My mind is around my neck

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
how cursed can a necklace truly be? and fucked up will your life have to get before you even notice

Submitted: July 15, 2012

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Submitted: July 15, 2012

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My Mind Is Around My Neck

Narcissa sat at the kitchen table, her hands swallowing the cup, gripping it viciously. Her blank, pale eyes stared out of the window, her left eye fluttering occasionally, a sick devilish grin tweaking the corners of her pale lips and skin. The sounds slowly came back, but Narcissa no longer heard the voices, the screams of shock, horror or pain. Her head echoed the piano ballad she had heard as a child, it echoed through her head as she stared out of the small window, blood spatters going unnoticed across her skin, shirt and curly blonde hair that reached down past her shoulders. Slowly the sounds filled through her head, infusing with the ballad thrumming through her as she smirked. A small child weeped in the corner, her cheeks stained with stinging tears, she scratched at the cupboards as she backed into the wall, her eyes were wide as she watched Narcissa. The child remained unnoticed to the woman, as she hummed and fiddled with her gold necklace, the cold silver chain looped around her neck supporting the large gold and orange stone, the child sniffled and sobbed as she watched her aunt laugh sitting above the bloody remains of her sister and brother in law.

The child, now grown, an adult in civilisations eyes. Cicillia shot out of her bed a cold sweat covering her face as she panted and whimpered. The nightmare came to her every night, and had came to her ever since that night, her exact memory crystal clear when she witnessed her Aunt's psychotic outbreak on her parents, she felt a cold emptiness in her heart as she recalled the screams and tears of her Aunt Narcissa as she was dragged backwards to the large white van, her necklace stamped into the mud, screaming no and crying as she looked to Cicillia sypathetically, at the time, she had no idea what was going on.

She looked over at the bedside table, the gold, heartless necklace that reminded her of her aunt and grandmother, both held memories of the chained stone against their chests as they ruined the family name and ran around in a bloody murder spree. Not much of a family heirloom, she reached across to stroke the smooth stone before retracting her hand and placing it back on the bed. Since that day she had refused to wear the necklace, in fear of disprespect, instead she opted to stare at it, and lose herself in it's many colours.

Her life had whittled down to numerous foster homes, adults attempting to find "the child within this broken shell" and many roadtrips across the country. Cicillia had lost count of the amount of foster homes she resided in, the amount of adults that gave up, the amount of adults that threw her out, the amount of adopted siblings she fought. Her mind felt numb, numb until that day she was cast out of the foster homes and into the world.

She should have never picked up that necklace, or wiped the mud from it's golden glory, she did, and forever now, will regret that fact. Every time her terror's woke her at night, she would attempt to touch the necklace... Only to recoil once her skin was too close to the smooth stone surface, she never knew why.

That morning, Cicillia had taken herself down to the village, it was just below her little cottage ontop of Barbay Hill, she didn't often visit the cold, heartless village of Mantrox. It was a place full of wide-eyed stares and whispers, she couldn't take that. Not on a daily basis. Today was different, the stares obvious, barely covered whispers and people moving away. Did she look different? was there something on her? It caused her to frown and dip her head down and pull her green hood over her face. She walked to the simple shop, to buy her bread and such. The door was slammed before she reached the steps, what was going on?? She had scanned the faces, her's filled with confusion and slight terror. A man, at least six foot, fell out of the crowd that had surrounded her and walked up to her, tensing his muscles. Before she knew it, his fist had smacked down so hard on her jaw she fell into the mud on her hands and knees with a whimper and a grunt. His foot slammed into her stomach, her ribs ached and she fell flat down, her face caked she cried out and tried to push herself up, only to be kicked again. She rolled onto her back from the force and managed to properly look at his face, white with rage. She put her shaky hands up and spoke, her voice weak and breaking, "st-stop.... p-please..." With those words her hands were kicked and she screamed as she felt her index finger snap. Adrenaline rushed through her painful body, she rolled away from him and stood up, backing away. The man sneered and took a step forward, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!" she wailed as she looked around the crowd that had just stood there. She would be receiving no help, not from anyone. He ran at her again, only this time he stopped inches away, his eyes bulging out of his skull before he slumped to the ground. Cicillia screamed at the body, he looked dead. She stumbled backwards and trembled as a woman, jet black hair, clad in red cape and hood stepped from the crowd, she couldn't see her face. Her eyes fixed on the womans outstretched palm, "come with me." The crowd recoiled away from the woman, pale and ashen with fear, Cicillia did the only thing she could, with her safe hand she took the other woman's. Her body was sucked, pulled and everything went fuzzy as she felt herself be taken away from the crowd.


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