RambleLamb Posted September 15, 2018 Share Posted September 15, 2018 Greetings, fellow deviants! I come to you today with a brand new story! "But RambleLamb, you still haven't finished your other story!" - many someones, probably. To that I say shhhhh, I'm doing things and that should be good enough. Before I submit this thing I'm undertaking, I want to thank @bbykimmy for providing the names for our two leads, they're very pretty names and all credit goes to her for them. <3 My hope with this story is that I'll be able to tap into some raw and real emotion to elevate the story to something better than a fake Civil War documentary. I touched on something when I wrote one of my very dark short stories, but that emotion was angry and cathartic whereas I hope to touch on something weepy and fulfilling for this particular story. I plan for this to be a very long story, and that obviously means it won't be jumping into the realm of "OMG lesbian diaper sex!!!!!1!!!" until much, much later, but there will be lesbian diaper sex and by that I mean there will be diapers that identify as lesbian unfolded and touching padding, spoiler alert, everyone now needs a towel. Okay, I think I've properly set the bar for expectation and given the people what they didn't ask for, so if everyone is ready, please enjoy the story and be sure to comment if you have time or desire to let me know how bad/good I'm doing, if you have any likes to give and @bbykimmyhasn't posted anything to claim them, I'd very much appreciate one or more floating my way. A.B + D.L. = <3 By: RambleLamb Part One: About a Girl Chapter One: New Kid in School "Numbers, letters, learn to spell Nouns and books and show and tell At playtime we will throw the ball Back to class, through the hall" The White Stripes - "We're Going to be Friends" Beginnings are always the hardest part of storytelling, at least for me they are. When I sit down to write I'm filled with a near limitless number of ideas about where things could or should end up, and the myriad of branching pathways that can lead my characters to those ends makes me hopeful that something special can be achieved in my writing. When I set to kicking everything off though, that's when things become difficult and the pressure to produce coupled with the fear of failure leaves me staring at a blinking line on my computer screen for hours on end. I've tried writing the ending first and working backward, but that's counterintuitive for the way my brain works, and everything just ends up being a muddled and unfinished mess. The truth is that that's the most true representation of what I'm trying to achieve though, because I can't think of any words more accurate to describe life than 'a muddled and unfinished mess'. We can never write the ending to our own life stories, time or disease or even freak accident does that for us. Someone writing about our life after we're gone may know every last detail about our history, but they can't really capture our personality or the deeper innermost thoughts and subtle nuances that made us the person that we are. I can tell you that my name is Alina Benez, but that won't mean anything to you at this point because you know nothing else about me. I'm just a name to you right now, a static pairing of monikers that does little to nothing to create a fully realized human being that has a life, dreams, hopes, fears, all the things that make me who I am. More to the point, you have no reason to care about me or my story right now, and that's where we have to begin. We have to give you a reason to want to read my story, something to make you invested in me enough to want to go on a journey with me to discover what I'm about and where I'll eventually end up. I can give you the long, sordid history of my family, and that would certainly give you an accurate picture of why I am the person I am today, but to do that would take up an entire novel's worth of story, but this isn't Harry Potter, and we're not going half a dozen books or more to tell you that I'm a girl and I'm unequivocally in love with another girl, and have been for as long as I can remember. In a weird way, I don't feel like I can tell you my story without telling you parts of her story, I mean, it's not like either of us had lived very long before we met, though I know that time doesn't always give an accurate indication of maturity. In truth, even though we were only in first grade when we met, we were both pretty far along when it came to life experience, but we'll get to that a little later. For now, let's talk about the first time I met Dawn Lassiter, and how the random chance of assigned seating changed both of our lives forever. ****************************************************************************** The din of the other children discussing their weekend adventures filled the room as everyone entered and made their way to the back of the room to put their coats and lunchboxes away in their assigned cubbies. I waited patiently near the middle of the room to avoid the crush of the other little human beings carrying on about the cartoons they'd watched or the places they'd gone while paying little attention to their surroundings, regularly bumping into one another as they babbled on. I held my plain red lunch box with both hands as I watched each child put remove their coat and or hat and put it on their designated hook, dropping their lunch container of choice in the little box below either with care or apathy depending on the student, or perhaps depending on the contents of the container. Amber Barrington, for example, carefully placed her pink lunchbox adorned with princesses of various animated features in the box so as not to disturb what was most certainly a very gourmet lunch inside. Conversely, Danicka Lane practically hucked her lunchbox into the cubby, clearly unconcerned with whether her PB&J on white remained intact for the designated eating period. Once the majority of my fellow students had moved on to their desks I made my way to my cubby, setting my lunchbox down carefully in the lower compartment, removing my hood from my head, allowing my chestnut hair in its tight ponytail freedom to breathe once more before unzipping my red hooded jacket and hanging it on its hook, taking a moment to smooth out my uniform with my olive toned hands before shuffling over to my own seat. Being in the back of the class meant I got a good view of the back of everyone else, giving me a chance to see them all without having to be seen myself. In the few months since school had started, I'd come to know most of the other girls by the backs of their heads more than by their faces. I knew that Cynthia Mckinney hadn't mastered the fine art of brushing her own hair just yet, the frizzy sand colored mop on the top of her head usually threatening to seize up in an explosion of tangles not helped by the fact that she had a penchant for wrapping her hair around her thumb to suck on it when she got nervous or was overly tired. I knew that Hazel Grant would probably be bald by the time she hit thirty given how brittle and strawlike her blonde hair was even at age six. One thing I didn't know, and couldn't learn from staring at the back of a girls head was, was what kind of girl they were, and that's what kept me back while everyone else rushed in in the morning, what made me stand with one foot turned inward as I gripped my lunchbox for dear life, what kept my hand from raising when I knew the answer to a question the teacher asked. I wanted to be part of their conversations, like any other child wants to be a part of a peer group, integrating successfully and moving from "classmate" to "friend", but I never knew what to say or how to act around them. On the first day of school we were made to stand up in front of the class and say our name and one personal thing about us, and some girls chose to share their love of ponies or a favorite color, others shared how many toys they had and how wonderful it was to have a Summer home in some distant part of the world where money buys the time and labor of other people less fortunate than yourself so you can have ice cold juice by the pool. I chose to share that my dad had died two years prior and that I listened to his extensive record collection every chance I could and that I wanted to grow up to be a musician like he had been, in hindsight, this is not the kind of information that makes other six and seven year old girls think you're friendship material. No one really talked to me after that bit of sharing. It wasn't that they actively avoided me or anything so harsh as that, they just didn't even try. My mom told me, after I'd come home crying and begging her to move us to another place with a new school so I could have a clean slate to try again, that people my age didn't know what to do with certain information and that the other girls not talking to me didn't mean they didn't like me, it just meant that they weren't really sure how to talk to me since they hadn't experienced the death of a parent and didn't listen to and enjoy music written decades before they were born. She assured me that one of them, or more, would come around eventually and everything would work out for me. My mother is many things, but it's that assurance that cemented her as a liar in my mind. My salvation from a childhood of eating lunch alone and reading on the bench outside while hops were scotched and ropes were jumped came in the form of a little girl with jet black hair and ice blue eyes. She couldn't, at that time, show off her individuality given the strict dress code at St. Abigail's Academy for Young Girls, but she was instantly someone I knew I wanted to be friends with. When she arrived in our classroom, accompanied by the Vice Principal, she was wearing a purple hooded sweatshirt similar to my own, the hood down allowing the ladybug barrette adorning her shoulder length hair. "Ladies, quiet down please." Mrs. Thomasson said, clapping her hands three times in succession as she made her way from her desk to stand beside the newly arrived girl and take the note the Vice Principal was holding out for her. The room quieted and everyone turned their attention to the front of the room, a few small whispers ending the excited chatter as Mrs. Thomasson took her place next to the new girl, placing a hand on her shoulder to show the Vice Principal that custody of the girl had officially been transferred. "Class, this is Dawn Lassiter," Mrs. Thomasson said, reading the girl's name from the paper in her hand. "and she'll be joining our class going forward." she added, her horn rimmed glasses sliding