Post by emmaroosevelt on Jun 16, 2006 3:49:39 GMT -4
Emma yawned, glancing at the clock on the mantel piece. It chimed as it struck the 4th hour; 4am. Most teenagers were out or asleep; she was sitting and staring at the clock face in her dingy, barely furnished apartment. She snuggled into her patchy quilt with a sigh. “Why did this have to happen to me? Why not one of those – those gang guys?” She glanced at the blackened and boarded windows and shuddered, they reminded her of all that had led her to Manhattan. ”Emma, what did you do? Emma! You murdered them! They’re dead!” The memory blurred before her, the street lamps, the puddles she sprinted through and the darkened alleys. The news: “Emma Roosevelt is missing from her South London home, her parents Elliott and Rosemary are worried about the five foot one 16 year olds safety, any further information can be forwarded to the police on…”
“So that’s you, kid?” She glanced at Mathias, pushing herself to her feet. He was wearing his leather jacket and wifebeater, it meant he was going somewhere. A train rattled over head.
“Yeah.” She murmured, turning to the bonfire.
“Looks like you oughta be comin’ with me. Some aristocrat kindly… left me these.”
So he pick pocketed them, but she took the ticket from his hand anyway. “The USA?”
“New York, kid. New York. Leavin’ tonigh’. C’mon, first class is wai’in’ for us.”
The flight had been too long, too nerve ridden and Emma was unable to take off the sunglasses or hood from her sleeveless jumper for fear of being seen. Mathias recalled the businessman swearing about forgetting his tickets most of the plane ride, laughing in her ear. When she left London Emma had nothing more than the clothes on her back and a British accent and now she lived day by day with the very same things and whatever money she could make; jobs that didn’t involve night time shift work for a teenager were limited. Especially with no high school certificate or qualifications and then her illness…
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt him, really sir! Please, I need the job... you can’t fire me!”
“It was a trial and sorry... we can’t have you here if you’re going to cause damage like that to our customers Emma.”The man sighed. “You’ll have to look elsewhere. Here’s $25 for the days work.”
It was like that all the time. ‘Here, thanks but no thanks;’ ‘Sorry, we can’t have you, you seem to be dangerous.’ The 5’1” girl had never been looked upon to be dangerous – she was just a cute face and a big smile, everything stores were looking for until she touched someone a little too hard, forgot about throwing things toward people or slapped someone on the shoulder. “I hate it!” She shouted suddenly, grabbing the water glass by her mattress and hurling it toward the mantel piece where the clock still ticked.
The glass shattered, the wall shuddered, a board unhinged and moonlight met her brilliant eyes.
* * *
“Please, let me go! Please!” Somebody screamed into her face, her hands clutching at their collar. Was that the blood from their battered face on her hands? She didn’t know. The rising sun reflected off the water puddles by her feet; her grip loosened and her eyes widened, realisation setting in. Breathing heavily she let the man go, staring incredulously at him. “I-I” She stammered, but he had already scrambled out of the alley. “Sir, please!” She yelled after him, sprinting into the street, coming face to face with few lingering hookers. One of them screamed.
”Murderer!”
“No! No! I’m not!” Bloody hands rose to protest.
But she couldn’t remember anything; she was only able to hold her bloodied hands before her eyes as she ran in hopes of something returning. Anything. It was the same as the first week she arrived, before the windows were covered. Every morning there were screams, shouts and blood. It all resulted in her running away. There was nothing she could do to avoid the transformation and nothing to prevent her from harming another but to lock herself away. Emma came to rest at a corner; onlookers in a cafe stared. There was no point making a bother to tell them or explain, it was best to turn the corner and keep running, shoving passed the early morning joggers and walkers and those who lingered from their night time work. She did just that until there was no where left to run, a brick wall standing stubbornly in her way.
She bellowed into the early morning sky, thrusting open palms at the brick wall as a cat hissed and scampered from a trash can behind her. “Just leave me alone.” She whispered to herself, forehead pressed against the red brick, breathing her own horrific stench in and out until she turned, retching into a pile of rubbish until there was nothing left to throw up.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her arm, Emma got to her feet slowly, swaying slightly as she did. Supporting herself on a dumpster, she doubled over again, the sounds echoing in the narrow alley way. It wasn’t long before she made her way back into the street and began to plan her route home – the one less travelled. Not for her safety, but all those around her. Despite the control she had by day, the blood marking her hands kept her from making assumptions of her illness, her disease. It was the very same as the tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde… only, they were still very, very different.
