on dressing like the older girls in grade eight, who at that time seemed like the coolest people we would ever meet, I continued to dress the way I wanted. I also liked different music.
Most kids my age thought that rock,punk, and whatever other music I was into was scary, and they were more into pop and such. But we decided that different was great. But through all my blissful, childish, and innocent happiness, I noticed a change in my parents. No longer did they share the same bed, and my dad was always late coming home. We used to eat dinners as a family, now my dad always said, 'I ordered out.' Then he would retire to the den and drink himself into a coma.
My mom and dad started the fights when I was in grade six. Before, at least they could tolerate each other with the random dirty looks when they thought I wasn't looking, or the snappy tone they used. Now they were screaming at each other at night, at lunch, and getting mad at each other for no reason. As an only child, I didn't have the luxury of an older sister or brother to run to and hide away with. So most nights I spent huddled up in the corner behind my bed, leaning against the wall, or some nights I would open my door a crack and listen. But when the yelling got fierce and angry, I would sniffle and run back into my room, turning on a Green Day CD (Green Day, my favorite band.) and listen to them until I fell asleep, holding my stuffed cat, Boots.
One night when I was feeling brave, I looked out into the hall. I saw my mom hit my dad, and she kept hitting him. I was mad at her. I remember that. I can still remember when he refused to hit her back.
"You act so big and tough!" I remember my mom yelling at him while she slapped him upside the head.
What are you going to do now? I didn't know what to do. I was so angry with her. I saw my dad's eyes droop with sadness. He couldn't do anything. But then my mom brought up his dad.
"Just like your father! A lazy inconsiderate bastard!
That's when he brought up his fist. My mother, suddenly not as tough as she had seemed moments before, felt the smack on her cheek and ran down the stairs crying. My dad sank down the wall and put his hands on his head. I wanted to help him, but I was scared. So scared that he would be mad at me for listening in. I just went back into my room, put on a Green Day CD, and listened until I heard the front door slam.
I opened my blinds and looked out the window, seeing my mom walk down the driveway with her things falling out of a suitcase and an open backpack. She got into her Ford, revved up the engine, and drove away. My dad didn't even go to stop her. I was frozen with shocked horror as she drove away.
And she never came back.
It was hard for us to get used to mom being gone all the time. I waited every day at her usual work time to come home. After weeks, I was just glancing out the window. After a month, I stopped worrying about her coming home at all. My dad still had work to do. He went to work every day, came back, and drank an entire bottle of wine to himself. I usually found him on the couch, his hair a mess and his tie loose. After that, I couldn't really find the fun in hanging out with the kids in my class any more.
They all complained about the things their parents do to them, like making them do studying instead of being allowed to go on the computer, or "forcing" them to wash the dishes. Where as I used to be sympathetic and understanding, now I just hated it.
I couldn't take their complaints any more, and instead of snapping at them or making some smart-ass remark, I just gave up on talking to them at all. Shannon thought something might be wrong, even she didn't know about the divorce. I told her that the other kids were annoying.
She got mad at me, and told me she didn't want to hang out with me anymore if I was going to be mean. I didn't care, to tell you the truth. I soon developed a love for drawing and writing and music. I loved the arts, and in them I found a comfort I had never known before. They would be my friends, and that was that.
And for two years, I remained hated.
Through grade six and seven. My dad didn't ask questions. Until he started getting phone calls home about me getting into fights and into trouble at school, and how all I did was draw in my notebooks and write. He got mad at me and took me out of school, sent me to an all girl's boarding school, which he thought was a perfect idea.
"To be around some better people...." He told me. "They don't have uniforms there, so you can still dress like you want. I support that. But maybe if you hang around with some of these girls, you can make some new friends."
I didn't like the idea. My dad thought it was absolutely fabulous. So I packed my stuff, my CD's, my art supplies, my tapes... my dad even got me a cell phone and a discman AND an mp3 player for going away. He said he would miss me, though I knew as soon as I left he would go back to the den and drown himself in beer.
