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Jul. 14th, 2007 11:59 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tamingthemuseTitle: Connections
Fandom: None-OC
Rating: G
Warnings: Superstition!
Summary: The same gift can be a curse--depends on how you look at it and how others see it.
A/N: Well, the muse just ran the hell away with this one. I wrote another that I'm posting over at my journal--much stranger than this--but this one is going to incorporate the next three prompts into it (yes, a three-part TTM story for me! Yay!)
ETA: Here's a link to the other story if you wanted to read it...The Mutable Nature Of Water
I really hate crying. Let me say that before I ever begin to tell you anything else about myself. I think that there are times when I would rather stab myself in the eye with a fork than cry, only because I think that it makes me look weak in others’ eyes. Of course, perhaps they don’t understand that it takes a certain strength that most people don’t possess to cry in front of others. It takes fortitude to make yourself that vulnerable, that open to the possible criticism and pitiable looks to allow yourself the pleasure of crying.
It must be the fact that I was born with a Pisces sun and a Cancer moon, as well as having the Leo rising in my horoscope. Of course, I despise those who say that astrology is bunk. Tell that to my fourth house with my mother issues or my twelfth house that makes me so psychically open that I can sometimes hear other peoples thoughts, voiced or not. It isn’t my fault; it was just the way that I was born.
Or it could be because of the caul over my face when the doctor dragged me out of the birth canal. My mother said the midwife crossed herself because she was a good Catholic, then made the two-fingered sign against the evil eye because she was Creole. But it really made her nervous when MarieClaire, the midwife, ran out of the house with the afterbirth cradled in her arms like a child to bury it under the tree in the back yard. “It’s only for her protection, Madame. As long as the tree grows tall and strong, she is under the protection and will not falter. When the tree dies…” MarieClaire shuddered and made the same signs again, to the abject amusement of the doctor and my mother. Shaking with anger, she gathered her things and shook her fist in my mother’s face. “You will see when she gets older. It will frighten you beyond your ken and you will seek me out for advice, mark my words!”
I suppose it did at that because I found myself being dragged to MarieClaire’s house in the middle of the night after a particularly trying day. I never saw anything wrong with telling mother what was going to happen, but when I told her about the baby in her womb and that my father was seeing another woman over the hill, she must have had enough.
“Tell me what to do with her! She tells me all kinds of things that she can’t know but somehow they’re always true! Tell me how to make her stop!”
My mother’s hysterical voice still echoes in my ears as she screamed at the ancient and toothless old woman sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch of the ramshackle house. I can still see in my mind’s eye the smile on her face, gums glistening in the light of the kerosene lamp as her black eyes traveled from my head to my toes and back.
“I told you the day that she came into this world that it would be a blessing and a curse to you. All you could do was laugh in my face and now you want my advice. Give her to me and let me teach her control.”
“It won’t do any good. You’ll be dead and buried shortly.” I can still feel the words as they flew out of my mouth unbidden, yet completely true. Beneath the olive skin and the black eyes I could see the skull of Death as it hung over her face, spectral-like, and I couldn’t have kept my mouth shut if I had sewn it.
“P’haps so, youngun, but it will take little time and that I do have.” MarieClaire rocked back in the chair and thumped her cane on the wood of the porch. “Come closer.”
When my mother let go of my hand, she let go of me entirely. I could see the bond between us severing as her fingers released mine and her hand dropped uselessly to her side, her mouth a tight, pinched white line on her florid face.
As I neared the midwife, I could see inside her head. Plans had been made and laid long ago, at the moment of my birth. Fostering me out to her, then another more powerful psychic, on and on until I was old enough to stand on my own two feet and of my own accord.
She took my hand in hers and studied the lines imprinted on my palm. “Ah, yes, so I see now. Stars abound in this one’s hand. She’s powerful for sure. I have friends that could teach her much. Leave her with me. We’ll send for her things in the morning.”
Without a hug, kiss, or another word, my mother fled and I was in the care of someone strange yet familiar.
