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Beautiful Creatures (Underneath)

Novel By: CountryLoveHorses

Stormy is a 16 year old girl, she has a "real" name but she is never addressed by it. She has a story to tell, and until now, her lips have remained stitched shut. So why speak her story now? She's losing her one true love. This is not a fictional story, but one based on a true story. Yes, some of the graphics in here are to be never spoken of, and it may seem a little strange. But unless you can prove otherwise, keep an open mind... View table of contents...


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Submitted:Mar 11, 2013    Reads: 192    Comments: 6    Likes: 4   

Light? There can not be light. Not here, not now. Then where is it coming from? Maybe....no that's not possible. Voices? NO! Get out! This is my head! "Pathetic" whispering through my ears! They are piercing my emotions like a needle piercing rain. I drop to my knees begging in mercy, "Please stop" I shake as I spit the words out of my mouth. I'm sick, I'm sick in the head, yes that's it! Shaking, so much shaking....

My mom always told me, at night when her and her husband fell asleep in there bed, and I was put in the cradle, I would sneak out and sit on the front porch and watch the airplanes go by. I would sit there in the warmth of the nights in my night clothing. I don't understand it, at least not at the time, but I would actually smile when I seen them dance along the pitch goth sky and shimmer with stars. It reminded me of [dancing] ballerina. It was mind mesmerizing and intriguing to me.

There (on a usual night) was never light, it was always soft to the touch. Even when I spoke, it was effortless listening to my own echo in the still moving air. No teeth in my mouth yet I still showed the smile of a champion. I did this every night...
My mother would wake up shrieking about my crib being empty. She would always find me in the same spot: curled up in a tight baby ball starring into the ink sky. Every night was like this. She would take me back inside, snuggle deep into the bear-wanna-be of a chair and hug us both tightly while she rocked me to sleep. The smell of her breath made my body shake and my "voice box" scream. Withdrawals again...
I always hated withdrawals, always. I can not remember one time in my life when I greeted them with open arms and a smile. I still (and always will) blame Bobby Jo for what she caused. My father, Toby, was no better either. Most people would look at me like like I'm crazy for blaming them, but why shouldn't I?

Flagstaff, Arizona, my fathers' "headquarters." My biological grandfather and step-grandmother did everything in their power to stop him, but he did it anyway. His fist met my face many times. The way my parents tell the story goes a little something like this:

February 14th, 1998. Phoenix, Arizona, twenty (20) miles from the nearest market, only five (5) miles from the nearest air port. The day was so warm, it could tan them their colored folk(s). The plants looked like shriveled up prunes. What stopped them from picking their roots up and walking to the children's pool still remained a mystery. There were trucks everywhere the eye(s) could see. Men, grown men, walked in and out of the house like addicts at a drug market.

But this was different, they were drivers. Running in and out of the door letting all the crisp cool air out into the flesh eating heat. I swear I seen a buzzard picking at a dead dog. Crows above circling waiting for scraps. Papers were attempting to run away free into the horizon line instead of being stuffed into a case and deprived of oxygen.

Dust flew up out of nowhere and came to a [dead] halt. Small dust tornadoes were blown up and the gravel that once stood still. From the solid black Cadillac and emerged a tan, very (un)handsome man with a beard the size of Hawaii. It was hard to see, it was so blonde almost white. We all still argue that there was no hair on his chinny-chin-chin.

He (with his deep negro colored eyes) looked straight at my Mother. She stopped in her dust filled tracks and looked at Toby. She screeched "Daniel, get out here!" Daniel attempted to busy the door, so enraged a door knob was just inconvenient. He looked at Toby with his so-called "death stare." It was only going to get very ugly...

He (Toby) stared back at him with the same look, only a slight edge to his look. He pointed at me, and without words approached me. Daniel couldn't do and/or say anything. He stepped aside with me in my mothers arms without a tear falling from his eyes.

I didn't even scream, I just looked at him with a curious but blank look at sighed. I had a small kiss mark on my forehead and either side of my cheek. My mother cried and my father went back inside. I was now under the custody of my biological father. All hell was about to break loose...


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