On the bus that day, all I could do was draw. Of course, the pictures were a bit jagged from the bus. But all in all, they were still good. They were pictures of what I thought my mom might look like now.
When I got to the school, I knew I was in definite trouble. The girls were all wearing at least ten pounds of mascara and lipstick and eye shadow. They weren't dressed casually, more of a kind of "Jessica Simpson" way. I held my notebook and my mp3 player close. I couldn't wait to disappear into my room, maybe I had a nice roommate.
It turns out I did. Her name was Valerie, she also hated the school, and she told me that at least now that I was here, (of course, not truly meaning it in a way) that she would be off target for a while.
I was hated there as well. No one liked me that much except for Valerie. She liked Green Day too. One day I came into the room and she was rummaging through a drawer to find her lip balm, when she noticed my art book. I jumped at her, but she had already opened it.
"These are beautiful!" was what I got in reply. From then on, Valerie insisted that I continue to draw pictures, and let her see as soon as I was done. Valerie liked to write. She was good at it as well.
So through all the free time we had, we sat there, drawing and writing and showing each other. Sometimes a kid would come along and kick the papers out of our hands, or spit at us, but we were quick to recover.
Then, two weeks ago, everything changed, as I told you. I had just turned thirteen, it was the first day after Christmas break. On breaks, everyone went home. It turns out no one could get a hold of my dad, since he was probably drunk. I didn't even get a Christmas card!
But I still got a gift from Valerie- a new art book and some pencil crayons. I got her a notebook and a set of pencils and erasers, she was always losing hers. It was lunchtime, and Valerie and I sat at our table alone, as usual. Across from us were the most mean girls you could ever meet- Cindy, Alaina, Carrie, and Beatrice. Cindy came towards us, and Valerie pointed her fork at her and made a choking sound. I laughed, but Cindy wasn't.
"Yo, freaks!" she said, using our usual addressing.
She proceeded to tell us something probably rude and rotten and evil but I couldn't pay attention to that. I could only stare at her neck. It was nice. I mean, I know that's weird, and that's what I thought too. I thought back to Health, when we learned of the veins, and the major ones being in the wrists and in the neck. I stared at her neck until she gave me a look that said, 'What the hell?'
"What's the matter, Freak?" Cindy said with some obvious distain. "Take a picture. It lasts longer."
A pulse ran through me, and I suddenly felt more hunger then I ever had in my life. I looked at that neck with a feeling I hadn't felt before. I felt anxious, and nervous, and I just wanted to... bite?
Suddenly, without warning, I felt myself leaping forth. I couldn't control it. I grabbed at her shoulders, and she shrieked. To my dismay, we had caught the entire Cafeteria's attention. I couldn't stop myself. I didn't know what I was doing. My mind had taken over my body, and almost as if I knew what I was going to do, I shrieked even louder then Cindy.
"Get off of me, you freak!"
I didn't open my mouth. When I did, the words I wanted to say didn't come out at all. Instead, a deep growling voice came out, with words I had no idea of.
"My name isn't Freak. It's Rachel! You inconsiderate... bitch!" I growled. My mind was racing. Suddenly my thoughts weren't my own. I knew what I was thinking. But my mind didn't. It was telling me one thing- Feed.
"I-I'm sorry! Rachel, Rachel get off of me!"
She was crying now. I was crying too. I didn't know what was happening. Before I could do anything else, I had sunk my teeth into her neck, and was sucking in her blood. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with me?
Cindy's shrieks grew louder, but I didn't stop. Some girls tried to pull me off of her, but I slashed at them. They screamed and ran away. Valerie screamed too.
"Rachel, what's wrong with you?"
Stay away Valerie... please, I don't want to hurt you!
Cindy's arms flailed around as she reached into the air, randomly grabbing at it, trying to brake free. I noticed her usual rose skin was turning paler, like mine. I heard the cafeteria door slam. Cindy's eyes were glazing over. She could now only manage weak whimpers. Her eyes were brimming with tears. I heard footsteps coming over to me.
