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Post by azel on Jun 25, 2013 18:06:28 GMT -5
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WHERE MY SPIRIT CAN RUN FREE
Azelma curled upon the dirty floor as she sobbed. The crying shook her whole body with its pain and sadness. Just moments before her father had thrown her sketch book into the fire in a drunken rage. Everyone must have heard their struggle as it began with her father’s usual screams and ended with her own. Azelma only shouted and grunted the word no as she attempted to pry the book from her hands. He had ripped the top of her dress as he attempted to grasp the book she had clutched to her chest. A bruise was already formed on her chest. That was not all the pain the young woman was suffering from, however.
Her hands were covered in small burns from the popping and cracking of the fire as it licked them. Her father threw the book in, and she blinded jumped in after them. The book contained a lifetime worth of her art work. It held every scribble, every attempt at words, everything. It even was home to her very first stick figure. Her latest drawing in the book was meant to be a gift. She had been working tirelessly on a portrait of her sister that would now never she her visage. The thought sent a quiver through every inch of the small young woman. If ever someone was broken, she was. It was silly really, and she knew it was. No one should spend all this time crying over a burnt book.
Despite her condemnation of her behavior, Azelma could not calm herself as she wept upon the ground of her family’s home. She believed the house to be empty as she filled it with her misery. Her hand curled into a fist and slammed down onto the floor, and again, again, again. A sting radiated from her hand as she felt her skin separate under the blows. The sensation of liquid running against her arm ceased her sobbing. Her body continued to shake from all the fuss she had been making. Azelma looked at the injury she had inflicted upon herself as the red, red blood welled up and began to slide down her hand and dripped upon the floor. The silence was deafening.
She flexed her hand and felt another rush of pain. ”Of all the things…”
She muttered to herself as she realized it may very well be broken. Azelma did not like weakness despite the fact that she was often viewed as nothing but a weakness. Belabored, Azelma rolled onto her back and lay upon the floor. Swollen eyes stared at the ceiling as she fully began to grasp the fool she had made of herself. Her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath while she calmed herself. Small shakes and quivers continued to torture her exhausted body. What an embarrassment she was.
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Post by EPONINE THENARDIER on Jun 25, 2013 21:34:47 GMT -5
Eponine wasn't sure what had drawn her back to her God forsaken home. Maybe the call of food or money that might be there to snatch. Maybe it was the memory of happier times, when her parents at least pretended to care about their children. Maybe she just needed to be reminded why she left in the first place. Whatever the reason, she found herself plodding through Rue Saint-Denis, pointing herself back to the home she left two years ago. Sure, she'd been back since then. She always came back, for a warm bed, a bit of food.
And her. Ever since they had been little, Eponine had felt very protective of her younger sister, even though she was only slightly older than the girl. Azelma didn't possess Eponine strength or fierce determination. Instead, she had a gentle heart and a head full of dreams that she had never let go of, even as Eponine had hers beaten to dust by the world. In Eponine's mind she was like those princesses in the storybooks she used to read, the ones that radiated light and beauty and goodness. Those kinds of girls always had to endure many hardships before their happy ending. But Eponine couldn't fool herself that either of the Thenardier girls would get a happy ending. Still she held out hope that her little sister would someday make it out, better than she had, and find some semblance of happiness.
As she approached the door, she slowed her steps, creeping quietly up. Her own father had taught her to move as silently as a cat, and now she used those skills to avoid him whenever possible. If there was even a hint that he was at home and in one of his foul moods, she knew she couldn't show her face without getting on the wrong end of it. However, the whole street seemed quiet, almost dead, as if no one had lived here in a long time. Her parents must be out, taking their gang with them, stealing and conning, only to spend it all before they could blink, only to go out again in the next few days.
That's when she heard it, the soft sobbing of a young girl. Forgetting about keeping quiet, Eponine's stride became faster, more intent. She pushed into the house, careful not to let to door bang against the wall. If her parents were lurking about, no need to bring more attention to herself. She was there, laying on her back in the middle of the floor, blood leaking out of her hand. The anger rose up in Eponine, followed swiftly by the guilt that she hadn't been here. She'd taken more beatings than she could count, stepped between Azelma and their father when alcohol clouded his mind and heated his blood. It was her one regret about leaving home, the one thing that had held her in that home for so long before she dared to strike out on her own.
Carefully, she knelt next to the girl, whispering calming words as her eyes wandered over the damage. Each bruise, each red burn, each drop of blood made it harder and harder for her to keep her temper in check. For her sister's sake, Eponine pushed it down, deep inside, where she could hold it until it, keep it until she could unleash it on the man responsible. "Azelma? Ma petite? Come on, look at me." Eponine's voice was soft, like a mother speaking to a child, calming them after a nightmare. "What happened?"
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Post by azel on Jun 27, 2013 18:41:50 GMT -5
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WHERE MY SPIRIT CAN RUN FREE
Azelma was unaware of anything going on around her. She was completely consumed by the pain, frustration, and devastation. The events that had just taken place left the silent girl even more mute…if that were to be possible. Ever facet of her being was slowly beginning to numb. The throbbing pain in her hands and arms was evaporating as her brain threw up it’s defenses. If she was not so exhausted, Azelma would surely have curled into a ball and continued to weep. Nothing could have prepared her for this. Her one sanctuary had been stolen from her. Her life covered those crispy pages. Now, her memories, her work, her freedom were dust. Emptiness flooded her as the her body become fully numb to all sensation.
