my scary lil bab <33
mango marmalade,, wrote:Username;; mango marmalade,,
Name;; Ariel [air-ree-uhl]
Gender;; male
Origin;; [size=50]where are they from? Where did they begin? What does it mean to them? exc.
1500 word total in form, up to 2 art pieces, no extras
I was born in a small town in the middle of nowhere, where tumbleweeds were no longer something cool from the movies and now were just a nuisance. I worked on my fathers cattle farm, where I was taught to be just and true. My father was a proud man, a tall sun-weathered Viscet with hard eyes but a kind smile. Even though he used to beat us when he got too drunk or angry, we still loved him. He was sweet with everyone, and everybody knew him. But although everybody knew he could be a funny man, they had also seen his mean side. It was a small town after all.
Ever since I was a young boy, I had always known that I would leave that town. Although my brothers seemed happy enough, I was never quite content with the small town. I wanted to do something big, to live out my dreams of changing the world. However, I was never given the opportunity, at least not while my father was still alive. You see, my father was a strict man, and held my brothers and I with an unmovable hand when it came to family traditions. But the bad thing about my family was that no one had ever left this place. My grandparents, great-grandparents, even some of my oldest relatives were born there and died there, not even making so much as a small trip to the city for supplies. Everything my entire family ever wanted was right here, in the cramped little town. Everyone except me. There was this itching, this something that I couldn't explain deep inside my heart. I longed to see the big city. I longed for something more, something bigger for my life.
Which is what drove me to do what I did.
It was a sweltering summer day, one that made your soles sticky if you set a foot on the asphalt street. I woke up as usual, to the sounds of my older brothers fighting with each other in the room to the right of me. I rolled out of bed, threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then shook my little brother, who slept in the bed above mine, until he woke up, too. Then, as a pack, we all stampeded down the hall, pushing and shoving, to arrive first in the kitchen. After wolfing down a bowl of cereal, I chugged a glass of orange juice then threw on some shoes and galloped out the door and into the field that surrounded my house. In my town, our family were the Farmers. Being a farmer, chores came before school. And at that point in my life, I wasn't really expected to actually go to school. Everybody, including my schoolteacher, knew what the farmers did, and so they knew where my priorities were.
After bursting through the back door, I stopped. I took in the wonder of the place I lived in. Summer seemed to give a new light to the world around me, which was what I was experiencing. I tilted my head back, staring up at the huge, white, puffy clouds up in the sky above. I pointed at one, and squinting against the sun, tried to figure out what it resembled. A dancing alligator? No. A fuzzy slipper? Not that either. I scrunched up my face. AHA! It was a...
A booming voice smashed through my thoughts, jerking my attention from the sky and to the ground. "ARIEL! Get your ASS back inside!" My father bellowed, yelling through the small kitchen window that was protected by a hole-filled screen.
My head bobbed up and down as I silently cursed myself for letting my guard down and giving the appearance to my father of being lazy. "Yes sir!" I snapped sheepishly, running back inside. Once I had stepped back into my house, I faced my father. "Sir?"
"Ariel," he barked, his stern face dangerously leaning towards angry, "...Son. What are you doing outside, daydreaming? There're chores to be done. Your brothers are already out back, doing the work that you should be doing."
My eyes dropped. "Sorry sir. It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't." My father growled, turning away. As I headed out the back screen door, I heard my father mumble one last time before the door slammed shut against the frame.
"Why can't you be more like your brothers."
....
Ever since that hot summer day, I was never quite the same toward my father. My ever respectful, always willing attitude had been replaced by a hot-tempered snappiness which made me quick to lash out at any slght provocation. My father npoticed this, and became hard on me, harder on me then even my 18 year old who had takne over us boys. I made me get up before dawn to do separate chores, then forced me to do my usual chores with the other boys. I becaem more and more tired, unable to fall asleep until only a few hours before I had to get up. And with the loss of sleep my temper grew shorter and shorter, up until the point where my father and I would get into screaming matches over something so little as a dirty plate left out of the sink. And ,y father, however kind he used to be, lost all of that. His sweetness, his ability to make anyone smile was lost to alcohol, booze, and liquor. He would sometimes stumble back into the house at three in the morning, and try to come into our bedrooms and hurt us. But I always made sure that the doors to our rooms were locked if he wasn't at the house by nine.
Soon, my other brothers, both old and young, would immediately leave the room if they noticed that both me and my father were in it. It got to bad that once, after school had started up again, my father came to school, and tried to beat me up in the office after he pulled me out of class. Obviously a teacher stopped him, but it made my adolescent self realize just what he would do to get revenge on me. I became wary after that, spooking at the slightest mention of my fathers name. I stopped waiting for him to wake me up, and instead taught myself to rise early enough so I could do my chores and get back into bed without him having to talk to me at all. I paid my older brothers to give me a holler the second they saw my father walking up the dirt path that led to my house, where from there I would go hide out in the barn and wait until he was inside to slink back in through the window.
But after so many months of doing this, I finally snapped.
It was still pitch black outside when I silently rose from my bed, and silently opened the door to my room. I crept down the hall to the kitchen, where after slowly pulling open a long drawer, I grabbed something. I slunk out of the kitchen, down the hall, and up a flight of stairs. Hopping from foot to foot to avoid any creaky stairs, I finally arrived at the door to my fathers room. The hallway was dark, the only light coming from the moon that shown in through the window. I narrowed my eyes, trying to shake off the feeling that the crescent in the sky was silently judging me, watching my every move. My stomach churned, knowing that something was terribly wrong here. But I shook it off, then felt myself, with great horror, begin to grin. And I was still grinning as I murdered my father where he slept in his bed.
I wasn't even given a trial.
After my father was found, everyone knew exactly what had happened even without evidence. I was sent straight to the Georgia State Jail, where I served my time of 9 years in a cell with two other inmates. While I was there, I was stabbed twice in my right eye with a kitchen fork, and once in my left eye with a bread knife. The inmates who did it said that I knew why they did it. I didn't.
I'm proud of where I came from. I'm proud of how I was raised, and what values have been ingrained in my hardened heart. I wish, however, my family meant more to me. After I served my time, I never once contacted them again. At court, my eldest brother wouldn't even look me in my eyes. None of them would. I don't want to think about what they would say to me if they got the chance. I don't want to give them that chance.
When I was younger, I always wanted to do something big with my life. I don't think this is what I meant.
[1498/1500 words]
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