"Rachel, what do you think you are doing!?" It was the voice of my principal.
Cindy lay motionless now. I stepped back from her body finally, my stomach feeling full. In my self, I felt queasy. But my head was playing games with me, making me feel satisfied.
"Rachel! Oh my god, Cindy!"
The principal lifted Cindy up off the ground, blood was running down my chin. I followed after them, but stopped. What was I doing? I felt sick. I had just drank Cindy's blood. Her BLOOD for Christ's sake. Her god damned blood! I doubled over and vomited, and my stomach felt that empty feeling again. I turned around to see the girls staring at me with frightened eyes. A few girls had fainted, a few were crying. One was sobbing uncontrollably, calling for her mother. Most were shaking in fear. I took a step towards them, and they all stepped back. Most shrieked and ran away to hide. I turned to Valerie with tears in my eyes. Valerie gasped and clutched the table.
"N-no, I didn't mean too... "
"Rachel... what's gotten into you?" Valerie looked scared, but by the look on my face, and by the look on hers, I think she knew that I didn't mean to. Somehow...
One thought bounced up from the back of my head.
Run! Get the fuck up and run!
So I did. I ran. I ran, and ran, and ran...
___
My name is Rachel. Rachel Marie. I always thought having a first name as a last name was stupid. I guess it doesnt matter anyways.
I had it all thought out. I thought this would be a simple, normal year. Yeah, considering me, I wouldn't say normal is the word to describe anything. First of all, I had no clue about myself until a few weeks ago. I mean, I always had that feeling I was different from the other girls. So let me start, get things straight.
When I was a kid, I was what every normal five year old was. I had pretty black hair that for some reason ALWAYS stays, always has been and probably always will be waist length.
After dying it a random fourteen times, its gotten a bit dull, but its still commented on by everyone I meet, even people who don't like me. I've always been a bit pale, but coming from the northern America, I wouldn't be surprised why. With little sunlight and not many tanning salons, I wouldn't wonder. When I moved to California years later, I was surprised there was even that much brightness, I thought it was only in stories.
Anyhow, so as I was saying, I was normal. I had two parents, both looking a lot like me who loved me and gave me Barbies to play with and everything. I had my friends, but at that age, nobody's enemies except for the random days when we would fight over a toy and hold a two hour long grudge. But by snack time, it was back to the friendliness that we knew and loved. By the time grade one started, I already had a best friend, Shannon.
I always dressed kind of like a Tomboy you can say, but even as a kid I said that I didn't believe in those stereotypes. While the girls in my class insisted on dressing like the older girls in grade eight, who at that time seemed like the coolest people we would ever meet, I continued to dress the way I wanted. I also liked different music.
Most kids my age thought that rock,punk, and whatever other music I was into was scary, and they were more into pop and such. But we decided that different was great. But through all my blissful, childish, and innocent happiness, I noticed a change in my parents. No longer did they share the same bed, and my dad was always late coming home. We used to eat dinners as a family, now my dad always said, 'I ordered out.' Then he would retire to the den and drink himself into a coma.
My mom and dad started the fights when I was in grade six. Before, at least they could tolerate each other with the random dirty looks when they thought I wasn't looking, or the snappy tone they used. Now they were screaming at each other at night, at lunch, and getting mad at each other for no reason. As an only child, I didn't have the luxury of an older sister or brother to run to and hide away with. So most nights I spent huddled up in the corner behind my bed, leaning against the wall, or some nights I would open my door a crack and listen. But when the yelling got fierce and angry, I would sniffle and run back into my room, turning on a Green Day CD (Green Day, my favorite band.) and listen to them until I fell asleep, holding my stuffed cat, Boots.
One night when I was feeling brave, I looked out into the hall. I saw my mom hit my dad, and she kept hitting him. I was mad at her. I remember that. I can still remember when he refused to hit her back.
