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Sometimes you have to go back to the drawing board with your characters(for the millionth time, or what seems like it. So, I’ll be working on (redoing) character bios for at least the next several weeks. #amwriting #writersofinstagram #WIP #RunningfromthePast #RFTP #soaps #soapopera #melodrama https://www.instagram.com/p/B3dSymLA9mS/?igshid=11u31w1xr258f
WIP Cast list: Armando-wine maker, vineyard owner, hubby, father. #RFTP #RunningfromthePast #amwriting #writersofinstagram #melodrama #soaps #soap opera https://www.instagram.com/p/B17Xvx9ALfL/?igshid=aqwbqcprwtbd
Image from wallpaperplay.com #amwriting #writing #writersofinstagram #WIP #RunningFromThePast https://www.instagram.com/p/B1ckvbfAlhD/?igshid=cjkfnh6qmzxu
Running From The Past
[“Keep running Bea. Never stay in one place at a time. It’s not safe to be still. You don’t know who will find you if you do.” My heart races at the fading dream that contained my mother’s voice. The warning something I’d heard so many times that it was permanently etched into my mind. As quickly as I wake up from the dream, I sit up and pull the knife from its hidden place under my pillow. The sharp weapon held out as if wielded at an invisible attacker. It takes a moment for my logical mind to catch up with the emotional state I woke up in. If there was anything that could be said about my life is that it probably left me completely fucked. How I was as sane as I was would remain a mystery to me. But once I remembered that I was safe in my apartment, I started to drop the knife down onto the comforter. My body covered in a sheen of sweat from what was most likely a nightmare that resembled something from my past. At the age of 31 I had spent more time on the run, moving from place to place, than the regular person. Even military brats didn’t move as much as I did. And my life was way more complicated than theirs too.
For the first 13 years of my life I was raised not to trust my mother. My dad never gave a real reason for why she wasn’t to be trusted, just that I shouldn’t. However by the time I was 16 I found myself going against my father’s warning. Letting go of the knife’s hilt, I bring my hands up to my face and rub away the nightmare, fatigue and sweat, unable to close my eyes for fear of seeing something from my past. Trying to explain how I’d ended up where I did to anyone would take more energy than I’d ever have. It’s why I was thankful for Zane. Not just for what he did by coming back into my life, finding me while I was lost. But for giving me a home where I didn’t have to explain. He got that my life was complicated and still treated me like I hadn’t been away for years living with the devil herself. My relationship with my mother is hands down the most complicated part of my life and the sole source of any hell I’ve gone through. It’s hard sometimes to come to terms with the fact that not only am I a killer, but that my mother was the one who molded me into one. When I was turning 13, she found where my father was keeping me hidden and set up a scene to make me believe he had been killed by some unseen evil and she was there to rescue me. When in reality the evil was her, and my father was in fact still alive. Critically injured from her assault, but alive. He’d spend the next decade waiting for me to return to him, while I believed him dead and became everything my mother wanted.
Putting the knife back in its sheath under the pillow, I slowly make my way out of my bed and head towards the kitchen for a much needed drink. Probably straight out of the bottle. The chances of my ever having a normal childhood and life were gone before I was even born considering the fact that my father was a former soldier who became a mercenary and my mother was… well I don’t know when or how my father found out the truth about my mother, but she had been a spy for a country against America. I never learned which one and I honestly didn’t know if my father knew which one she worked for before she went rogue. So yeah, a mercenary father and a spy-turned-assassin mother meant I was fucked from the moment I drew my first breath. Despite my father’s attempts to let me be a normal little girl, I ended up only having the skills that rivaled both my parents. Glancing at the time, I figure Zane was probably at home asleep still and the bar wouldn’t open for several more hours. Yet I could feel the nervous energy still vibrating on my skin. I needed to work it off before I drank myself silly. The sun was barely up yet.
Not caring to shower before getting dressed, I slipped on some running clothes and shoes. Headphones easily fitting into my ears as the music started reverberating against my ear drum. The loud beat giving me something to focus on while I ran. My feet seeming to hit the pavement in time with the music. I didn’t live in a seedy area, but even if I had, I’d feel sorry for whatever poor idiot tried to mess with me this morning. The run helped slightly to lessen the heightened emotions that had been stirred by the dream, though my head still was foggy despite the fact that running usually helped to clear it. Maybe I’d need to talk to Zane and see if there was something, some task, that I could take care of. Even six years after leaving my killer lifestyle behind, I still found the preparation for something work related helped push any thoughts I had to the back burner. Maybe that was the only good thing that came from living with my mother. A shiver running up my spine at the thought and remembrance of what had shook me from my sleep.
My nightmare had been about my mother coming after me after all these years. That she’d pursued me across the world to try and drag me back into the life that I’d given up so easily. I never wanted to be a killer and I was thankful to Zane for giving me a job that let me at least pretend some days that I was normal-ish. He’d even questioned me once in the beginning about why I settled to work for his business when I was skilled to do so much more and I simply replied that I never wanted to be like my mother. But it was more than that, and I think in a sense he got that. My nightmare was being my mother and dying like she did. In a way it wasn’t as bloody as most would think, but in the end she was no less dead. And all because someone wanted revenge for a kill she’d made. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life having to always look over my shoulder… or at least not any more than I already had to. As I wrapped up my run, I stretched outside my place and watched as the sun slowly rose in the distance. At least in this life I had a place to call home, my family and a job that I actually enjoyed doing for a boss who was more family to me than my mother had ever been. If only I could shake off the ghosts that seemed to chase me into my dreams. Maybe I’d never truly know peace, but it seemed I at least had a taste of it for now.]
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"Hello. I'm the Pied Piper. But you can call me Piper. What do you call yourself?"
