kay_brooke (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2013-10-04 09:53 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2013-10-04 09:53 pm
Admin Yellow #27, Byzantium #7
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Eighth Saimar
Colors: Admin Yellow #27 (if you're going to do something wrong, do it right), Byzantium #7 (from the old ox, the young one learns to plow)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 383
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Jarol's secret.
Note: Lint Roll answer forclare_dragonfly, who asked Jarol what his deepest secret is.
He wanted to see his mother again.
People always asked him, “Don’t you want to go back to your old home? Wouldn’t you want your mother to see how well you’ve done for yourself?”
And his answer--leaving aside the frankly ridiculous notion that he had, in the eyes of others at least, done anything worth boasting about--was always no.
“My mother never loved me,” he said.
“She was poor, and I was just an unwanted mouth to feed,” he said.
“She practically begged Dionos Afry to take me away,” he said.
“Why would I care about her at all? Why would I think my accomplishments would make her suddenly start to care about me?” he said.
And people would nod, and murmur their understanding, and that would be the end of the conversation, which was how Jarol preferred it.
But secretly, Jarol did want to see his mother again. Not out of any vestigial love for her. Not out of a belief that she would be proud of him if she knew him. Not even out of misplaced nostalgia for the squalid little shack he had spent his first eight years of life in.
No, he wanted to see her again to rub it in her face how she had failed to break him. How he had achieved things despite her, how he had risen above the hole she had forced him into since his birth. How so much better than she he was. He wanted to spit on her. He wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him all those years ago. He wanted to ruin her, take away even the modest employment she’d had when he was a child. Take away her shack and force her to live on the streets. He wanted to pick her up and dump her in the most rat-infested part of Spirathua, there to live out her days begging for scraps. He would visit her every day just to tease her, eat rich meats and Vymethian fruits in front of her, maybe throw her a bit of gristle if she debased herself enough for his amusement.
Everything she had done to him, he would return ten times over.
Then maybe, maybe, he thought, he could stop being so angry.
kay_brookeStory: The Eighth Saimar
Colors: Admin Yellow #27 (if you're going to do something wrong, do it right), Byzantium #7 (from the old ox, the young one learns to plow)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 383
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Jarol's secret.
Note: Lint Roll answer for
clare_dragonfly, who asked Jarol what his deepest secret is.He wanted to see his mother again.
People always asked him, “Don’t you want to go back to your old home? Wouldn’t you want your mother to see how well you’ve done for yourself?”
And his answer--leaving aside the frankly ridiculous notion that he had, in the eyes of others at least, done anything worth boasting about--was always no.
“My mother never loved me,” he said.
“She was poor, and I was just an unwanted mouth to feed,” he said.
“She practically begged Dionos Afry to take me away,” he said.
“Why would I care about her at all? Why would I think my accomplishments would make her suddenly start to care about me?” he said.
And people would nod, and murmur their understanding, and that would be the end of the conversation, which was how Jarol preferred it.
But secretly, Jarol did want to see his mother again. Not out of any vestigial love for her. Not out of a belief that she would be proud of him if she knew him. Not even out of misplaced nostalgia for the squalid little shack he had spent his first eight years of life in.
No, he wanted to see her again to rub it in her face how she had failed to break him. How he had achieved things despite her, how he had risen above the hole she had forced him into since his birth. How so much better than she he was. He wanted to spit on her. He wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him all those years ago. He wanted to ruin her, take away even the modest employment she’d had when he was a child. Take away her shack and force her to live on the streets. He wanted to pick her up and dump her in the most rat-infested part of Spirathua, there to live out her days begging for scraps. He would visit her every day just to tease her, eat rich meats and Vymethian fruits in front of her, maybe throw her a bit of gristle if she debased herself enough for his amusement.
Everything she had done to him, he would return ten times over.
Then maybe, maybe, he thought, he could stop being so angry.
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Jeez. No wonder he thinks it's just fine and dandy to take the Jasmara kids away from their parents. Poor guy.
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