"You act so big and tough!" I remember my mom yelling at him while she slapped him upside the head.
What are you going to do now? I didn't know what to do. I was so angry with her. I saw my dad's eyes droop with sadness. He couldn't do anything. But then my mom brought up his dad.
"Just like your father! A lazy inconsiderate bastard!
That's when he brought up his fist. My mother, suddenly not as tough as she had seemed moments before, felt the smack on her cheek and ran down the stairs crying. My dad sank down the wall and put his hands on his head. I wanted to help him, but I was scared. So scared that he would be mad at me for listening in. I just went back into my room, put on a Green Day CD, and listened until I heard the front door slam.
I opened my blinds and looked out the window, seeing my mom walk down the driveway with her things falling out of a suitcase and an open backpack. She got into her Ford, revved up the engine, and drove away. My dad didn't even go to stop her. I was frozen with shocked horror as she drove away.
And she never came back.
It was hard for us to get used to mom being gone all the time. I waited every day at her usual work time to come home. After weeks, I was just glancing out the window. After a month, I stopped worrying about her coming home at all. My dad still had work to do. He went to work every day, came back, and drank an entire bottle of wine to himself. I usually found him on the couch, his hair a mess and his tie loose. After that, I couldn't really find the fun in hanging out with the kids in my class any more.
They all complained about the things their parents do to them, like making them do studying instead of being allowed to go on the computer, or "forcing" them to wash the dishes. Where as I used to be sympathetic and understanding, now I just hated it.
I couldn't take their complaints any more, and instead of snapping at them or making some smart-ass remark, I just gave up on talking to them at all. Shannon thought something might be wrong, even she didn't know about the divorce. I told her that the other kids were annoying.
She got mad at me, and told me she didn't want to hang out with me anymore if I was going to be mean. I didn't care, to tell you the truth. I soon developed a love for drawing and writing and music. I loved the arts, and in them I found a comfort I had never known before. They would be my friends, and that was that.
And for two years, I remained hated.
Through grade six and seven. My dad didn't ask questions. Until he started getting phone calls home about me getting into fights and into trouble at school, and how all I did was draw in my notebooks and write. He got mad at me and took me out of school, sent me to an all girl's boarding school, which he thought was a perfect idea.
"To be around some better people...." He told me. "They don't have uniforms there, so you can still dress like you want. I support that. But maybe if you hang around with some of these girls, you can make some new friends."
I didn't like the idea. My dad thought it was absolutely fabulous. So I packed my stuff, my CD's, my art supplies, my tapes... my dad even got me a cell phone and a discman AND an mp3 player for going away. He said he would miss me, though I knew as soon as I left he would go back to the den and drown himself in beer.
On the bus that day, all I could do was draw. Of course, the pictures were a bit jagged from the bus. But all in all, they were still good. They were pictures of what I thought my mom might look like now.
When I got to the school, I knew I was in definite trouble. The girls were all wearing at least ten pounds of mascara and lipstick and eye shadow. They weren't dressed casually, more of a kind of "Jessica Simpson" way. I held my notebook and my mp3 player close. I couldn't wait to disappear into my room, maybe I had a nice roommate.
It turns out I did. Her name was Valerie, she also hated the school, and she told me that at least now that I was here, (of course, not truly meaning it in a way) that she would be off target for a while.
I was hated there as well. No one liked me that much except for Valerie. She liked Green Day too. One day I came into the room and she was rummaging through a drawer to find her lip balm, when she noticed my art book. I jumped at her, but she had already opened it.
"These are beautiful!" was what I got in reply. From then on, Valerie insisted that I continue to draw pictures, and let her see as soon as I was done. Valerie liked to write. She was good at it as well.
So through all the free time we had, we sat there, drawing and writing and showing each other. Sometimes a kid would come along and kick the papers out of our hands, or spit at us, but we were quick to recover.