The sudden vibration coming from someone’s steps would have usually set her to her feet, but tonight she remained motionless. There was nothing in her to run and hide. If it was her father, she would accept whatever else he would want to throw her way without hesitation. Nothing seemed to matter at the moment. What could possibly matter? She was trapped, and she was not about to try and do anything about it. This was her lot in life. She would not try and escape it like her sister. She deserved each horrific moment as they were hers to bear. At least, that is what she had been taught to believe all her life. There was nothing better to aspire to, and she may as well just accept her fate and excel at what she could…despite how much she disliked hurting others for the gain of her parents.
Feeling the warmth of a body next to her finally illicitted a slight response. Azelma’s chest continued to rise and fall with great effort as she opened her eyes to see what was to become of her- ”Ponine…” The word came out as a crackled whisper. The last person she expected and the only person she wanted had appeared as if out of thin air, as if by magic. All of her cells yearned to embrace her sibling, but fatigue glued her back to the floor. Her ears soaked in each gentle word that the older girl spoke. Just her presence was enough to begin to calm her, and hearing Eponine’s voice slowly began to help Azelma’s breathing return to normal.
Those puffy, squinted, red, and watery eyes gazed up into her sister’s with a myriad of emotions that delved far deeper than any ocean. Joy, relief, anger, aggression…the list could go on for all the days the young woman had left in her life. Thoughts rushed to her brain like flies to fresh fruit, and they were just as fleeting. Nothing could be formed into anything sensible. Words would not connect. Ideas and thoughts spun about aimlessly as she yearned to recount the tale for her sister. Azelma shifted in an attempt to sit herself up but immediately winced in pain.
Trying to place pressure onto her hands and arms was a perilous endeavor. They would be of no use to her at present. She let out a yelp as the numbness vanished and made way for stabbing pangs of discomfort throughout her small body. The young woman was broken in every sense of the word. Defeated, Azelma simply turned her head slightly to the side to look directly into her sisters face. With all the strength she could muster, she spoke a single word. ”Help.” Although she had led the life of a fragile, youngest daughter, Azelma was not one to directly ask for things or to speak much at all. It almost hurt her vocal chords to utter such a weakness, but in her present state of shame, there was not much else left to her.
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Post by EPONINE THENARDIER on Jun 27, 2013 20:25:51 GMT -5
Eponine had always known her sister was quieter than herself. Where as she was wild and brash and loud, perfectly at home holding a conversation with several people all at once, Azelma had always been soft-spoken, bordering on mute, content to sit quietly by herself in some forgotten cornering, dreaming her daydreams or working her bit of charcoal over a spare piece of paper. But there was something very different about how silent she was now, as if whatever had happened to her had robbed the young girl of even her slight voice and snuffed out the meager light of her daydreams. Seeing her younger sister, the one she'd sworn to herself to protect, so weak, so broken, anger Eponine more than she could say. She made a silent vow to repay her father for each bruise and cut. Blood for blood. Each quiet whimper and ragged breath from the fragile girl only banked the coals of her anger higher, the embers burning bright, waiting to ignite into a wild furious blaze.
But for Azelma's sake, Eponine reigned in her rage. Their father was nowhere to be seen at the moment so the fury had nowhere to go anyway. When Azelma finally uttered that one word, a word neither of them used very often, not even with each other, Eponine leapt into action. Her brown eyes searched the sparse room, carefully seeking anything to wrap around the younger girl's hand. She knew she had to get her out of here, to see her wounds treated, even a little bit, or Azelma may lose the use of the hand due to infection. She was sure she'd heard Joly talk like that once when he'd cut his finger on the edge of a page. Perhaps he'd know what to do. For her part, Eponine only knew to pour a little alcohol on the wound and wrap it in the cleanest cloth she could find, and something told her that wouldn't be enough this time. Snatching the only rag she could find on the table, she returned to her sister's side, gingerly taking her arm. "Come on, ma petite. I need you to sit up. Let me support you." She tenderly wrapped the bit of cloth over the cut, hoping to keep the blood from dripping down her sister's arm anymore, and looped her own arm under the girl's and across her back.
"Here, lean on me. I'm going to get you out of here." Eponine didn't know where she was going to take her, but she couldn't leave her here. Not again. If Pere came back and his mood was still as foul as it had been... Eponine shuddered to think what would happen. If Azelma had been a frightened girl before, cowering in a corner, now she didn't even seem to have the energy to run and hide. As she carefully pulled her to her feet, Eponine began to plan. The first step was to get Azelma out of the flat and down to the street then out of the main streets of Rue Saint-Denis without any of their father's gang seeing them. That alone would be no easy task, but Eponine knew enough of the back alleys that she remained hopeful. Next was to seek out one of the Amis, preferably Combeferre or Joly but any of them could at least point her in the right direction, to get her sister's injuries looked at. Of course the final step was finding a place to hide Azelma while she recovered. Depending on what the diagnosis was, Eponine knew she might be able to convince her to come to her little alley, or to stay with Gavroche for a while. If it was worse and she needed a roof over her head, Eponine wasn't sure what she'd do. Perhaps seek out Parnasse again, make a deal that would secure Azelma a warm dry place to recover in peace. There was no price Eponine wouldn't pay to spare her sister the pain she had found herself in. "One foot in front of the other, Zelma. We're going to get you out of here. Together. You just have to keep moving."
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