#{ character developement. }

[cleamarquedt]

April 2015.

My heart is pounding and I can’t go back to sleep. Yesterday was bad enough, when the news broke about the massacre in the square. I had spent most of the time with Cole yesterday, and then I had found out what happened. The scenes they showed were brutal, and I honestly don’t know how people could be so cruel. London doesn’t feel safe anymore. So much has happened in the last few weeks, and it just keeps getting worse.

But I had a dream just now. Not even a dream, a nightmare. And it felt worse than all my rest, I genuinely felt terrified. I thought I was going to die. It started with me being in a club, there were people dancing and drinking and generally having fun, but then I noticed this hooded figure all in black on the corner, just watching everyone. And then I was behind a glass wall suddenly. Like, out of nowhere it appeared, and then I noticed water filling the club. The patrons didn’t seem to notice, and no matter how much I pounded on the wall they still did not notice. Eventually, the became aware, but by then it was too late. I watched them struggle and struggle until all became still. And then the laughter. The hooded figure was just there, and somehow I knew that it was his doing. I screamed at him, questioning how he could just murder them in cold blood, but then another wall went up between us. I was trapped, and all of a sudden I couldn’t breathe. No water was around, but I felt like I was drowning. Everything went dark after that.

I woke up sweating, and the scenes kept replaying in my mind. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that, so I tried distracting myself. I couldn’t concentrate on my book, so I turned on the television. I kind of wish I hadn’t. There was breaking news of a flooding of a club, and I can’t explain it, but somehow I knew it was the same one. A quick Google search confirmed it. I had sat there for awhile, just staring into space. I don’t know what this means, and I have no one to confide in, and so I decided to come back to you. Of course I prefer not to record my growing insanity down to look back on, but I just need to get it out of my head. I feel like I’ve been saying that a little too often lately, but I have no other words.

Clea.

[cleamarquedt]

March 2015.

The memorial was yesterday. I almost chickened out of it, but I went in the end. I don’t even know if it was a good idea, my hands are shaking so hard and I don’t even know if I’m making any sense right now. I just can’t make sense of anything happening now. I guess I’ll start from the beginning … I really don’t know what to think or do right now. I guess I’m still half in a state of shock.

The memorial was okay, I guess. I couldn’t remember much about it, just the priest basically repeating the same things over and over for each student. I couldn’t help but feel bad about it. I mean, each human being is different, their souls unique and yet they were receiving the same treatment, as if they were the same, as if it was all uniform. I know it must’ve been hard for the priest to come up with a different message for each of the dead, but I couldn’t help but feel as if more could’ve been done.

Either way, as much as I tried to concentrate on the memorial, I could feel them staring at me. So many eyes all focused on me. Perhaps they felt I was lucky, perhaps they resented me for living while their loved ones didn’t. It wasn’t my choice. They were conscious of that and yet it did not change their minds. I don’t blame them. I wished Kinsie was there. I always feel better with her around. I don’t blame her for not wanting to be there either. I almost didn’t attend either, but I felt an obligation to.

Anyway, it reached a point where I couldn’t stand it anymore. Yes, I had wanted to be noticed more, but not in this way. Thankfully, people seemed to not notice when I slowly faded to the back of the crowd. On hindsight maybe that wasn’t the best idea, but I couldn’t take the eyes on me a second longer.

I saw this empty grave, and I started walking towards it. I knew it was a bad idea but it felt like there was just something pulling me there. The inscription on the tombstone … I couldn’t believe my eyes at first. And it just I don’t know why someone would do that I mean if it was a prank then it was a horrible one and I can’t imagine why anyone would hate me that much to do that to me surely no one would wish me dead and I can’t believe anyone would be that mean spirited. Surely no one resents that I live that badly. I just I got ahead of myself again. My name was written on that tombstone. With this yca yaer yeard years date.

I had to stop for awhile my hand was trembling so hard I couldn’t write properly. I just can’t comprehend why anyone would want to do this. I got so freaked out by it that I started getting paranoid. I’m not sure if there really was, but I felt as if there was someone waiting there to push me in. I ran as fast as I could back to the crowds that I had wanted to get away from earlier, but they provided no comfort. Even at home, even now I can feel the goosebumps on my arms. Its going to take a long while for me to forget this, if even at all. Im trying so hard to distract myself, but I can’t help looking over my shoulder where ever I go. I don’t even know where I’m going with this but its time to find myself another distraction. Until next time.

                                                                                                                 Clea.

[cleamarquedt]

Meant to be? || Clea

The voices, the whispering and the stares … Clea was acutely aware of all of them. She knew some thought she didn’t deserve to have survived, and there were times she thought so herself. But it didn’t stop her from doing what others considered reckless, and for that she knew they hated her. The relatives and friends of the ones who were not as lucky as her were all here, and she could feel them wishing it was their loved one who was standing there instead. I did not choose to be the lone survivor.

She had wanted people to notice her more before this, but not in this way, not in these circumstances. Be careful what you wish for, was what people warned. It seemed to be true, for although Clea had wanted attention, she had never wanted this much, or for these reasons. Unable to take it much longer, she slowly faded to the back of the crowd, letting the crowd move forward before turning her back on them completely. she was tired of pretending she didn’t notice, tired of displaying the ‘right’ emotions, or going through the actions. Get away, get away, was resounding in her head. I was no different from them

An empty plot caught her eye, far away from everyone else. Something compelled her to move towards it, and as she walked towards it, it felt like she was in a battle with herself. She was screaming inside, to not go any closer, to go back to the crowds, back to safety. She must not go near that empty grave, no no NO! And yet she couldn’t turn away. Her curiosity edged her forward, there was a pull toward that place. Yet another thing she was unable to explain, but she still did not heed her gut feelings. It was unusual, abnormal. There was a chance there might be someone forgotten, with the long list of the dead. Ironic, considered they were all here to remember them. And that was part of why she didn’t turn around. She felt as if it were something entrusted to her, as if she were in charge of making sure they weren’t forgotten, because she had lived. I am the survivor, I have the responsibility to remember.