down the longish bridge of her nose to be pushed back into place by her bony index finger. "Why don't you tell us a little about yourself, dear." the older woman urged with a reassuring pat of her hand on the girl's shoulder. Dawn shifted her backpack from her shoulder and set it down on the floor in front of her, taking a deep breath before looking up at the class and plastering a broad and friendly, if not forced, smile onto her face. "My name is Dawn and my family just moved here from Las Vegas." she said. The class began to hum with individual conversations at this information, the possibilities of all the depraved debauchery this girl could have witnessed in a den of sin as notorious as Las Vegas. Ridiculous things were whispered, including whether Dawn's mother was a stripper, if her father was a mobster, even if Dawn herself had been a prostitute. That last wondering had come from Tiffany Alvarez who regularly let everyone know that she had HBO and that her parents didn't care if she watched it. Dawn's smile remained despite the rudeness of the other girls, and after a few more claps from Mrs. Thomasson the room returned to its polite quietness. "I'm really happy to be here, and I hope we can all be friends." the young girl added, forcing excitement into her statement for the benefit of her peers. "Thank you dear, and welcome. Why don't you find an empty cubby in the back for your coat and other things and take a seat at the empty desk in the back." Mrs. Thomasson urged, giving the girl one final reassuring pat on the shoulder to send her on her way. Hearing that Dawn was to take the desk next to mine filled me with happiness, my clean slate had arrived and she seemed nice and interesting and I'd get to have the first opportunity of everyone in the class to befriend her. I watched her walk to the back of the room and remove her coat and put it on the hook before she opened her backpack and pulled out her lunchbox and put it in the cubby below. I turned my attention away as she made her way to her desk and waited until she sat down to turn toward her and smile, jutting my arm out toward her with my hand open for shaking, because I'm a very well mannered dork. "My name is Alina, it's nice to meet you, Dawn!" I greeted in a hushed tone to not alert Mrs. Thomasson. Dawn looked at my hand and then up at my increasingly nervous smile, and then her face lit up as she placed her hand in mine and shook it enthusiastically. "It's nice to meet you too, Alina!" she declared in a similarly hushed tone. ****************************************************************************** You never know the moments that are going to change your life forever, apart from the ones that end your life or devastate it immediately, like losing a limb or something. We always see our lives as these long roads that stretch outward into years beyond comprehension when we're younger. We may think randomly about being an old person straddling the line between life and death, but then we remember that that's not going to happen for decades and push it out of our minds. We rarely take into account the pitfalls of everyday life that can take that old age from us and squash our plans for the future without giving us a chance to do anything about it. I didn't know that when I was four my father was going to be involved in a fatal car accident caused by a drunk driver. My mother didn't know that had she let my father take the extra twelve minutes he needed to finish the work he was doing in his studio that he would have gotten home from the store without issue and we would have continued being a complete family unit for who knows how long. The drunk driver that took my father's life that night didn't know that he'd had just a little too much to drink during his celebrating his wife's pregnancy announcement with his friends from work and that getting behind the wheel that night would destroy two families forever. That was a bad moment in my life, but it strengthened me as a person for having experienced it, and even though I would trade anything in the world to have my father back, I'm not sure what kind of person I would be without that experience. In that regard, meeting Dawn Lassiter that day in first grade set me on a path that has made me the woman I am today. We obviously wouldn't know our true feelings for one another until much later in life than our Elementary School days, but that first day she appeared in our class started a friendship that lasted a good long while, but we'll get to that later. ****************************************************************************** "So what was it like living in Las Vegas?" I asked Dawn as we sat on the swings together during recess. She shrugged nonchalantly. "It wasn't as crazy as all the other girls think." she said. "We lived in a house away from the city, so it was actually pretty quiet, but I could see the lights from my bedroom window and my dad took me there a couple of times when he had things to do there, and he let me ride on his shoulders when we walked past the casinos and I could see people gambling and having fun, so that was kind of cool." she explained. I nodded. "Those girls are dumb." I told her, not actually meaning to be as blunt as I was. "I mean, they were saying things that were silly about your family just because you lived in Las Vegas." I corrected. She nodded. "I heard someone say she wondered if I was a prostitute." she said. "I don't know what that is, but I don't think I was one." she added with an embarrassed smile. "That was Tiffany Alvarez, she watches HBO and thinks she's so smart and knows all this grownup stuff, but she was my bunkmate at camp this last Summer, and she cried like a baby when her parents dropped her off and when we told ghost stories around the campfire, and when we went swimming and everyone laughed at her because she wouldn't let go of the dock." I told her, trying my best not to laugh thinking about it. "Basically, she's a big baby that pretends to be so grownup so people think she's cool." I added. Dawn giggled at the stories about Tiffany and smiled at me. "That's good to know, thank you." she said warmly. I nodded and returned her smile. "You're welcome." I said. "Don't let any of these girls try and make you feel like they're cooler than you, they're all just scared little girls pretending to be something they aren't." I told her. "What about you?" she asked as she stopped herself with her feet in the worn rut beneath her swing. I stopped myself the same way and looked at her confused. "What about me?" I asked. She shrugged. "I mean, are you as cool as you seem to be or are you just a scared little girl too?" she asked. My heart skipped a beat that she'd vocalized her thoughts of me being cool to her, and I shook my head to get my thoughts back under my control. "I'm not cool." I confessed. "I read books by myself while the other girls play, and apart from you, I don't have any friends." I told her quietly, ashamed that the embarrassing truth about me was spilling out to someone I desperately wanted to like me. "What kinds of books?" she asked. "I'm reading The Phantom Tollbooth right now." I told her. Her face lit up. "I love that book! We'll have to talk about it after you finish it!" she exclaimed excitedly. I was so surprised that I'd found another person my age that read at a higher grade level that I sat with my mouth open for longer than was socially acceptable, and only managed to close it when it registered to me that Dawn was giggling at me. "Are you shocked that I'm able to read?" she asked. I shook my head vehemently. "No!" I exclaimed. "I just was surprised that you had read that book, it's like a grade four or five book." I told her. She nodded. "My dad read it with me last month." she said. "He helped me with some of the words." she added with a small blush. "Does your dad read with you too?" she asked hopefully, maybe thinking she'd made herself seem stupid in my eyes because she wasn't entirely as independent in her reading as I was. I lowered my head and shook it. "No." I told her. "Um, my dad died two years ago." I added glumly. She gasped and put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know!" she declared apologetically. I nodded. "There's no way you could have known, it's okay." I said quietly as I looked over to her and forced a smile. The genuine feeling of compassion radiating from her hand into my shoulder put me immediately at ease. A moment passed to allow the awkwardness to fade and Dawn gave my shoulder a small pat. "Would you like to come over to my house this weekend?" she asked. "You can help me figure out how to decorate my room and maybe sleep over!" she added excitedly. My little heart swelled and I nodded eagerly, the awkwardness and hurt forgotten completely. "I'll ask my mom tonight!" I told her to which she made a happy squealing sound as she bounced on the seat of the swing. *************************************************************************** To this day I don't know why I put myself in the position that I did, I mean, I could have easily declined her invitation to sleep over, or lied and said my mother had told me no, but I think some part of me never wanted to lie to Dawn, that she was too important a person in my little world to jeopardize our just beginning friendship by building it on a foundation of lies. Maybe I wanted her to know everything about me and keeping my nighttime secret from her wasn't an issue because I felt confident that she wouldn't judge me or mock me or tell anyone. Whatever the true reason was, I took an unknowing step into a future relationship with Dawn because of that sleepover, and knowing what I know now, maybe that wasn't the best idea after all. 13 Link to comment
ELLIE52 Posted September 15, 2018 Share Posted September 15, 2018 Love it, but my Likes will have to reset. Looking forward to more. Exceptional writing. BTW, Aries changed his name. Link to comment
foofybabykitten Posted September 15, 2018 Share Posted September 15, 2018 I don't even know how to articulate how much I adore your writing style, everything is so smooth and perfectly descriptive; though Alina seems a little mature for an elementary schooler, she isn't unbelievably mature either, I'm guessing that maybe her father's death had something to do with her slightly accelerated growth. I'm really looking forward to where this goes, you set as good a foundation as any, I have so any questions but they seem like they'll be answered by continuing to read so I'll hold off for now. You could say that I'm thoroughly hooked and will be logging in daily to catch the next update as soon as it's up. Link to comment