Then, two weeks ago, everything changed, as I told you. I had just turned thirteen, it was the first day after Christmas break. On breaks, everyone went home. It turns out no one could get a hold of my dad, since he was probably drunk. I didn't even get a Christmas card!
But I still got a gift from Valerie- a new art book and some pencil crayons. I got her a notebook and a set of pencils and erasers, she was always losing hers. It was lunchtime, and Valerie and I sat at our table alone, as usual. Across from us were the most mean girls you could ever meet- Cindy, Alaina, Carrie, and Beatrice. Cindy came towards us, and Valerie pointed her fork at her and made a choking sound. I laughed, but Cindy wasn't.
"Yo, freaks!" she said, using our usual addressing.
She proceeded to tell us something probably rude and rotten and evil but I couldn't pay attention to that. I could only stare at her neck. It was nice. I mean, I know that's weird, and that's what I thought too. I thought back to Health, when we learned of the veins, and the major ones being in the wrists and in the neck. I stared at her neck until she gave me a look that said, 'What the hell?'
"What's the matter, Freak?" Cindy said with some obvious distain. "Take a picture. It lasts longer."
A pulse ran through me, and I suddenly felt more hunger then I ever had in my life. I looked at that neck with a feeling I hadn't felt before. I felt anxious, and nervous, and I just wanted to... bite?
Suddenly, without warning, I felt myself leaping forth. I couldn't control it. I grabbed at her shoulders, and she shrieked. To my dismay, we had caught the entire Cafeteria's attention. I couldn't stop myself. I didn't know what I was doing. My mind had taken over my body, and almost as if I knew what I was going to do, I shrieked even louder then Cindy.
"Get off of me, you freak!"
I didn't open my mouth. When I did, the words I wanted to say didn't come out at all. Instead, a deep growling voice came out, with words I had no idea of.
"My name isn't Freak. It's Rachel! You inconsiderate... bitch!" I growled. My mind was racing. Suddenly my thoughts weren't my own. I knew what I was thinking. But my mind didn't. It was telling me one thing- Feed.
"I-I'm sorry! Rachel, Rachel get off of me!"
She was crying now. I was crying too. I didn't know what was happening. Before I could do anything else, I had sunk my teeth into her neck, and was sucking in her blood. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with me?
Cindy's shrieks grew louder, but I didn't stop. Some girls tried to pull me off of her, but I slashed at them. They screamed and ran away. Valerie screamed too.
"Rachel, what's wrong with you?"
Stay away Valerie... please, I don't want to hurt you!
Cindy's arms flailed around as she reached into the air, randomly grabbing at it, trying to brake free. I noticed her usual rose skin was turning paler, like mine. I heard the cafeteria door slam. Cindy's eyes were glazing over. She could now only manage weak whimpers. Her eyes were brimming with tears. I heard footsteps coming over to me.
"Rachel, what do you think you are doing!?" It was the voice of my principal.
Cindy lay motionless now. I stepped back from her body finally, my stomach feeling full. In my self, I felt queasy. But my head was playing games with me, making me feel satisfied.
"Rachel! Oh my god, Cindy!"
The principal lifted Cindy up off the ground, blood was running down my chin. I followed after them, but stopped. What was I doing? I felt sick. I had just drank Cindy's blood. Her BLOOD for Christ's sake. Her god damned blood! I doubled over and vomited, and my stomach felt that empty feeling again. I turned around to see the girls staring at me with frightened eyes. A few girls had fainted, a few were crying. One was sobbing uncontrollably, calling for her mother. Most were shaking in fear. I took a step towards them, and they all stepped back. Most shrieked and ran away to hide. I turned to Valerie with tears in my eyes. Valerie gasped and clutched the table.
"N-no, I didn't mean too... "
"Rachel... what's gotten into you?" Valerie looked scared, but by the look on my face, and by the look on hers, I think she knew that I didn't mean to. Somehow...
One thought bounced up from the back of my head.
Run! Get the fuck up and run!
So I did. I ran. I ran, and ran, and ran...
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