04-19-2020, 01:07 PM
[div style="max-width: 425px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 30px; opacity: 0.70; font-family: verdana; font-size: 11px; padding-top: 10px;"][[ the thoughts in this post/thread are not mine, but are Sweeney's! For development purposes they will likely continue through the whole thread. ]]
Four months, sixteen days, and a number of hours. That's how long it had been since Sweeney and her sisters had been born. She did not remember the day she had been born, nor some short weeks after, but she did remember seeing both of her parents at some point. Though her first and only impression of Jervis had been him being killed in front of her, she remembered seeing him, watching as his eyes found her own as he plead for his life so he could see his children grow up, and he'd been denied that life.
And she remembered Fourthwall, remembered him much more vividly than that of Jervis, remembered how he had taken care of them until one day he didn't anymore. He left them on their own, four children only a few months old, and expected them to thrive in the Pitt, thrive on the island with those that had stripped the children of the right to be with their own father. No matter how bad he'd been to the other groups, they denied them their right to see him, meet him in a place that wasn't his own deathbed. And so she'd seethed.
But she was tired of seething.
The more she had seethed the more she had found the adults around her to push her and her siblings away, the orphaned children. They needed parental figures, and yet those that were old enough to be such decided they weren't their problem, that it was easier just to tell them off over and over again, and boss them around and be rude. Protect their own and forget about those that aren't related by blood. And it made her angrier and angrier. Why did no one care?
Thought swirled around in Sweeney's head as she laid in the outskirts of the desert, close to the burn-scarred and ruined jungle, trying to distract herself by drawing lines in the sand, trying not to cry. She was the oldest Callahan-Fallout child, and she would not cry, she had to be strong for her sister's even if she didn't like one or two of them, even if she felt broken.
[align=center]text | "speech"
Four months, sixteen days, and a number of hours. That's how long it had been since Sweeney and her sisters had been born. She did not remember the day she had been born, nor some short weeks after, but she did remember seeing both of her parents at some point. Though her first and only impression of Jervis had been him being killed in front of her, she remembered seeing him, watching as his eyes found her own as he plead for his life so he could see his children grow up, and he'd been denied that life.
And she remembered Fourthwall, remembered him much more vividly than that of Jervis, remembered how he had taken care of them until one day he didn't anymore. He left them on their own, four children only a few months old, and expected them to thrive in the Pitt, thrive on the island with those that had stripped the children of the right to be with their own father. No matter how bad he'd been to the other groups, they denied them their right to see him, meet him in a place that wasn't his own deathbed. And so she'd seethed.
But she was tired of seething.
The more she had seethed the more she had found the adults around her to push her and her siblings away, the orphaned children. They needed parental figures, and yet those that were old enough to be such decided they weren't their problem, that it was easier just to tell them off over and over again, and boss them around and be rude. Protect their own and forget about those that aren't related by blood. And it made her angrier and angrier. Why did no one care?
Thought swirled around in Sweeney's head as she laid in the outskirts of the desert, close to the burn-scarred and ruined jungle, trying to distract herself by drawing lines in the sand, trying not to cry. She was the oldest Callahan-Fallout child, and she would not cry, she had to be strong for her sister's even if she didn't like one or two of them, even if she felt broken.
[align=center]text | "speech"