thedman Posted September 16, 2018 Share Posted September 16, 2018 I like this... a lot. The writing style and narrative just flows so smoothly. I really liked the intro too, acknowledges the typical information dump and says screw that. I would say that it seems a bit odd that first graders would know so much about Las Vegas being such a sinful place or even to know where Las Vegas is but otherwise a very believable story. At risk of have a certain lamb chastise me for asking the author for more I'm going to beg for more please. Oh wait.... nooo... Lamby is the author, undo, delete, why won't any of these buttons work?! Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 16, 2018 Author Share Posted September 16, 2018 2 hours ago, ELLIE52 said: Love it, but my Likes will have to reset. Looking forward to more. Exceptional writing. BTW, Aries changed his name. Thanks, Ellie! Aries will remain Aries for the purposes of my tag trolling, I regret nothing. 2 hours ago, foofybabykitten said: I don't even know how to articulate how much I adore your writing style, everything is so smooth and perfectly descriptive; though Alina seems a little mature for an elementary schooler, she isn't unbelievably mature either, I'm guessing that maybe her father's death had something to do with her slightly accelerated growth. I'm really looking forward to where this goes, you set as good a foundation as any, I have so any questions but they seem like they'll be answered by continuing to read so I'll hold off for now. You could say that I'm thoroughly hooked and will be logging in daily to catch the next update as soon as it's up. Real talk? I don't know kids and I haven't been a kid for a very long while, so if I'm way off base with maturity I apologize if it makes things a little unbelievable. I'm really glad you like it and I appreciate you taking the time to comment! Answers will come and that's all I will say. 25 minutes ago, thedman said: I like this... a lot. The writing style and narrative just flows so smoothly. I really liked the intro too, acknowledges the typical information dump and says screw that. I would say that it seems a bit odd that first graders would know so much about Las Vegas being such a sinful place or even to know where Las Vegas is but otherwise a very believable story. At risk of have a certain lamb chastise me for asking the author for more I'm going to beg for more please. Oh wait.... nooo... Lamby is the author, undo, delete, why won't any of these buttons work?! You're good, more will come as I'm able to work on it, no needless aggression from me! As far as your point about Las Vegas, you're probably right, but kids pick up a lot of things adults say and they see on television, does that mean I didn't make a mistake? No, but maybe I didn't make a terrible mistake...maybe. Link to comment
Wannatripbaby Posted September 16, 2018 Share Posted September 16, 2018 OH MY GAWD! This was fantastic! I love it! ♡♡♡ This was basically me growing up. Not only being a bit more intellectual than the average child (remind me to tell you about the "prettiest mom paradox" I came up with when I was Alina's age later) but also the whole not having friends thing. 11 hours ago, RambleLamb said: Real talk? I don't know kids and I haven't been a kid for a very long while, so if I'm way off base with maturity I apologize if it makes things a little unbelievable. You weren't WAY off base. I was about to balk at the suggestion that a 6-year-old would know what a prostitute was, but then you mentioned the whole HBO thing and that redeemed it. I'm actually the same way when writing children for RPs. Which is why I hate doing it. As I said above, I wasn't a normal child and never really got to know any normal children. So I understand the struggle. now, having commented in a logical, understandable manner, I would like to also comment a 2nd time in a sort of high-pitched whine. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 16, 2018 Author Share Posted September 16, 2018 1 hour ago, Wannatripbaby said: OH MY GAWD! This was fantastic! I love it! ♡♡♡ This was basically me growing up. Not only being a bit more intellectual than the average child (remind me to tell you about the "prettiest mom paradox" I came up with when I was Alina's age later) but also the whole not having friends thing. You weren't WAY off base. I was about to balk at the suggestion that a 6-year-old would know what a prostitute was, but then you mentioned the whole HBO thing and that redeemed it. I'm actually the same way when writing children for RPs. Which is why I hate doing it. As I said above, I wasn't a normal child and never really got to know any normal children. So I understand the struggle. now, having commented in a logical, understandable manner, I would like to also comment a 2nd time in a sort of high-pitched whine. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ This story is going to be a lot of half truths with regards to my own experiences growing up, and before anyone asks, no, I'm not going to say what is and isn't factual or based on actual experience. I will however say that I am parts of both the main characters so the emotional aspect of the story should hit pretty hard, maybe not for anyone but me, but still. I'm really glad you like it so far and I'm glad I'm not the only one that sucks when it comes to writing kids. Also, I didn't intend for it to seem like Tiffany KNEW what a prostitute was, just that she knew they were in Vegas. Maybe she thinks they make balloon animals or something, the world may never know. Also Also, for those of you that enjoy music, both part and chapter titles will be song titles because I'm a nerd. Come see what kind of music I like! Or don't, it's not super important or anything... Link to comment
Wannatripbaby Posted September 16, 2018 Share Posted September 16, 2018 1 hour ago, RambleLamb said: I will however say that I am parts of both the main characters so the emotional aspect of the story should hit pretty hard, maybe not for anyone but me, but still. Sophie did the same thing for "Madison's Code." Which, if you haven't ready yet, go read it RIGHT NOW! Because it's amazing! I think I put it just below "Her Lullaby" on my list of favorite stories. Not that my list is arranged in any sort of hierarchy. I just sorta slap new stories in there as they come along. But still, you should read it. :) Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 16, 2018 Author Share Posted September 16, 2018 3 hours ago, Wannatripbaby said: Sophie did the same thing for "Madison's Code." Which, if you haven't ready yet, go read it RIGHT NOW! Because it's amazing! I think I put it just below "Her Lullaby" on my list of favorite stories. Not that my list is arranged in any sort of hierarchy. I just sorta slap new stories in there as they come along. But still, you should read it. I'll add it to my list...my inordinately long list...I'm terrible at keeping up with stories because I hate reading something while I try to write as it distracts my focus. I'm but a simple girl. Link to comment
bbykimmy Posted September 16, 2018 Share Posted September 16, 2018 3 hours ago, RambleLamb said: I'll add it to my list...my inordinately long list...I'm terrible at keeping up with stories because I hate reading something while I try to write as it distracts my focus. I'm but a simple girl. I love this story, but this is a lie. You're not a simple girl, you're wonderfully complex and I love what you have begun here. I'm glad to see a new RambleLamb story <3 I totally second the Madison's Code suggestion... I kinda wrote really in-depth analyses of each chapter because I was so into that story. Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 16, 2018 Author Share Posted September 16, 2018 11 minutes ago, bbykimmy said: I love this story, but this is a lie. You're not a simple girl, you're wonderfully complex and I love what you have begun here. I'm glad to see a new RambleLamb story <3 I totally second the Madison's Code suggestion... I kinda wrote really in-depth analyses of each chapter because I was so into that story. I didn't mean bad simple, just single minded simple. I don't multitask well, and I'm always afraid that something I read while writing my own thing will tinge my narrative with another author's influence. It's silly, but I'd hate for someone to feel I was biting off their work inadvertently, even if it was just a tonal or characteristic similarity. Also, not to be nosy or anything, but what do you love about this story? Several people have said that or similar and I don't see what I've done here as all that special, it's just the beginning of a story. I'm legit not fishing for praise or anything, I'm just not aware of what I've done that's so endearing. Feel free not to answer if you don't want to, or PM me or something if that's more desirable, I'm just very curious. Oh, and thank you very much for commenting and I'm very glad you like the story! Link to comment
bbykimmy Posted September 16, 2018 Share Posted September 16, 2018 So you don't have to do anything novel or endearing in chapter 1 to lay the foundation of a good story. What you have here is an exploration of pain but the promise of satisfaction. We know from the introduction that they remain friends and more as time goes on, so the pain of the past is a bittersweet recollection rather than a tense rollercoaster of shipping and "what if". I love this story for its gentle sweetness, for your language choices, for the youthful connection we're seeing. Not because I think this is "the best story ever" or anything, but because I am pleased not only by what is here but by the potential of what is to come. <3 1 Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 17, 2018 Author Share Posted September 17, 2018 1 hour ago, bbykimmy said: So you don't have to do anything novel or endearing in chapter 1 to lay the foundation of a good story. What you have here is an exploration of pain but the promise of satisfaction. We know from the introduction that they remain friends and more as time goes on, so the pain of the past is a bittersweet recollection rather than a tense rollercoaster of shipping and "what if". I love this story for its gentle sweetness, for your language choices, for the youthful connection we're seeing. Not because I think this is "the best story ever" or anything, but because I am pleased not only by what is here but by the potential of what is to come. <3 This helps me greatly, thank you! I was just curious, like I said, mainly because I don't see what I do as anything special because I compare myself to others and whatnot. Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 20, 2018 Author Share Posted September 20, 2018 Okay, full disclosure, there's some upsetting stuff in this chapter. Without spoiling anything, we deal with a nightmare in this chapter and if you're not familiar with my work in the past you may not be prepared for it, hence the warning. I'm going to be honest with you guys, I'm really proud of this chapter and my ability to write the way I talk and think and somehow make that into a coherent narrative...mostly, I do go off on little tangents now and again, but I'm very pleased with the results of this chapter and think that I've started moving us in the right direction for what I want this story to accomplish to be a thing. As always, I hope you enjoy my work and if you do throw me a like if you have one or a comment if you have time. I like to hear what people think about my work, even if it's not positive, so if you have a complaint or a criticism I'll accept it and try and do better in the future. I'm still new to writing and posting my work, so I know I have things to work on and I don't think negatively of someone for sharing an honest opinion. On the flip, if you like the story or even just a small part of it, let me know, I like hearing what people think...except that one time where I was combative toward praise because I legit didn't believe anyone actually liked my Civil War "story". I think that's everything, so I will see you guys in the comments section! <3 Oh yeah, two other things in case people didn't see and are curious: 1. I work 12 hour shifts so I only write on my weekends, hence the delay between chapters and 2. Parts and chapter titles are song titles so if you're into music and wanna give a shout out or whatever to knowing what song I used that'd be neat of you kthxbye Part One: About A Girl Chapter Two: Golden Slumbers "I'm just so tired Won't you sing me to sleep And fly through my dreams So I can hitch a ride with you tonight" Yellowcard - "View From Heaven" I sat in the living room on the edge of the couch, straining to hear my mother's conversation through the kitchen door. She'd been on the phone with Dawn's mother for a few minutes now, and I couldn't discern anything from her muffled tone that would help me to know whether she was agreeing to me sleeping over at Dawn's this weekend or not. After my dad died I became pretty introverted. To be fair, I was only four, so my pool of known associates was pretty much limited to my parents, one of whom was gone and never coming back, and a few girls in my preschool class, but those relationships were mostly based on whether or not so and so shared Play-Doh or if whatsherface picked her nose when she thought no one was looking or ate the findings when she was sure no one was. It wasn't hard to withdraw from social interaction, people that didn't know me just assumed I was a sad little girl. People that did know me gave me a pass for a long time, turning a blind eye to my altered behavior while making pitying faces in my direction and commenting about how tragic it all was to see such a shift in me. When I first went back to preschool I literally couldn't stop crying. My dad was always the one to drop me off in the mornings because my preschool was on the way to his studio. Every morning he would take me out of my carseat and hold my hand as we walked to the front door and then he'd hold it open for me and I'd go in and he'd help me take off my coat and then he'd kneel down and open his arms for a hug. He always smelled like warmth and calm, like if curling up under a blanket on the couch while you watch the snow falling outside had a smell. His facial hair would tickle my cheek when I hugged him and I would giggle every time and rub my cheek as we parted and chide him for not having a smooth face, but we both knew I wouldn't have traded his beard for a clean shave in a million years. The first day was hard from the very beginning because nothing was the way it was supposed to be, there was a person missing, the most important person with regards to my daily routine wasn't there and thus the routine was foreign and weird. My mom tried, she really did, but her hand was smaller and cool in contrast to his warm enveloping one, and she smelled like perfume and her hug wasn't as strong, and it was all just a little bit different but made it apparent that the familiar interactions were really and truly gone and weren't ever coming back, and I couldn't handle that and cried. In hindsight, I was very unfair to my mother in that first year after my dad died. She was suffering the loss of the love of her life, the man she'd chosen to be with forever and that had chosen her for the same, and on top of that devastating blow, she had a daughter that looked like him walking around as a constant reminder of a life cut short with no hope of reclaiming it. She never said it, obviously, but I think she loved me a little less because of that reminder, the bitter pill she'd been dealt was hard enough to swallow on its own, but with a daughter too young to successfully navigate emotional devastation on her own to deal with at the same time, I think she looked at me as somewhat of a burden. For a few weeks after my dad died, my aunt stayed with us and helped out around the house. This was a particularly strange time because my aunt was one of those "I don't have children of my own but I read parenting books in preparation for when my crushingly lonely existence isn't filled with cats but instead filled with human children" kind of ladies, the kind that wear holiday themed sweaters and think that bathing in perfume they got off of QVC will fool the world into thinking they're normal and happy when really they just go home after work and cry because their dinner is soup for one, salad for one, and wine for three. My aunt had read that children that lose a parent tend to regress in the face of extreme emotional trauma, and even though I exhibited no outward signs of this being my preferred coping method, she insisted on babying me as a way of "helping". Had my mom not been a curled up ball of tears and sobbing for the better part of three months, she might have noticed and put a stop to her four year old daughter being given baby bottles of warm milk before bed on their aunts lap. I had tried to fight her, arguing that I was certainly not a baby and wasn't in need of being treated like one, but her meaty arms had simply plucked me from where I stood and situated me on her lap with "soothing" assurances that it was okay for me to be a baby and that I was safe with her. Being four years old and having to consciously decide whether to drink milk from a baby bottle or choke to death on the warm liquid can have a surprisingly lasting effect on a person. The real kicker was the bedtime routine that followed the bottle feeding. I was already a bedwetter, not that a four year old having trouble staying dry at night is uncommon, but the reason my dad had gone out the night he'd died was because my mom had noticed I was running low on my overnight pants and had sent him out on the routine retrieval mission that ended up being fatal. This was something that took me years to deal with, knowing that my inability to control my bladder while I slept was directly responsible for the death of my father sounds absolutely ridiculous, but the shame I already felt because of this issue was magnified and compounded exponentially when my aunt took me to my room, carrying me on the mass of blubber enshrouding her hip because baby, and revealed that she'd gone out and purchased actual baby diapers for me to sleep in. I remember laying on the floor on that thin sheet of plastic adorned with pastel rabbits at play among happy, fluffy clouds and having a pacifier put into my mouth while I stared at the package of diapers near my head. I'd never really thought anything about babies before that moment, but seeing that chubby little face smiling toothlessly at me, it's skin tone and eye color matching my own as if to illustrate that I was meant to wear these things because it was where I'd started and all of this was happening to drag me back to that point of my life. I actually started to believe that this was my punishment for killing my father, to have to restart my life without him from the beginning. Having an adult that was supposed to be responsible for my wellbeing taking the reigns and enforcing these new changes made that belief all the more plausible in my young mind, and I didn't entirely hate the soothing feeling that sucking that pacifier brought me, but at the same time, fuck that baby. Literally Pampered, and full of warm milk, I slept heavily and dreamed heavier during that time, waking up to my aunt cooing at me and making syrupy sweet comments about my sodden and swollen diaper before she broke the spell and changed me out of my infantile garment and into my normal underwear, at least at first, but something maternal kicked her biological clock into overdrive fairly early on and it wasn't long before she was changing me from the used diaper into a dry one for the day. When my mother finally returned to the world of the living and emerged from her cocoon of sorrow and not showering, she was, let's just say surprised, to find her four year old daughter sitting splay legged on the floor of the living room sucking on a pacifier and playing with soft baby toys wearing a t-shirt and a diaper. I had fought for some time against actually using the diapers during the day, my parents had successfully potty trained me after all, but once my aunt had made it clear that my diaper was going to be my toilet for the foreseeable future, I backslid into using it for its intended purpose with only a few tantrums and balking. The sudden outburst of my mother screaming at my aunt however, that was enough to tear my attention away from the blocks, crawling to the other side of the couch where I squatted behind the arm and watched the argument, filling my diaper without concern as the fear that everything was horribly wrong in my world filled the pit of my stomach and forced the contents into the seat of my diaper. After my aunt left, narrowly avoiding a black eye, from what I could tell, my mother sat on the couch and cried in frustration and anger. Her emotions shifted quickly to sorrow and remorse when I crawled out from behind the arm of the couch and slowly made my way to her, looking up with wet eyes brimming with tears, my fathers eyes, as the pacifier in my mouth bobbed rhythmically. All the forced babying my aunt had piled onto me had triggered a