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+--- Thread: isn't it lovely? ⸺ open, introduction (/showthread.php?tid=1242)
isn't it lovely? ⸺ open, introduction - tinsel - 05-11-2018
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she was damaged goods, and she knew it.
bianca was the kind of package that, upon opening, resulted in a heated screaming match with customer service. fingers might be pointed at the manufacturer, who certainly assembled her poorly. or the ups man, who'd clearly not handled something fragile with all that much care. but who'd broken her didn't really matter, did it? in the end, she'd always be returned for something prettier, shinier, newer.
where did it start? a little rural village in southeastern africa, with maybe thirty people. bianca wasn't really sure what her family had done for work to this day, but she recalled some vague details about water and gold and her father's fantasies about being rich. she remembered the callouses on her mother's hands, the dirt stains on her father's clothes. she remembered playing with her brother in the mud, two golden twins scuffed up with brown. she remembered khalid and kendrick, the only other children in their village. she remembered a lot of happiness. and she remembered when they came. tall men with leathered skin and guns. she remembered them turning a happy home into a prison. she remembered the houses on fire and the cages they slept in, baking beneath the hot sun. she'd been five when she'd spent the first night in those cages. she'd been twenty-four when she spent the last night there.
looking at her, perhaps in low light, bianca was beautiful. angular features, a little on the tall side. sun kissed skin, freckles and birth marks dancing across her skin like constellations. dark eyes, wide and expressive, lined with dark lashes that made her look almost delicate. she was beautiful, in a very traditional sense. in another life, she might have had a career on cameras, on billboards, on centerfolds.
but turn on the lights, and it becomes ugly.
scars mar her frame. knives, whips, bullets. they line every inch of golden skin, telling the world that she'd endured things. when the world went to shit? that was when it all improved for her. it was when the prisoners, the slaves, they got the upper hand. she'd never seen a television or a cell phone, had no concepts of cars or planes. she'd been born into a third world society, and they'd taken a step back when james and his men came and turned them into modern slaves. the world stood by and let it happen, let her friends and family suffer and die. the traditional world wasn't something she missed, because the world that had been before had never stepped in. they'd never stopped those men who tortured an infant, who turned her into something hurt and broken. they'd never stopped them from killing her parents in front of her, from beating her brother, from turning them all into husks of humanity. the scars on the outside, the predominant one that graced her neck and spoke of a failed homocide, they were nothing compared to the ones inside of her mind. she could smile and bat her eyelashes, cover the scars with modest clothing, curl the golden locks and purr out sweet words, but it wasn't of any use. she'd been hurt on the inside, she carried baggage, and she couldn't run from that.
but she still tried.
it was early. hardly six in the morning, the sun creeping into the sky. golden curls pulled into a half assed attempt at a pony tail, wearing a hoodie to protect her from the cool morning air, her sneakers hit the pavement in a quick, rhythmic beat as she ran. a simple morning jog, running from the demons that plagued her sleep at night, using the thin air of the early morning to wake her up in a way that coffee never could. she was too focused on the places her mind wandered and less so on her physical form. her foot caught a risen piece of the cement and sent the young woman to the ground immediately, a yelp escaping her lips in surprise.