It was only once she reached the hole in the ground that she noticed the tombstone behind it, obscured by the overgrowth and snow. Her hands trembled as she pushed them away, clearing the engraving on it. When it did emerge, she almost fell into the open grave. Deep shaky breaths, rubbing of her eyes and swiping her hand over the tombstone said nothing to change the words on it. Her name, this year. She could only stare in disbelief, barely able to keep from losing conscious. She certainly felt like it, looking at words that made no sense to her. Who would do this? Surely no one would pull such a tactless prank. Could someone hate her that much? Thoughts swirled in her mind, before going blank as terror seized her. Was someone waiting there to push her in? Adrenaline pushed her body into action even in her numb state, and she sprinted back to where people were still milling around, some in prayer, others talking in small groups. She didn’t know who to approach, how she could tell anyone what she had just seen, and so she just drifted around, managing to not bump into people, yet walking aimlessly, all the while, a single thought resounded in her head. Maybe it was meant to be.

[cleamarquedt]

 March, 2015.

I have no idea what the date is, and I can't be bothered to find out. Maybe I'll write it down later. Anyway, its been so long since I've touched this book, but I feel as though writing will somehow get these problems out of my head, at least for awhile. I don't think they'll ever go away, these things never seem to.

I'm getting ahead of myself again. I would do a summary of what's been going on since I last wrote in here, but that would take too long. What's finally prompted me to write again is the 400 ball. Yes, I remember being quite excited for it, and I admit I kind of hoped Cole would ask me to it. Well, that didn't happen, but it was very interesting. Too interesting, maybe.

I was poisoned. Deliberately, probably. But it wasn't just me, so many others were poisoned that night, and yet I was the only survivor. It looks so straightforward, seeing this in black and white, yet it doesn't feel that way. Everyone says I am lucky, that I am still alive, that I was able to get to a hospital so quickly. It was thanks to Roan, of course. The London Blood Back president. I met him before, twice, but that's for another time. Anyway, apparently the punch was poisoned, and it affected me first. I found out later, that the rest of them started dropping soon after, but not a s i n g l e one survived. I am the lone survivor.

I know, I keep repeating that, but some days it feels so unreal, that I am alive while they are not. I feel so so so guilty some days, almost everyday, in fact. It haunts me, I can't get rid of the thoughts. They were all so young, and to have their lives cut short just like that, I feel as if I should be dead along with them. It's unfair, what's so special about me? Up until a few weeks ago none of them even paid any attention to me. I was invisible to them. So many of them were more talented, were smarter, had so much potential. Me? I don't even know what I want to do in the future. It seems like such a waste, and somedays I think they saved the wrong person. So many more would have been more useful to the society. Of course I'm grateful to be alive, but I feel as if I don't deserve it. I can't tell people this, they would scold me for thinking so, they would say that I should be happier that I'm alive, but I don't know how to describe what I feel like. Some days its easier, but somedays I feel like screaming my lungs out, and I just want to not be conscious anymore.

I just need to get these thoughts to stop, even for a bit. Sleep doesn’t help. The dreams have come more frequently, more clearly. I've been getting the feeling that there are different names for people I meet too, like how I keep almost calling Roan Merritt Michael. I should really stop, but it comes more naturally. I don't know if I'm going completely bonkers, or if I really did have a past life and are remembering people I knew. Either way, it's not helping my situation anymore, and I don't really have anyone who wouldn't think me crazy if I told them this, so hopefully if I write this down I'll feel better.

There's so much more to write down, but they're taking me for some sort of scan again ugh those crazy smiley nurses are going to be back I want to erase their mouths so it'll have to wait for the next entry. For now, this is the best I can do to distract myself, I guess.

                                                                                                                Clea. 

[cleamarquedt]

Headcanon #3

Right before the 400 ball, Clea had managed to make her way to the top of the social ladder at St Agnes. Giving herself a personality and style makeover, with a little help from Kinsie, Clea had transformed herself into the likes of a queen bee at St Agnes. The sudden change had shocked many of her classmates, but they had accepted it without dissent, although many a discussion had been sparked by it. The teachers had noticed, even her parents had noticed, and she noted with a little triumph the slightly annoyed look of her history teacher. That would show him. Trouble with her peers, pfft. The feeling of wanting to be noticed had waned since then, but until now, she still felt like she was missing something.

[cleamarquedt]

Headcanon #2

For a small girl, Clea can eat a huge amount, and she is almost constantly hungry. Her peers often joke that she can take any guy on in an eating contest. Her latest inclination towards red meat has been leaving her confused and slightly disgusted.

She has also an addiction to coffee, not the overpriced, oversugared kind that major coffee chains serve, but actual coffee, one where you can actually taste the bitterness. Lately though, she has noticed, with slight irritation, that the coffee joints she frequents have become more and more popular, with people labeling them hipster coffee. She doesn’t see the point of all these people coming in when they mostly take pictures of everything and then gulp down the coffee, not even bothering to savour it.