need in me, just not from her, I didn't want to be a baby, not really, but I did want my mommy. I didn't want a pacifier but I did want to have something to soothe the swirl of emotions at war within me. I didn't want to be crawling around the living room with a load in my diaper, but I did want to have the feeling of being loved and cared for by my parent, to feel safe in their embrace because I was small and they were big and even though the world around us was bigger than both of us and full of scary things that hurt and made no sense, I knew that in their arms it would all be okay. Well, I knew that when my dad was alive, but in that moment in the living room with my mother I was just hopeful that would still be the case. ***************************************************************************** It had been agreed upon by my mom and Dawn's mom that I'd spend the night on Saturday and come home Sunday afternoon. When the news was given to me I was elated, but my mother quickly tempered that by reminding me that I was going to have to wear my overnight pants to sleep and questioning me about whether she felt I could be trusted to put them on myself or whether she needed to call Dawn's mother back and explain the situation to ensure that the bedtime ritual was enforced. The whole thing kind of took the wind out of my sails, mostly because in my excitement of being invited for a sleepover and making an actual flesh and blood friend I had actually forgotten that I was a bedwetter, thankfully my mother knew just how to gently remind me of that fact. In all sincerity, I was really just thankful she was letting me go, I had convinced myself that she was going to nix the idea on the grounds that she didn't feel I was ready to be in an unfamiliar house with unfamiliar people because I wasn't ready for such a big step in emotional independence or something a television child psychologist had said somewhere. With only two days of school left before the weekend, my mother and I had gone out that night to get a sleeping bag for me, and a housewarming gift for Dawn's parents and something nice for me to give Dawn as a thank you for inviting me. I was seated in the basket portion of the cart at the local big box store, mostly because my mother knew it was close to bedtime and I was probably tired from a full day of sitting in a classroom and sitting on a swing talking to Dawn, or maybe it was the sitting at the lunch table outside with Dawn sharing our mutual dislike of weird cheeses and mutual love of cherries in mixed fruit cups that sapped all my energy and required me to ride in the second most babyish spot in the cart. Whatever the belief, I was forced to watch the world roll by through the small squares of plastic of the carts body, knowing from past trips that the first stop was going to be the worst. I still haven't been able to figure out why, as a planned layout, the baby section is near the entrance of the large retailer. I mean, for parents with infants I suppose it's good to be able to get in and buy whatever you need for your little one and get them back out before they're exposed to germs from recycled air or from random strangers wanting to tickle beneath their chin or whatever, but for children with bedwetting issues this is a terrible place for the overnight protective garments they require to be stocked. For one thing, you're putting their needed item right next to actual infant diapers which makes the correlation between wetting ones bed and being a baby very strong despite also trying to reassure the child that the overnight protective garments aren't diapers. For another thing, putting these things near the entrance ensures that, as in my case, the humiliating package is right there in plain sight for the remainder of the shopping adventure free for anyone to see, like a classmate for example. I get that every kid that has a bedwetting issue thinks they're the only one with this issue and that it's something to be ashamed about and that if anyone they knew from school found out about it they would insert overly hyperbolic and dramatic sentiment regarding death or suicide here, and as an adult we know that that's not the case and that lots of kids suffer from continence issues, but the thing is that carting them around the store with this package right next to them is basically like putting the scarlet 'A' on someone that fools around on their spouse and does nothing to help the fear and shame that they have for having this problem. So it was, that my mother drove the cart to the baby section, passing through the aisle of actual diapers, the babies on the fronts of the packages smiling down at me knowingly as if to say "it wasn't too long ago that you were just like us, making your peeps and poops in your diapers, maybe your mommy will decide to buy these for you instead and you can go back to that life". There was always a small part of me that believed that would be the case, my heart beating faster as we neared the dreaded aisle, my eyes looking around at all the bright and happy colored packages and the sea of vacant eyes looking down at me before I cast my gaze to the floor of the cart basket and watch the linoleum roll by, counting the tiles along the way until I reached the magic number of twenty eight and knew we had safely come to the end of the aisle without my mother deciding I did in fact need to return to diapers proper until my little problem was resolved. At the very least, I had long since stopped leaking a little bit of pee into my panties when the trip down the aisle started, that warm spurt acting as a warning to me that I needed to get myself under control or else I'd enact a self fulfilling prophecy and end up proving my baseless fears correct. We didn't ever stop on that aisle, though had I been brave enough to look up at my mother I would have seen her looking at the sea of diapers and then looking down at me in the cart and making a face that could only be described as pitying. She knew without me saying anything that I was afraid of her deciding to buy actual diapers for me, but for whatever reason she never chose to bypass the aisle and come around the neutral side to get my overnight protection. Maybe she was waiting for me to say something to her, maybe she thought that I might request the actual diapers given how easily, at least in her eyes, I'd fallen back into the role of baby and lapsed my toilet training to the point that I'd done something wholly infantile in them without, again, in her eyes, so much as an argument. Maybe she thought that driving the cart down that aisle would remind me of the events of the past and serve as a warning that should she desire it I could be brought back to that point with a simple stretch of her arm and a grip of a package, leaving me to ride in the cart next to a declaration that Alina Benez wasn't a big girl at all, but actually a bona fide infant with a rare disorder that gave her the body of a six year old. With the package of Little Mermaid adorned protection sitting next to me in the cart, as far beneath the seat at the front of the cart and away from me as I could push it, we made our way through the store and back to the camping supplies and found a plain purple sleeping bag for me. My mother tried to talk me into a Tinkerbell or Cinderella one, but I was vehemently against showing up at Dawn's house with a collection of overly girly things and having her think I was like the other girls in class. I wanted her to think I was cool, and if I could keep my bedwetting pants a secret, she might just believe that was true and want to continue our friendship. Conversely, if she saw my Little Mermaid bedwetting pants she might assume I was a dumb baby like Tiffany Alvarez and demand my ejection and permanent banishment from her home entirely. Being a young girl is so damned hard. We left the store with gift card for Dawn's parents because I actually did start getting very sleepy around the fortyfive minute mark on the completely devoid of anything interesting for kids Housewares aisle, and I picked out a stuffed otter that I thought was absolutely adorable and secretly desired for myself but was reluctant to say anything in front of the bedwetter pants for fear that an admission of the desire to have a stuffy would lead to a switch in nighttime attire being made in favor of something more infantile. **************************************************************************** Saturday came quickly and my mother pulled up outside the quite nice two story house that the Lassiter's now called home. It wasn't any more or less nice than the other units in the cookie cutter housing development, but it was newer than our house, and that was really all the excuse I needed to be excited as I was helped from my carseat and handed my sleeping bag and the bag with Dawn's now boxed and wrapped otter along with the gift card and led by the hand to the front porch. My mother wasn't a big woman, she was fairly petite in comparison to someone with a carriage like my aunt, but being only six, she looked like a normal adult, towering above me in her adulthood, her black hair tied into a loose ponytail beneath her pink ball cap that she wore on the weekends, her face devoid of all but the slightest amount of makeup, just enough to look "presentable", but not so much as to look like she was trying too hard to impress people. She'd put on a light sweatshirt that had been my fathers, effectively swallowing her womanly features in favor of a more relaxed look over her bike shorts that she wore to the gym, which I knew she planned to go to after dropping me off. Looking back on that outfit now, knowing what I know about the world, my mother was dressed like a girl many years younger than her given age, finding comfort and security being swaddled in my fathers sweatshirt. She wouldn't be seen as the confident and powerful businesswoman she was during the week, but more as an approachable and at ease woman without a care in the world despite her myriad of cares hidden just below the surface. I already said I looked like my dad, and that statement was backed up when I stood next to my mother. I didn't have her pale skin with just a hint of pink from the sun and her rare encounters with it inside of an air conditioned office high above the city. Her eyes were blue but leaned more towards a grayish color, especially when she was sick, and I had more pronunciation to my facial features than she did, pouty lips in contrast to her thin ones and large eyes that many people found quite lovely as opposed to her more beady looking ones. She wasn't an ugly woman, though