| Subject: Hey remember me! (plus fic) |
Author:
Drusilla
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Date Posted: 18:29:07 03/14/02 Thu
Hey everyone! I'm back after months of not posting :P I must say I don't care much for VCA'a ghoshtwriter.. I believe he is ruining her name by publishing those horrid mini-series under her name.. but maybe the next full length series will be better.. I must say I think he did an excellent job with the Laundry series and Logan way pretty good. I don't know much about the up coming books... but I'm hoping they will be good (although i don't think I'll ever buy another mini-series) anyhoo enough of that!
I figured I'd repost my VCA parody. I posted it at the old ISW board but seeing as thats gone I figured I'd post it.. that and I've made a few changes.. Please give feed-back (good or bad.. I crave attention) anyhoo.. here is the first chapter of Punnish the Wicked....
In The Beginning
Ever since I can remember, I have always felt like I didn’t belong here. I don’t know exactly what I mean when I say here, whether it be on this earth or in my home, if you can even call it that. I have lived my entire life in a mansion on First Street in the Garden District of New Orleans. My family is what you would call rich. Okay, I take that back, we’re filthy rich. My great-great grandfather Philippe Morlet built our mansion, which we call Morlet Hall, in 1851. Morlet Hall is a sprawling Greek revival mansion. It has these really cool columns like you would see in ancient Greece. The streets are lined with beautiful oak trees and in our yard we have this really big oak tree I always used to sit under when I was lonely. I still am lonely a lot. When I was very young and my father was still alive I was never lonely. I had more friends then I could keep track of. When Daddy would come home at five o’clock he would open up the door and cry out, “Bonjour ma amours!” For those of you who don’t speak French, that means ‘hello my loves.’ When I heard those magical words a smile would appear on my face and I would launch myself into his arms and greet him merrily. My mom would suddenly appear behind us with a smile on her face, after Daddy put me down she would walk over to him and he would kiss her. Now me being the child that I was, I had no desire to see my parents kiss, so I would wander off and return to whatever it was I was doing before daddy got home.
One day Daddy never came home. Mother had been jittery all day and when five o’clock came and went she almost went into a panic. I told her that he was probably just running late she had stopped pacing looked at me and nodded her head, but she went on pacing. When nine o’clock came around and Daddy still wasn’t home, Mommy called the police. I remember she had yelled at them when they told her they had to wait for 24 hours until the person could be declared missing. She hung up the phone, sat down in a chair and cried.
I don’t really remember much about the week that followed; I walked around in a daze. I do remember that nine days after Mother had filed the missing persons alert they found my father’s body in a swamp. My father’s body was badly decomposed but they found signs of foul play. The autopsy showed that he had received blows to the head with a blunt object. My father’s murderer was never found and I was never the same after that. I lost my smiles and my friends. They slowly started to turn against me. Going from a social butterfly to a social leper did not help my depression and I tried to kill myself at the age of 15. One day after a run in with Rebecca Crawford, a stupid twit who thinks she’s all that because she slept with two guys on the varsity football team, she started laying into me about how I was a has been, it hit a sore note with me. I came home looked at myself in the mirror, and I didn’t like what I saw. I slammed my fist through the glass to shatter the image and as strange as this may sound the pain made me feel better. I took one of the shards of fallen glass and I slashed open my wrists. As I lay on the bathroom floor a feeling of peace swept over me; I was so happy it was going to end. A maid took that opportunity to walk in. I don’t remember her coming in because I had already lost consciousness. When I woke up I was in the hospital and my wrists were bandaged. They put me on Prozac, which I am now addicted to and I had to go to therapy. I remember my mother coming in looking very worried and asking a nurse that was attending to me if she could have a minute alone to talk to her daughter. The nurse had nodding saying to make it brief and had left. The second my mom closed the door the worry had melted off her face and she had charged over to my bed and looked down at me. I was so confused be her actions but that confusion turned to the deepest hurt I had ever experienced, besides when my father died. She told me that I was a disgrace. She went on to rant about how I should be ashamed of myself for putting her in this position. Turns out that she had lied to everyone and told them I was in the hospital due to a kitchen accident. I never forgot or forgave her. Father’s death affected Mom in a strange ways. She became deeply religious (she claims she had a spiritual awakening), and she became colder too. The mother I used to know would never have talked to me the way she did that day in the hospital. That’s why I’m the way I am now I guess. An outcast hooked on Prozac.
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