|The War of Aizza and Qaletaqa
Author: kittymobile PM
In a world where three of them aren't native what happens when an emo, jock, goth, punk and skater are forced together to fight a common enemy? A story where boundries are crossed and monarchys are uprooted.Rated: Fiction T - English - Sci-Fi/Adventure - Chapters: 17 - Words: 27,408 - Reviews: 18 - Favs: 4 - Updated: 12-22-06 - Published: 11-11-06 - Status: Complete - id: 2275109
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
(A/N) WARNING: there is strong hinting at close relationships between family members in this chapter…if you don't like that sort of thing then skip to where the italics stop. This isn't a reoccurring theme throughout the story so please don't be upset and stop reading the story. It's just giving you an insight into one of the characters. Promise!
The War of Life and the Guardian.
Ramla's old bedroom in the house that her parents had once shared had a slit of light illuminating the pink floral satin sheets that a younger Ramla, at only six, was sleeping peacefully in.
As a couple minutes passed by the look on her face changed to one of fear and her eyes flicked open a few seconds before the deadened thump of footsteps across carpet was heard and the already slightly ajar door was flung open by a tall and strong man.
The point of view cut back to the girl's face; her eyes wide and there was a look in them of sheer and utter terror. Fear like what a little kid gets when they realise that the bogeyman was real. It was the exact same look that a baby gazelle gets in its eyes when they realise that lions ARE predators, ARE likely to kill it and…will definitely enjoy the chase.
The man took step by slow step towards Ramla and she visibly shrank back, inch by painful inch; pulling the covers up under her chin as if that would protect her from all harm. A child's naïve hope that nothing wrong would happen was in the air, mixed with the more mature terror that comes from the knowledge that whatever she did, it would happen and it would continue to happen as there was nothing in her power she could do to stop it.
The man was at the end of the bed and smirked as he saw the covers vibrating gently from the little child's tremblings. As the man slunk – yes, slunk- on all fours up the bed towards the svelte and dainty little girl she took her eyes from the man as if that would make him no longer exist and instead she focused on the room: anything but the man. She looked at the detail of pretty roses on the wall. At the fact that all the roses had exactly 5 pinkish white petals around its centre and that pollen seemed to float between the roses. She looked at the satiny texture of her covers but as the man's shadow darkened its colour she found herself being drawn to look into his dark eyes.
She was forced to look in his eyes. He was psychic, like her, but he could bend others to his will. Their eyes met and she shivered as she felt herself being thrown into a pool of icy cold water. His eyes showed a cold and calculated callousness; a need that he was going to fill and take neither pleasure or pain in doing. He was simply going to do this because he could, to show that he was dominant and that his power was superior to hers. He was a cruel piece of work.
The girl struggled against his power and tried to break free of his mind control but couldn't. The man simply smirked once again.
'You can't break free of me. Don't even think about trying. You're weak and I'm strong. I could get you to jump off a building if I wanted to. Think of this as a lesser evil. You know I'm going to make you enjoy it.'
The girl merely struggled more at this. That was what scared her most: not what was going to happen, and happened every single night, but that she was going to enjoy it. Enjoy the feel of his pulsating member inside of her. She felt guilty, like it was all her fault.
The young Ramla squirmed at the memory of previous nights and the man, her father, slapped her hard across the face as she squirmed.
'Don't reject me child. You're mine. Forever to do with as I wish.'
The man entered her without preamble as tears of anguish washed down her cheeks and she screamed so highly pitched that no one except dogs could hear her pain.
Rodger muted her screams with a thought: he didn't want barking dogs waking up the whole neighbourhood and he continued with his ministrations as if nothing had occurred.
The sore ache in Ramla's throat increased even though she could no longer scream and the silent tears continued to run down her delicate porcelain-like face as Rodger, her father, one of the people who you're meant to be able to trust through anything, rammed into her and forced a smile to her face as he came within her; collapsing upon the poor child.
Ramla woke up in a pool of sweat; her hair matted to her head and the sheets glued to her slender body and told herself: it's just a dream; only a dream. However, the soreness down below was a ghost of the feeling she felt the morning after what had happened all those years ago. It was a clear reminder that it was, in reality, not just a dream. It was a suppressed and traumatic memory, much more potent than a mere nightmare.
With far more courage than is usual in one so young, Ramla tore back the covers from her body, and with a blank and emotionless face, got out of bed and changed from her pyjamas into some jeans, socks and a dark purple tank top. She knew that she wouldn't get anymore sleep that night no matter how hard she tried. She knew this from experience and she'd become used to having only a couple hours of sleep at night, as they're so full of terror. It was necessary to sleep and so she endured the dreams in silence.
Ramla lived with her mother now, and her parents had divorced, but not because her mother knew what her father had done. She had no idea, and Ramla wasn't about to shatter her illusions that Rodger was a nice guy, and they'd just grown apart. She didn't see any reason to as it would just bring pain to her mother, and she felt that she didn't need any help- she'd done alright up until now hadn't she?
That was where, she knew, her best friend Gianna would disagree. Gianna was sharp and quick to pick up on things, even though she looked like she could be ten years old. Gianna had worked out that something had happened just after Ramla's sixth birthday, and continued to happen. Gianna just didn't know exactly what it was, and Ramla knew that she could never tell her. Gianna had always been pretty close to Rodger- everyone had- he was a man of few words but he'd disillusioned everyone so they thought that this was because he was wise and quiet and not because he was thinking up evil and callous things to do to his poor daughter and who knew who else.
Get OUT! OUT! Ramla shoved her father out of her thoughts once more with a wave of willpower that had become second nature to her now and walked through from her new purple bedroom in their new house, a bungalow, into their stainless steel kitchen. She poured herself a glass of milk and took nothing to eat- she didn't eat much.
She settled down on the comfy rust red leather sofa and turned on the TV. Among other things that had changed since the divorce it had become habit for her to watch early morning TV at around 4am. It was still dark and you've never lived until you step outside the front door in the middle of the night, taken a walk, and smelt the night air. The darkness has a soothing effect that always succeeded in bringing Ramla back into herself; no matter how horrid the dream may have been.
After a half hour of TV, Ramla took her daily walk through the darkness, and returned back inside the bungalow at about five thirty in the morning. She went into the living room for her empty glass, which she was going to wash, but the phone rang just as she turned the sink tap on.
Quickly, Ramla turned off the tap and half ran to the phone. She knew who it would be. It would be Gianna. Gianna always got up early everyday. Ramla couldn't see why she would. Personally, she felt that if she could stay in bed until a late hour of the day then she would have.
"Hey there Ramla, good morning to you."
Ramla thought: I HATE morning people. How CAN they be so cheerful? Ah well…I guess I can forgive her for her fault…she is my friend after all. The only one I have.
"That's fine. Do you want to meet up, say at the mall or something, later today?"
"Yea sure. What time? Uhm…around three O'clock?"
"Yea, okay. I'll speak to you later then Gianna…but, hold on, what are we going to do at the mall?"
"Shop! What else?"
"I'm seriously starting to worry about you Gianna. Don't go turning preppy on me. Please!"
Gianna giggled down the phone.
"You know that's never going to happen."
"Yea, I do. I'll see you in abit then Gianna."
"Yup, yup; see you."
The phone went dead against Ramla's ear and she waited for the ring tone before putting it down.