you may think that's what I'm driving toward with my descriptions, she just wasn't as pretty as me and that difference would grow more and more readily apparent as I got older and developed into a woman myself. Dawn's mother was stunning, statuesque and buxom, a trophy wife if ever there was one, but with the brains to be a biologist at a pharmaceutical company across town. She looked like, what I imagined at the time, a queen would look like, her dark hair and icy blue eyes mirroring Dawn's and making me all the more interested in being around Dawn long enough to see her become this woman in front of me. Dawn's father was equally pretty, muscular without being gross and well groomed without looking effeminate, his head shaved and his goatee trimmed short. Where I looked adopted without my father as an indication of where my looks came from, Dawn looked like her parents were split equally and mushed together to create the perfect little girl, no Chemical X required. The livingroom was still smattered with boxes in various states of unpacking, though they'd been moved out of the major thoroughfares and off to the sides as much as possible. The parents made introductions and greetings to each other, and Dawn and I exchanged niceties toward one another's parents with me handing over the gifts we'd bought with all the ceremony of a postal worker feeds a mailbox. I ignored her parents as they opened the envelope with the gift card and thanked my mother and I, and instead focused on Dawn as her face lit up when I handed her the package and she eagerly asked her parents if she could open the gift now and tore into it with excitement, her face beaming with happiness as she saw the otter inside and looked up at me and threw herself at me for the most sincere hug I'd experienced from someone I wasn't related to by blood. There was love in that hug, though at the time I assumed it was for the otter, and it probably mostly was, but I'll maintain my belief that that was the moment that Dawn started loving me until the day I die. Dawn and I raced off to her room to put my things away and see the rest of the house, our little legs racing up the stairs and around the corner and down the hall as fast as we could in our fever pitch of excitement. Her bedroom door had colorful foam letters on it spelling out her name and was cutely surrounded by butterflies of similar colors. The room had tan carpet, still sinky and new beneath my bare feet given the house rule of removing our shoes and leaving them near the front door. The bed was surprisingly still one that you'd find in a toddler's room, a rail along the side facing out into the room, white wood, or what looked like wood with pink accents on the various defining features and a pair of cartoon kittens on the headboard that looked like they'd probably be comfortable positioned next to a mobile above the bed. There was a white bookshelf on the far corner of the room filled with various books and collectibles, and a pink toy box next to that, the lid closed and a small stack of extra blankets on top. The folding doors of the closet were open and showcased the expansive collection of clothing Dawn had, ranging from obvious party and special occasion dresses to overalls and shirts. Next to the entry door was a dresser that obviously used to be a changing table but had been gussied up to try and hide its former purpose but, like pulling a tablecloth from a table, it would only take a small amount of effort to restore it to its base form. "I'm so glad you came!" Dawn chirped excitedly, breaking me from my thoughts about nefarious changing tables and bringing my attention to her, seeing that she was clutching the otter I'd given her to her chest in the crook of her arm. I nodded and smiled. "Me too! Thank you so much for inviting me." I said, not the least bit concerned at how actually desperate for her validation and friendship I sounded. "You can set your backpack and sleeping bag on the bed if you want." she offered, gesturing that way as if the room were too vast for me to possibly find the bed two and a half feet away, it was sweet and I kind of cherish the little things like that that she used to do. I moved over to the bed and set my things down, the bedding beneath the blankets and sheets crinkling softly, making me bristle at the sound, suddenly angry with my mother for telling Dawn's parents about my nightly problem, sending them out to buy a special sheet to protect the bedding from me. I turned to look at Dawn, hoping that she could possibly be unaware of the protective bedding now adorning her sleeping area and found her blushing and looking down at her feet. "I guess you heard that, huh?" she asked. I nodded. "Yeah, listen, Dawn-" I started to say. "I wet the bed!" she blurted out suddenly and probably louder than she intended, actually startling me a little. In that moment after her outburst there was a noticeable shift in our demeanor. She became more relaxed when she finally looked up from her feet to see me smiling at her, confessing my same problem, and I became more relaxed knowing that I wasn't alone in my struggle and more importantly that someone as wonderful as her was the person I shared a secret with. I didn't think about it, I just kind of auto piloted my way to her and hugged her, this was the actual moment that Dawn started loving me, for those of you keeping score at home. ****************************************************************************** We were at the beach, my mother and father watching me build a sandcastle as the water began to wash up closer and closer as time ticked by. The sky was on fire with orange and pinkish hues as the day began to fade away to be replaced by night, and my parents were packing things up, my father picking me up from the sand and wrapping me in a towel as he held me to him, my head resting on his chest, his heartbeat acting as the timekeeper to the score of the ocean waves coming in and rolling back out. His forearm supported my bottom, alerting him that a dry diaper would probably be a good idea before the car ride home and he handed me off to my mother to do just that while he loaded up the car. From my carseat I could see the sky begin to take on the inky blackness of night, the pastel hues slipping away, packing up the wisps of clouds in favor of a quilt of stars. My bottle of milk whistled softly as I began to suck air from it, and my heavy eyes tried to focus on my father as he turned in his seat and took the bottle from me and replaced it with my pacifier, looking at me with adoration as the plastic shield began to bob up and down in my mouth. His face was the first thing to change, his beard becoming spotted with little white pills, but that wasn't right because pills didn't wriggle and dance as they tried to move without limbs to successfully do so. The maggots multiplied in his beard as his eyes began to sink into their sockets, their emerald green replaced with a milky white as they clouded over and became bloodshot as they began to crack open and leak their essence down his cheeks which were becoming gaunt and sickly looking on their way to splitting from desiccation. His hands lost the flesh on them as if they were made of ice cream on a hot day, the putrid melt dribbling onto the floor of the car with little plops and splats. His smile grew wider as his lips receded, the corners of his mouth splitting and tearing with a leathery paper sound that was equal parts disgusting and terrifying. His mouth opened and his gray green tongue lolled out and snaked over his teeth as they began to dangle by the threads of their roots, the weight of its eel like form forcing some out entirely sending them to the floor with his skin drippings. "What's wrong, baby?" he asked, his words garbled but still understood somehow despite his lack of teeth or lips or even functioning tongue. The sound of metal smashing into metal and glass shattering filled the car as headlights from the windshield washed over everything and blew the world away in a blinding flash of illumination. ***************************************************************************** I woke up to Dawn shaking me, my screams of "daddy" dying in my throat as I began to sob uncontrollably, my already damp cheeks being doused by fresh tears, the clammy warmth in my overnight protection making me feel more helpless and alone. Dawn hugged me tightly, having left her bed and come to my aid, telling me that I was having a bad dream and that everything was okay. Everything was not okay though, and I knew it, just like I knew that this was not simply a bad dream, this was a nightmare and it was the same one I'd had every night for the last two years. It took several minutes of Dawn hugging me for me to calm down enough to be able to speak coherently without my wheezing sobs breaking up every other word, and several more minutes after that for me to be able to get up with Dawn and join her in the bed, her otter between us as she pulled the blanket up and listened to me tell her about my nightmare. 9 Link to comment
Wannatripbaby Posted September 20, 2018 Share Posted September 20, 2018 Oh. My. GAAAAAWWWWWWDDDDD! Lamby I'm just gonna say it: I think that, in a lot of ways, you might be the most talented writer here! Sure, Kimmy and Sophie have more experience, and perhaps a better head for plot development (although you haven't really had a chance to shine in that department yet) But you... Every word you wrote here was saturated with poetry. Not in the sense that it was flowery and followed a rhyme scheme and meter, but more in the distilled essence that poetry often contains which reaches out and touches the reader's soul. Because that's exactly where this came from; straight from your soul to the digital page. ♡♡♡♡♡♡ Link to comment
