ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
If they come for you, you're dead.
Dad used to bury that warning into our heads, let it rot and stagnate until we knew with every bit of us that we should be scared of the Fosters. And I was terrified. Cal would attempt to make dad stop mid-story and it'd always end in laughter. They didn't think I would catch them, but I saw the wary glances and the look in their eyes after the smiles had faded. The Fosters would come for me on my thirteenth birthday and there wasn't anything they could do to stop it.
Four years' work in the Factory, mandatory once you hit thirteen, something about preparing us for our future. Some of us learned that lesson with swollen cheeks and hardened hearts. The rest of us barely made it out limping, or if by some miracle you were favored, dead.
I still remember Mr. Brelnin's sickly yellow eyes when we were 'inaugurated' into the ranks of the Factory. It took me all of one week before I found myself swallowed whole by those eyes. "Bubbles" was the unfortunate nickname he earned because he'd perpetually carry a bubble wand in his pocket. No one knew much about the half bent object, except we'd seen him take it out of his pocket and stare at it whenever there was a lull in work.
I had just happened to be performing my best imitation of him, strolling about a meadow and blowing bubbles, when he walked past my station.
"So what is your name?"
He clicked his tongue softly before smiling as he sat in the chair next to me. I scowled at him, wrinkling my nose up as he leaned in closer.
"Alideya."
"And are you a trouble maker, Alideya?"
"No, sir."
"Oh, but you are. We'll be keeping an eye on you, my little flower."
Work builds character and strength. Strength fosters unity. Unity brings peace.
Working in the Factory didn't make you strong, it made you weak. It made you complacent and paranoid of the Fosters and of everyone around you. You learned how to listen in on others, the best ways to make enemies, and that you were never, ever safe. Not from them. Not from them. You would learn you were all alone because you only got to go back home once every three months. You had a week and it wasn't enough for most of us to restore our faith in family. In the end all you had was your Foster family and you could never trust them.
There was no unity and I knew it. Cal made it out and taught me that, told me everything I needed to do, how to keep my head down, where the best places to hide were, and how to make it out and still be his little Addie. Most importantly though, he taught me how to fight back. I can't say I used it to keep myself unnoticed though.
I'd been in trouble with Mr. Brelnin dozens of times and I secretly kept count, 82 and a half. Half because one of the other Fosters nearly fell head-first into a vat and I managed to slink away in the commotion. Two months before I was set to be released from the Factory I managed to get into my own little "accident". A fight between me and Jayni, one of the stupidest girls I had the pleasure of knowing in my time at the Factory, that landed my arm inside one of the ever-turning gears.
A cybernetic arm sounds amazing when they tell you about it, when you see, when you test it, and when you get to keep it. What made it terrible was the tracking chip inside the metal interior, the one they'd replaced, free of charge as stated in their liability policy. They may have been the ones who had given me back an arm, but they were also part of the reason I lost it.
Now they could always find me.
Dad used to bury that warning into our heads, let it rot and stagnate until we knew with every bit of us that we should be scared of the Fosters. And I was terrified. Cal would attempt to make dad stop mid-story and it'd always end in laughter. They didn't think I would catch them, but I saw the wary glances and the look in their eyes after the smiles had faded. The Fosters would come for me on my thirteenth birthday and there wasn't anything they could do to stop it.
Four years' work in the Factory, mandatory once you hit thirteen, something about preparing us for our future. Some of us learned that lesson with swollen cheeks and hardened hearts. The rest of us barely made it out limping, or if by some miracle you were favored, dead.
I still remember Mr. Brelnin's sickly yellow eyes when we were 'inaugurated' into the ranks of the Factory. It took me all of one week before I found myself swallowed whole by those eyes. "Bubbles" was the unfortunate nickname he earned because he'd perpetually carry a bubble wand in his pocket. No one knew much about the half bent object, except we'd seen him take it out of his pocket and stare at it whenever there was a lull in work.
I had just happened to be performing my best imitation of him, strolling about a meadow and blowing bubbles, when he walked past my station.
"So what is your name?"
He clicked his tongue softly before smiling as he sat in the chair next to me. I scowled at him, wrinkling my nose up as he leaned in closer.
"Alideya."
"And are you a trouble maker, Alideya?"
"No, sir."
"Oh, but you are. We'll be keeping an eye on you, my little flower."