< If you want more info about Emma's 'power' let me know, I can tell you. And for the record, she's at neither school. And the RP can commence anywhere - as long as it's not heavily populated. >
“So that’s you, kid?” She glanced at Mathias, pushing herself to her feet. He was wearing his leather jacket and wifebeater, it meant he was going somewhere. A train rattled over head.
“Yeah.” She murmured, turning to the bonfire.
“Looks like you oughta be comin’ with me. Some aristocrat kindly… left me these.”
So he pick pocketed them, but she took the ticket from his hand anyway. “The USA?”
“New York, kid. New York. Leavin’ tonigh’. C’mon, first class is wai’in’ for us.”
The flight had been too long, too nerve ridden and Emma was unable to take off the sunglasses or hood from her sleeveless jumper for fear of being seen. Mathias recalled the businessman swearing about forgetting his tickets most of the plane ride, laughing in her ear. When she left London Emma had nothing more than the clothes on her back and a British accent and now she lived day by day with the very same things and whatever money she could make; jobs that didn’t involve night time shift work for a teenager were limited. Especially with no high school certificate or qualifications and then her illness…
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt him, really sir! Please, I need the job... you can’t fire me!”
“It was a trial and sorry... we can’t have you here if you’re going to cause damage like that to our customers Emma.”The man sighed. “You’ll have to look elsewhere. Here’s $25 for the days work.”
It was like that all the time. ‘Here, thanks but no thanks;’ ‘Sorry, we can’t have you, you seem to be dangerous.’ The 5’1” girl had never been looked upon to be dangerous – she was just a cute face and a big smile, everything stores were looking for until she touched someone a little too hard, forgot about throwing things toward people or slapped someone on the shoulder. “I hate it!” She shouted suddenly, grabbing the water glass by her mattress and hurling it toward the mantel piece where the clock still ticked.
The glass shattered, the wall shuddered, a board unhinged and moonlight met her brilliant eyes.
* * *
“Please, let me go! Please!” Somebody screamed into her face, her hands clutching at their collar. Was that the blood from their battered face on her hands? She didn’t know. The rising sun reflected off the water puddles by her feet; her grip loosened and her eyes widened, realisation setting in. Breathing heavily she let the man go, staring incredulously at him. “I-I” She stammered, but he had already scrambled out of the alley. “Sir, please!” She yelled after him, sprinting into the street, coming face to face with few lingering hookers. One of them screamed.
”Murderer!”
“No! No! I’m not!” Bloody hands rose to protest.
But she couldn’t remember anything; she was only able to hold her bloodied hands before her eyes as she ran in hopes of something returning. Anything. It was the same as the first week she arrived, before the windows were covered. Every morning there were screams, shouts and blood. It all resulted in her running away. There was nothing she could do to avoid the transformation and nothing to prevent her from harming another but to lock herself away. Emma came to rest at a corner; onlookers in a cafe stared. There was no point making a bother to tell them or explain, it was best to turn the corner and keep running, shoving passed the early morning joggers and walkers and those who lingered from their night time work. She did just that until there was no where left to run, a brick wall standing stubbornly in her way.
She bellowed into the early morning sky, thrusting open palms at the brick wall as a cat hissed and scampered from a trash can behind her. “Just leave me alone.” She whispered to herself, forehead pressed against the red brick, breathing her own horrific stench in and out until she turned, retching into a pile of rubbish until there was nothing left to throw up.
Wiping her mouth with the back of her arm, Emma got to her feet slowly, swaying slightly as she did. Supporting herself on a dumpster, she doubled over again, the sounds echoing in the narrow alley way. It wasn’t long before she made her way back into the street and began to plan her route home – the one less travelled. Not for her safety, but all those around her. Despite the control she had by day, the blood marking her hands kept her from making assumptions of her illness, her disease. It was the very same as the tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde… only, they were still very, very different.
< If you want more info about Emma's 'power' let me know, I can tell you. And for the record, she's at neither school. And the RP can commence anywhere - as long as it's not heavily populated. >