YourFNF Posted September 20, 2018 Share Posted September 20, 2018 Oh gods, this is really good. I just got this ache in my chest reading this. I've never so far thankfully experienced a really personal loss but that feeling really hit home as someone struggling with depression. Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 21, 2018 Author Share Posted September 21, 2018 1 hour ago, Wannatripbaby said: Oh. My. GAAAAAWWWWWWDDDDD! Lamby I'm just gonna say it: I think that, in a lot of ways, you might be the most talented writer here! Sure, Kimmy and Sophie have more experience, and perhaps a better head for plot development (although you haven't really had a chance to shine in that department yet) But you... Every word you wrote here was saturated with poetry. Not in the sense that it was flowery and followed a rhyme scheme and meter, but more in the distilled essence that poetry often contains which reaches out and touches the reader's soul. Because that's exactly where this came from; straight from your soul to the digital page. ♡♡♡♡♡♡ Well dang, that's high praise, thank you! I worked really hard to try and touch something inside myself and draw it out and give form to it. I started with the nightmare, having it come to me at work while I was dying from still being sick, and when I thought about it I became infatuated with it. The concept of a young girl having a nightmare where her father rots away before her eyes, giving visual representation to the feelings she's having regarding the changes in her daily routine without him made me so upset and I knew that I'd found the core I wanted for this story. Don't worry, this is still very much a love story, and it's still very much a story about being in love, but it's also about love that can't be felt anymore because of loss. I didn't want to write this story and have it start with a meet cute and then romance, I wanted it to be about a relationship formed over the course of many years, beginning as friendship and blossoming into something else by way of growing up and gaining a better understanding of emotions. I don't like writing about biological kids on a forum about sexual fetish stuff, but I don't think I can tell the story I want to tell without going through this part of things. I don't think I can convey the emotion I want to without a lifetime of preamble submitted as evidence of a love shared between two girls. I want this story to become something amazing, something that I can point to as a defining moment in my time as a writer and your comment gives me hope that I'm on the right track. Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart. 1 hour ago, YourFNF said: Oh gods, this is really good. I just got this ache in my chest reading this. I've never so far thankfully experienced a really personal loss but that feeling really hit home as someone struggling with depression. I'm glad it affected you so strongly, not so much the way it affected you, I hope you're okay and I didn't cause you pain, but it feels good to know that I reached you. Hopefully as the story goes on, provided you're still invested, you'll feel more positive things by reading it. Link to comment
YourFNF Posted September 21, 2018 Share Posted September 21, 2018 1 hour ago, RambleLamb said: Well dang, that's high praise, thank you! I worked really hard to try and touch something inside myself and draw it out and give form to it. I started with the nightmare, having it come to me at work while I was dying from still being sick, and when I thought about it I became infatuated with it. The concept of a young girl having a nightmare where her father rots away before her eyes, giving visual representation to the feelings she's having regarding the changes in her daily routine without him made me so upset and I knew that I'd found the core I wanted for this story. Don't worry, this is still very much a love story, and it's still very much a story about being in love, but it's also about love that can't be felt anymore because of loss. I didn't want to write this story and have it start with a meet cute and then romance, I wanted it to be about a relationship formed over the course of many years, beginning as friendship and blossoming into something else by way of growing up and gaining a better understanding of emotions. I don't like writing about biological kids on a forum about sexual fetish stuff, but I don't think I can tell the story I want to tell without going through this part of things. I don't think I can convey the emotion I want to without a lifetime of preamble submitted as evidence of a love shared between two girls. I want this story to become something amazing, something that I can point to as a defining moment in my time as a writer and your comment gives me hope that I'm on the right track. Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart. I'm glad it affected you so strongly, not so much the way it affected you, I hope you're okay and I didn't cause you pain, but it feels good to know that I reached you. Hopefully as the story goes on, provided you're still invested, you'll feel more positive things by reading it. It has a very bitter-sweet feel to it Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 21, 2018 Author Share Posted September 21, 2018 11 hours ago, YourFNF said: It has a very bitter-sweet feel to it Well, the good news is that going forward we're going to experience far less sadness and hurt. Link to comment
Jayme Posted September 21, 2018 Share Posted September 21, 2018 RambleLamb, the depth of your chapters is unfathomable. I can picture myself there living her nightmare, seeking out comfort, and finding a Real friend/Lover. Please continue your Saga as I'm eager to see what happens next! Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 21, 2018 Author Share Posted September 21, 2018 23 minutes ago, Jayme said: RambleLamb, the depth of your chapters is unfathomable. I can picture myself there living her nightmare, seeking out comfort, and finding a Real friend/Lover. Please continue your Saga as I'm eager to see what happens next! Thanks, I'm so glad you like it! I'm more than likely going to have another chapter up today or tomorrow and then next week for the chapter after that! Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 22, 2018 Author Share Posted September 22, 2018 If you have time, please leave a comment, inspiration comes not only from what we have inside of us, but also in knowing that the work we do and the things we create are appreciated or at the very least make you feel strongly enough to say what you don't like. Thank you! I hope you enjoy this continuing saga that I promise is a love story, pinky promise! <3 Also, I'm back to work tomorrow, so no updates until at least Wednesday. Part One: About A Girl Chapter Three: Smile Like You Mean It "I'm not like them, but I can pretend" Nirvana - "Dumb" In the dim glow of the nightlight near the door, and the small device on the bedside table that projected stars onto the ceiling, I could see Dawn's face grow more concerned and disturbed as I continued my description of the events of my nightmare. She was getting scared, casting her gaze to the end of the bed periodically to ensure that my rotting father wouldn't suddenly be rising up to meet us, and the more fearful she became the more I felt terrible for ruining her sleepover. "I'm sorry." I said quietly, putting my hand gently on her shoulder and squeezing it lightly to draw her attention from the void at the end of the bed and back to me. She looked at me and shook her head. "Why are you sorry?" she asked. "Everyone has bad dreams, and they're scary and sometimes that makes you scream or cry." she told me as she mirrored my soft shoulder embrace and unexpectedly moved her head close and kissed my forehead. "My parents do that to me when I have bad dreams and it makes them go away because kisses from friends and family are special and magic." she explained, her words parted by a little yawn. I smiled and felt knew tears forming in my eyes. "Dawn?" I asked her. "Hmm?" she mumbled, her eyes beginning to close and then open suddenly as she caught herself falling asleep. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead in return. "I hope we can be best friends." I confessed. She nodded sleepily and yawned once more. "Me too." she said dreamily, a small smile forming on her lips. I waited until she began snoring softly, her otter clutched to her tightly and her thumb in her mouth before I made my way out of the bed as quietly as possible, not easy given the crinkling of the plastic sheet on the bed and the sodden rustling of my nighttime protection beneath my pajamas, but I managed to get off the bed with only a halfhearted murmur from Dawn and crossed the room to my backpack, going inside it to see if my mother had packed an extra pair of night pants for me, she hadn't. Knowing that Dawn had the same problem I did, I crept to her dresser to see if she had one I could use. The top drawer held her underwear and socks, the second drawer was for shirts of various kinds, the third drawer was shorts and pants, and my hopes were pretty low by the time I reached the bottom drawer. Pulling it open I found it to be exactly what I had been searching for, the "Drawer of Absorbancy" is what I dubbed it, which later became the name for every drawer of its kind in our future. Overnight pants, training pants of both cloth and disposable nature, actual baby diapers, folded cloth diapers and plastic pants with a small container for diaper pins. I looked over at the bed and saw Dawn still fast asleep, and quietly grabbed an overnight panty from the stack and closed the drawer before tiptoeing to the door and opening it slowly, slipping through it as soon as the crack became big enough for me to pass through and shutting it behind me. The lights were off downstairs, but the glow of the television danced on the stairs and cast the shadow of the stair railing across my face and the wall behind me. I crept down the hall and to the bathroom, my hand settling on the knob and turning lightly only to have the knob twist in my hand and pull away as the door opened and Dawn's mother bumped into me on her way out, gasping and reaching out to grab my arm to keep me from falling backward. "Alina, you scared me!" the older woman declared. "Is everything okay?" she asked worriedly. I, for whatever reason, hid the overnight brief behind my back and nodded vehemently, my heart racing in my chest. "I umm, just needed a drink of water." I lied, badly. Mrs. Lassiter reached behind me and took hold of the overnight brief, kneeling down to my level as she held it in front of her. "Did you need a change?" she asked sympathetically. I suppose my emotions were still raw from my nightmare, or maybe I was just overly tired, but I threw my arms around this woman I'd just met a few hours earlier and sobbingly confirmed her suspicions. I told her about my nightmare and about waking up Dawn and how sorry I was for scaring her and then I pretty much just devolved into a blubbering mess of nonsense until she stopped me by hugging me back and rubbing it in small circles interspersed with gentle pats while she made soft shushing sounds. Waiting until I'd at least stopped crying and was simply sniffling, Mrs. Lassiter pulled me from her and looked at me with a maternal smile. "Can you handle it by yourself?" she asked delicately. I nodded sheepishly, feeling my face warm with a