Work builds character and strength. Strength fosters unity. Unity brings peace.
Working in the Factory didn't make you strong, it made you weak. It made you complacent and paranoid of the Fosters and of everyone around you. You learned how to listen in on others, the best ways to make enemies, and that you were never, ever safe. Not from them. Not from them. You would learn you were all alone because you only got to go back home once every three months. You had a week and it wasn't enough for most of us to restore our faith in family. In the end all you had was your Foster family and you could never trust them.
There was no unity and I knew it. Cal made it out and taught me that, told me everything I needed to do, how to keep my head down, where the best places to hide were, and how to make it out and still be his little Addie. Most importantly though, he taught me how to fight back. I can't say I used it to keep myself unnoticed though.
I'd been in trouble with Mr. Brelnin dozens of times and I secretly kept count, 82 and a half. Half because one of the other Fosters nearly fell head-first into a vat and I managed to slink away in the commotion. Two months before I was set to be released from the Factory I managed to get into my own little "accident". A fight between me and Jayni, one of the stupidest girls I had the pleasure of knowing in my time at the Factory, that landed my arm inside one of the ever-turning gears.
A cybernetic arm sounds amazing when they tell you about it, when you see, when you test it, and when you get to keep it. What made it terrible was the tracking chip inside the metal interior, the one they'd replaced, free of charge as stated in their liability policy. They may have been the ones who had given me back an arm, but they were also part of the reason I lost it.
Now they could always find me.
Literature
Mastering Me
In another universe,
I have green eyes, curly hair,
and paint smeared across all my fingers--
a war cry of artistry
instead of needlepoint scars.
The pooch of my belly
and the lumps in my thighs
might be from anything else
but the insulin I inject four times a day.
I grow up a child, not a parent,
the master of my destiny
not running away but running toward;
I'm a little bit taller
in spirit and stature,
in all the ways that matter
when darkness creeps under the door
and phantoms howl.
I shave my legs every day
instead of once every month
once every three months
once every only now and again when I feel like it
and I'm confident--
a godde
Literature
workshop
The hearth in your denim pocket,
quietus and earthen floor
windows settle nostalgic dust
and hold outcroppings through their pores:
maps, manuals, flightless single wings
awaiting consequence, a bloodless chore
in the future you have willed the world
for those of us who still remain
workless as the dead.
Literature
Mahesha
Two small humans chose to follow me that day. I did not mind the female. Indeed, I knew her. She sometimes came with some of the men who rode the elephants and watched us. But the boy was unfamiliar to me, and I sensed some sort of danger about him. If I had been hungry, I might have eaten him.
But I was not thinking of food, and besides, he was in the company of our friend. I could not attack them. Humans mourn the loss of cubs for a lifetime, and they harbour resentment. If I had hurt that female, or her companion, her father may have stopped protecting
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
Moving this over to my gallery because I've edited it a bit so zevenstorms has a finished piece dedicated to him. c:
+ =
Two pieces in one month. That might be a record.
AND THANK YOU DreamingAutumn for putting up with my incessant asking "DOES THIS SOUND OKAY?"
I support dALinkSystem!
'The Last Tattoo' by wavesandbreakers88
+ =
Two pieces in one month. That might be a record.
AND THANK YOU DreamingAutumn for putting up with my incessant asking "DOES THIS SOUND OKAY?"
I support dALinkSystem!
The Last Tattoo“I get a tattoo every year before the Forgetting,” Eira told her trusted tattoo artist.
Five years ago, Eira had been hiding out in abandoned neighborhoods in the vast City of Angels. One day she miscalculated the distance she had to leap from one rooftop to the next; Eira had fallen into a pile of discarded boxes. She had not been hurt, but the noise alerted a nearby patrol and she was re-captured.
The Plutocracy of the City of Angels had decided that Eira was still useful. They repurposed her as a maid, wiping most of her memory and giving her a new housing assignment at the end of each calendar year. The Memory Police maintained that the memory wipe was to keep Eira’s hard drive from getting too cluttered, but Eira knew better. If they kept wiping her memory, she would not be able to gather the information she needed to be free of the government’s reach forever. She would never be able to leave the city and look for her true maker.
“I knew it! Thought I
'The Last Tattoo' by wavesandbreakers88
© 2013 - 2024 HugQueen
Comments46
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Very interesting!