I could feel her searching my mind and firmly pushed her out. “Don’t do that. I already know about Jeanne and Abigail. Tell me what you need to and I’ll go on home.”
Instead of becoming angry, though, MarieClaire rocked back again and opened her mouth to laugh, a long deep cackle that raised the hair on the back of my neck. “Knowing too much is worse than not knowing enough, little miss. What be your name? I left before it was spoken.”
“Sybil. Sybil Brianne.”
Another hair-raising laugh echoed in the small grove. “And do you know the meaning of it?”
When I shook my head, she leaned in close. I could smell the rancid smell of Death on her breath as she whispered, “It means Oracle.”
It was the first, but by no means the last time I was terribly afraid of my gift.
MarieClaire taught me a lot—how to shield myself, how to control my words and thoughts, how to keep from blurting out any little thing that I caught when I was around those that didn’t guard their thoughts. True to my words, she was dead in six months or less and I was sent back home for the summer. My mother was pregnant, quite large by that time, and I told her to pick out boy’s names instead of the pretty little girl’s names that she had circled in the baby names book.
She gave me a strange look, then did as I suggested. My brother was born a month later, red and squalling as he kicked himself out of the doctor’s hands and onto the floor.
Oh, he wasn’t hurt. She named him Brian. Brian Hugo. At least he might have a chance at a normal life. I sure didn’t.
Even though I didn’t blurt out my every prediction and vision, when the tall, thin redhead showed up on the front porch one Saturday and said her name was Jeanne, I went upstairs and started packing my bags. I was nearly halfway done before my mother even noticed, too wrapped up in my brother to even care. I didn’t mind; I knew that I didn’t belong there anymore anyway.
I paused at the door of the nursery and watched them for a moment ‘til she finally noticed me standing there. “I’m going to Jeanne’s house now. I’ll write.”
Her reply was off-hand and distant. “Take care, Sybil.”
“You too, mother. And keep Brian away from the stove.”
With that last cryptic remark, I left my mother for the second time, only this time I looked forward to leaving. I never did cry.
Fandom: None-OC
Rating: G
Warnings: Superstition!
Summary: The same gift can be a curse--depends on how you look at it and how others see it.
A/N: Well, the muse just ran the hell away with this one. I wrote another that I'm posting over at my journal--much stranger than this--but this one is going to incorporate the next three prompts into it (yes, a three-part TTM story for me! Yay!)
ETA: Here's a link to the other story if you wanted to read it...The Mutable Nature Of Water
I really hate crying. Let me say that before I ever begin to tell you anything else about myself. I think that there are times when I would rather stab myself in the eye with a fork than cry, only because I think that it makes me look weak in others’ eyes. Of course, perhaps they don’t understand that it takes a certain strength that most people don’t possess to cry in front of others. It takes fortitude to make yourself that vulnerable, that open to the possible criticism and pitiable looks to allow yourself the pleasure of crying.
It must be the fact that I was born with a Pisces sun and a Cancer moon, as well as having the Leo rising in my horoscope. Of course, I despise those who say that astrology is bunk. Tell that to my fourth house with my mother issues or my twelfth house that makes me so psychically open that I can sometimes hear other peoples thoughts, voiced or not. It isn’t my fault; it was just the way that I was born.
Or it could be because of the caul over my face when the doctor dragged me out of the birth canal. My mother said the midwife crossed herself because she was a good Catholic, then made the two-fingered sign against the evil eye because she was Creole. But it really made her nervous when MarieClaire, the midwife, ran out of the house with the afterbirth cradled in her arms like a child to bury it under the tree in the back yard. “It’s only for her protection, Madame. As long as the tree grows tall and strong, she is under the protection and will not falter. When the tree dies…” MarieClaire shuddered and made the same signs again, to the abject amusement of the doctor and my mother. Shaking with anger, she gathered her things and shook her fist in my mother’s face. “You will see when she gets older. It will frighten you beyond your ken and you will seek me out for advice, mark my words!”
I suppose it did at that because I found myself being dragged to MarieClaire’s house in the middle of the night after a particularly trying day. I never saw anything wrong with telling mother what was going to happen, but when I told her about the baby in her womb and that my father was seeing another woman over the hill, she must have had enough.