flush. She nodded her understanding and looked at the overnight protection brief in her hand. "Is this one of Dawn's?" she asked. I again nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I took it, but my mom didn't pack me an extra one and Dawn told me she had the same problem and-" the waterworks threatened to resume any moment as I became increasingly more and more anxious and afraid that I was going to be in trouble not only for having wet myself because of a nightmare, but also because I'd secretly raided my new friend's underwear drawer to ensure I wouldn't leak all over everything from another nightmare induced wetting. Mrs. Lassiter again shushed me calmly and put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm not mad, Alina, I was just curious because Dawn doesn't often wear these." she told me. I was understandably confused. "But, she told me that she wet the bed and there was a plastic sheet on the bed, and the drawer-" I was circling the drain from being overly tired and none of this was making sense to me, I began to wonder if Dawn had lied to save me the embarrassment of revealing my problem to her. "She does wet the bed, but she wears actual diapers to bed because she's a very heavy wetter." Mrs. Lassiter explained. This conversation never got back to Dawn, not in all the years I knew her. We'd talked at great length over the years about that first sleepover, finding the whole thing to be very silly given our lifestyle choices as adults, but I never told her that her mother had shared a deeply intimate and embarrassing secret about her daughter's bedwetting intensity with me. I replayed the events of the evening in my head, trying to figure out when Dawn could have gotten diapered without me knowing it, and the only thing I could come up with was when she'd gone to take a bath after dinner, and returned in her pajamas. The footed sleeper she'd been wearing had struck me as kind of childish, but she looked really cute and warm in comparison to my simple shirt and pajama pants. "Do you think another one of these will be enough?" Mrs. Lassiter asked, derailing my train of thought. The implication that perhaps I should also be wearing a real diaper stung, but the compassionate and genuine sincerity on her face kept me from protesting the insinuation. "It should be fine." I answered, adding "It usually is." without thinking about how unsure I sounded. Mrs. Lassiter nodded and handed me the overnight protection as she stood up. "Okay, I'll leave you to it then." she said. "If you want to shower there's a towel behind the door you can use, otherwise, there's wipes in the left hand drawer of the bathroom cabinet." she added and started walking toward the stairs. "Oh, and if you could, please put the used one in the Diaper Genie in Dawn's closet." she said before she disappeared down the stairs. I entered the bathroom and closed and locked the door behind me, opting to just use the wipes to clean up as I yawned and shook my head sleepily to try and push myself to stay awake just a bit longer. I made quick work of cleaning myself off, using the restroom, and donning a new protective brief before I made my way back to the bedroom, slinking my way to the closet to insert my used brief into the diaper genie. I wondered for a second if I should get back into bed with Dawn, but she looked so peaceful cuddling her otter and sucking her thumb that I decided just to get back into my sleeping bag and within moments of doing so I was asleep again. ****************************************************************************** When you share something with someone, be it an actual secret or just something you don't actively broadcast to every person you come across, you give them power over you. This power scales in proportion to the deepness and darkness of the secret, and entering into this dynamic of informational indentured servitude requires that you trust the person not to use this information at any point in time to either garner the favor of their peers by making you the target of their barbs or physical attacks, or decimate you entirely as a person by throwing the knowledge in your face when they know it will hurt you the most. Children are terrorists. They are soulless little bastards and bitches that will rip out your guts, metaphorically speaking, hopefully, and then skip away as if nothing happened. Obviously, not all children are this way all of the time, but I have yet to meet a child that didn't say something to a friend or a loved one at some point in time that makes you wonder why the spawn of the actual Devil is just cold chilling at some random playground on Earth when they could be running for president or auto tuning gold records. My point is, cherub smiles often part to reveal venom dripping fangs. When I heard Dawn laughing out on the playground back at school on Monday, I hurried to follow the melodious sound, eager to join in her mirth and share a good time with my new best friend. When I rounded the corner and saw Dawn sitting on the blacktop with Amber and Danicka, the two cuntiest six almost seven year olds one could find, I felt my stomach drop. When Amber saw me standing there a moment later, she gestured so Dawn and Danicka could look at me as well before she got up and made her way over to me. Amber Barrington was the queen elite of St. Abigail's Academy for Young Girls, or at least that's what the donation placards on the various buildings around the school with her parent's names on them made her believe. She was a snot, and regularly turned her perfect little alabaster nose up at the girls that actually had to work to stay enrolled there, academically, six and seven year olds didn't have to have jobs to pay the steep tuition, but you probably already knew that. The little blonde girl approached me, looking me up and down, her face washing over with puzzlement. "That's funny." she said. I was breathing harder now, my adrenaline ramping up, knowing that she was going to try and hurt me. "What?" I asked automatically, knowing it was a mistake before the word even left my mouth. "Well, Dawn was just telling us about your little sleepover you had this weekend, and from what she said I expected you to be crawling instead of walking." she explained. Danicka, Amber's number two, literally as much as in title, guffawed, her laugh sounding like a cartoon hyena as she threw her head back and clutched her stomach, probably because her sides were close to splitting. "Ask her if her diaper is wet, Amber!" she brayed. Amber smirked at me. "Poor little baby, Alina." she said, moving closer to me and dropping her voice. "What would your Daddy think of you wetting the bed, I wonder." she whispered. Red was the only thing I saw, both from my overwhelming rage, and from the geyser of blood that gushed from the pert little nose of that stuck up bitch after I plowed my fist into it. Before I knew what was happening I was on top of her on the blacktop, bringing my fists down onto her head and body, an inhuman screeching sound filling my ears that didn't register as coming from me. As one of the teachers in charge of watching the students on the playground pulled me off of Amber and hoisted me over her shoulder to carry me away, I caught sight of Dawn, she was crying and silently mouthing an apology to me before she went with Danicka to check on her apparently real best friend. 6 Link to comment
CDfm Posted September 23, 2018 Share Posted September 23, 2018 I am absolutely loving this story. RambleLamb you are doing an amazing job with this story. That dream in chapter two almost had me in tears. What a heartbreaking loss Alina had to experience at such a tender age. To experience such nightmares has to be terrifying for a little girl. It’ No wonder she wets the bed. Chap3was equally as heartbreaking. How could Dawn have turned on her like that? I believe there has to be some sort of explanation for Dawn to give up that kind of secret. I only gave it one like but I know there will be more. And for the record, I am one of those who thought your civil war spoof was good. If that praise is upsetting to you, I apologize but doing so still doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. You are indeed an awesome writer. Thank you for sharing your wonderful talents. Link to comment
RambleLamb Posted September 23, 2018 Author Share Posted September 23, 2018 7 minutes ago, CDfm said: I am absolutely loving this story. RambleLamb you are doing an amazing job with this story. That dream in chapter two almost had me in tears. What a heartbreaking loss Alina had to experience at such a tender age. To experience such nightmares has to be terrifying for a little girl. It’ No wonder she wets the bed. Chap3was equally as heartbreaking. How could Dawn have turned on her like that? I believe there has to be some sort of explanation for Dawn to give up that kind of secret. I only gave it one like but I know there will be more. And for the record, I am one of those who thought your civil war spoof was good. If that praise is upsetting to you, I apologize but doing so still doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. You are indeed an awesome writer. Thank you for sharing your wonderful talents. First of all, thank you so much for letting me know what you think of the story, I'm glad you like it! Second, I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an explanation for Dawn's actions, but if there is we'll find them out soon! Thirdly, the praise for my Civil War story didn't upset me, I just found it very hard to believe that the story was enjoyable to anyone as it was a joke that grew legs and gained sentience. That said, if people liked it then I'm glad, but I am completely baffled by it. Lastly, this story is dealing with some heavy and very adult emotions via a child, and I feel the need to apologize for using that as a way to magnify these feelings and traumas and make them more powerful and hard to handle, but if I do my job well then everything will be that much more enjoyable by the time we get to the happy parts. Link to comment
Bluebird67 Posted September 23, 2018 Share Posted September 23, 2018 12 hours ago, RambleLamb said: This conversation never got back to Dawn, not in all the years I knew her. So this story is a kind of eulogy as well as a love story. You are an amazing writer, both in the literal sense - I am often taken aback by the the scope of your stories - and in the usual sense of really, really good. Thank you so much for sharing your talent here. (Bother. I seem to have run out of likes.) Link to comment
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