Post by LιθΠΗΣαRτεD on Oct 31, 2017 3:01:35 GMT
"You're a failure," Evelyn had rasped, wiggling her arthritis-riddled forefinger at her. "A failure! Born with a pathetic power to a pathetic father. You have poison in your blood and it will ruin you. Just you watch. It's in your destiny." Then she'd sat back in her gnarly armchair and took a drag from her cigarette, peering at her hunched over daughter through hooded, dark, brooding eyes, the unsmiling smug look on her face showing that she knew she'd struck chord.
Ffion crossed her hands under her arms, blinking rapidly and scowling as the tears still fell down her face, dripping onto the road. She walked rapidly down the grimy sidewalk, further and further away from the dingy little house tucked between the rows and rows of residences all looking the same.
Oh, who had she been fucking kidding? Evelyn had not changed. Evelyn would not change. She would still be the same vain, selfish person who frowned upon her own daughter, who was more worried for herself than she ever would be for anyone else. Just because she'd birthed Ffion did not make Ffion special. In fact, it probably made her more vile in Evelyn's eyes. She, as Evelyn had so often reminded her, had ruined her.
"I was beautiful," Evelyn had often proclaimed, in a melancholic lilt. "Beautiful. Rich. But then you were conceived, and look where we are now. In a pit. Oh, cruel life. Cruel, cruel life."
And each time Ffion left her to wallow in her self-pity, feeling neglected and hated. She didn't know her father; Evelyn had refused to even say his name, though she caught it while scouring through her birth certificate: Felix M. Thompson. She had traced over the name, wondering exactly who he was, and why he'd walked out. She wouldn't be surprised if it was because of Evelyn's personality.
This time though, it was overwhelming. Never had Evelyn said something so hateful. Hateful. She hated Ffion. Her own mother! Ffion drew a shaky breath and continued the way to her car, whipping the door open, slamming it shut, and jamming the keys into the socket, turning a little too forcefully. Her battered old truck rattled and roared in protest, and she flinched at the loud noise.
Closing her eyes briefly, she placed her hand gingerly on the gear and took a deep inhale, attempting to calm down. No. She'd get through this. She'd been through Evelyn's rants, her temper tantrums. She would be shocked at Evelyn's words, then the self-loathing and fright would fade and she'd continue with her life. Then, for some damn stupid reason, she'd return to that toxic house and breathe it all in again.
A failure!
No! She wasn't. She wasn't. She was a good florakinetic, accomplished if she could say so herself. She was a teacher.
But she opened her eyes to see the plant on her dashboard drooped over, browned and withered, unlike how it was when she first got in-- green and vibrant, straight and proud-- she must've caused it to die. Desperately, she wiped her tears with one hand and waved the other over her flower, attempting to revive it. It shuddered but did not resurrect.
Ffion crossed her hands under her arms, blinking rapidly and scowling as the tears still fell down her face, dripping onto the road. She walked rapidly down the grimy sidewalk, further and further away from the dingy little house tucked between the rows and rows of residences all looking the same.
Oh, who had she been fucking kidding? Evelyn had not changed. Evelyn would not change. She would still be the same vain, selfish person who frowned upon her own daughter, who was more worried for herself than she ever would be for anyone else. Just because she'd birthed Ffion did not make Ffion special. In fact, it probably made her more vile in Evelyn's eyes. She, as Evelyn had so often reminded her, had ruined her.
"I was beautiful," Evelyn had often proclaimed, in a melancholic lilt. "Beautiful. Rich. But then you were conceived, and look where we are now. In a pit. Oh, cruel life. Cruel, cruel life."
And each time Ffion left her to wallow in her self-pity, feeling neglected and hated. She didn't know her father; Evelyn had refused to even say his name, though she caught it while scouring through her birth certificate: Felix M. Thompson. She had traced over the name, wondering exactly who he was, and why he'd walked out. She wouldn't be surprised if it was because of Evelyn's personality.
This time though, it was overwhelming. Never had Evelyn said something so hateful. Hateful. She hated Ffion. Her own mother! Ffion drew a shaky breath and continued the way to her car, whipping the door open, slamming it shut, and jamming the keys into the socket, turning a little too forcefully. Her battered old truck rattled and roared in protest, and she flinched at the loud noise.
Closing her eyes briefly, she placed her hand gingerly on the gear and took a deep inhale, attempting to calm down. No. She'd get through this. She'd been through Evelyn's rants, her temper tantrums. She would be shocked at Evelyn's words, then the self-loathing and fright would fade and she'd continue with her life. Then, for some damn stupid reason, she'd return to that toxic house and breathe it all in again.
A failure!
No! She wasn't. She wasn't. She was a good florakinetic, accomplished if she could say so herself. She was a teacher.
But she opened her eyes to see the plant on her dashboard drooped over, browned and withered, unlike how it was when she first got in-- green and vibrant, straight and proud-- she must've caused it to die. Desperately, she wiped her tears with one hand and waved the other over her flower, attempting to revive it. It shuddered but did not resurrect.