“Tell me what to do with her! She tells me all kinds of things that she can’t know but somehow they’re always true! Tell me how to make her stop!”
My mother’s hysterical voice still echoes in my ears as she screamed at the ancient and toothless old woman sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch of the ramshackle house. I can still see in my mind’s eye the smile on her face, gums glistening in the light of the kerosene lamp as her black eyes traveled from my head to my toes and back.
“I told you the day that she came into this world that it would be a blessing and a curse to you. All you could do was laugh in my face and now you want my advice. Give her to me and let me teach her control.”
“It won’t do any good. You’ll be dead and buried shortly.” I can still feel the words as they flew out of my mouth unbidden, yet completely true. Beneath the olive skin and the black eyes I could see the skull of Death as it hung over her face, spectral-like, and I couldn’t have kept my mouth shut if I had sewn it.
“P’haps so, youngun, but it will take little time and that I do have.” MarieClaire rocked back in the chair and thumped her cane on the wood of the porch. “Come closer.”
When my mother let go of my hand, she let go of me entirely. I could see the bond between us severing as her fingers released mine and her hand dropped uselessly to her side, her mouth a tight, pinched white line on her florid face.
As I neared the midwife, I could see inside her head. Plans had been made and laid long ago, at the moment of my birth. Fostering me out to her, then another more powerful psychic, on and on until I was old enough to stand on my own two feet and of my own accord.
She took my hand in hers and studied the lines imprinted on my palm. “Ah, yes, so I see now. Stars abound in this one’s hand. She’s powerful for sure. I have friends that could teach her much. Leave her with me. We’ll send for her things in the morning.”
Without a hug, kiss, or another word, my mother fled and I was in the care of someone strange yet familiar.
I could feel her searching my mind and firmly pushed her out. “Don’t do that. I already know about Jeanne and Abigail. Tell me what you need to and I’ll go on home.”
Instead of becoming angry, though, MarieClaire rocked back again and opened her mouth to laugh, a long deep cackle that raised the hair on the back of my neck. “Knowing too much is worse than not knowing enough, little miss. What be your name? I left before it was spoken.”
“Sybil. Sybil Brianne.”
Another hair-raising laugh echoed in the small grove. “And do you know the meaning of it?”
When I shook my head, she leaned in close. I could smell the rancid smell of Death on her breath as she whispered, “It means Oracle.”
It was the first, but by no means the last time I was terribly afraid of my gift.
MarieClaire taught me a lot—how to shield myself, how to control my words and thoughts, how to keep from blurting out any little thing that I caught when I was around those that didn’t guard their thoughts. True to my words, she was dead in six months or less and I was sent back home for the summer. My mother was pregnant, quite large by that time, and I told her to pick out boy’s names instead of the pretty little girl’s names that she had circled in the baby names book.
She gave me a strange look, then did as I suggested. My brother was born a month later, red and squalling as he kicked himself out of the doctor’s hands and onto the floor.
Oh, he wasn’t hurt. She named him Brian. Brian Hugo. At least he might have a chance at a normal life. I sure didn’t.
Even though I didn’t blurt out my every prediction and vision, when the tall, thin redhead showed up on the front porch one Saturday and said her name was Jeanne, I went upstairs and started packing my bags. I was nearly halfway done before my mother even noticed, too wrapped up in my brother to even care. I didn’t mind; I knew that I didn’t belong there anymore anyway.
I paused at the door of the nursery and watched them for a moment ‘til she finally noticed me standing there. “I’m going to Jeanne’s house now. I’ll write.”
Her reply was off-hand and distant. “Take care, Sybil.”
“You too, mother. And keep Brian away from the stove.”
With that last cryptic remark, I left my mother for the second time, only this time I looked forward to leaving. I never did cry.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-15 05:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-15 09:47 am (UTC)Go take a gander at the other one...I wasn't sure which one to post since I did like both of them, but I thought that this one would be a great story to build all three prompts on...
:D