You wouldn't believe what happened to me this week! But never mind that. I'm posting fic instead! Yay!
Original fic: Joy In Hell
Story featuring my original character Rain.
A/N- This started out as an entirely different concept. But then I thought about it and decided my painting with the same title was due a back story. Something that has only been formulaic in my head. Until now. So yay! Enjoy. Only took 3 yrs. But hey, what can I say? Haiti must be on my miind. Not intentionally trying to be in bad taste. I made mushi-mushi up anyway.
Summary: One outcasts' journey.
Setting: My comic booky head. Bwaaaahhhhhaaaa!
Owned By: Me
Rating: R for now/Language.
Genre: AU/SCI-FI
She wears a dark hoodie and clown make up. The make up had appeared on her face the morning of her 3rd birthday. Her parents quickly realized it was permanent. No amount of bathing, soap, home remedies, or smelly solvent would take the odd gift off. Her mother accepted it soon after, not needing everything explained. Her father however, he was different. He muttered under his breath about her being an abomination, saying she should be cast out of the home. He stomped into the street in his muddy boots on a mid day afternoon, smoking his rare cigar. He had an allowance of 2 per month, beyond that he smoked camels. Where was the young man headed? To the nearest bar, to pick up some strange woman for the night, someone he could get drunk with and fuck to his fill. And most importantly, someone who didn’t care who he was and would willingly help him escape parenthood and adult responsibility.
Saying, “Let her be a joy in Hell.“ He was off to wallow in oblivion, which was his favorite place to stay. He always got what he wanted there. Deluxe accommodations without expectations.
To his great surprise, he was cast out instead. Forced to grovel and beg and come crawling back a few months later. Her mother had wavered. Sending the confused child to a state hospital, only to retrieve her weeks later. Clutching the girl to her, the tiny thing swaddled from the wet in a red raincoat that was two sizes too big. It was a hand-me-down from her older sister Myrna. A grey cloud follows her and pours torrents upon her head. The surrounding landscape is sunny and bright. Her crutch tips slide across the wet blacktop. The cloud had shown the next morning at the breakfast table, no less. Rain stared as her oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins became an inedible oat-like soup.
Mr. Neckerton from apartment 312 could pray to the ancient Haitian god of mushi-mushi all he wanted. This is how Rain was. And really, she didn’t see what the big deal was.
I mean, damn dude. What was he crying about? He wasn’t the one getting wet.
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