ooc:Â Send me one word (at a time, you may send more than one in separate messages). The word can be anything; a day, a place, an adjective, an action, something as simple as âbeans,â or as heavy as âpiety.â When a word is received, Iâll write a short selfpara, drabble or headcanon based on my characterâs association with the word; a simple comment, a memory, an emotion, a scene from the future, the present or past.
Garnet was like the drum beat of a song, they were hitting the punching bag so rhythmically. There was nothing that existed in the world rather than them and the bag. âMy American boy,â they sang to their self as their iPod absentmindedly blasted estelle. Who does that girl think she is, they thought. They took an earphone out of their ear and looked at the person who walked in. âSorry, are you lost?â
Tara understood that she had the arms of a snow man. She knew that in place of legs, she had ribbons that shook when the wind blew too hard. She recognized that her stomach had as much tone as a British non-fiction novel. She visibly did not belong in the gym, but she was hoping that her big sweatshirt would hide the matchstick she called her body. She was used to being horribly wrong, though, so she didnât react with too much of a spasm when a terrifying boxer called her out.
âNo.â She could be tough and intimidating too. All she had to do was act like Benedict or Bess. She straightened her posture and mimicked their subtle Baltimore accents. âJust tryâna get huge in peace if thatâs okay with you.â
A Wá´ĘŇ á´á´ á´Ęá´ Dá´á´Ę || Sá´ĘŇá´á´Ęá´
            â IŇ Ęá´á´ á´Ąá´É´á´ á´á´ á´É´á´ á´á´ ĂEĂ Ă,
                                       { s á´ Â Ę á´ Â ÉŞ á´ . }â
Dick Graysonâs words hung in Taraâs head like a madman at the gallows.
Graysonâs power of precise perception was something she found perpetually petrifying. There was always a paranoia that he could peer through her lax front and sneak a peek at the pathetic person hiding behind the pretense. And the pertinence of this particular statement sent her further and further into a panic as the week persisted. If he had any idea, Tara weened and trusted that he would have said something infinitely less grim. But He wouldnât agree with that hopefulness. It was only a matter of time before His voice permeated her wishful thinking.
                                     They canât wait to have you gone.
He came to see her every night. There were evenings in which He came early and evenings in which He came late, but He never missed a visit. And the longer she suffered Him, the more she damned the late nights-- the ones that waited until she built up enough hope for a decent nightâs sleep before He made His entrance. They only served now to build maddening suspense, the only thing more brutal than the anticipation being the echo of that first tirade, which He brought with Him each evening.
Tara wormed out of Benedictâs dorm after everyone in the room seemed to be asleep, as per the usual routine. Finn and the two Rowdy brothers slept just late enough for her to use the excuse of waking up early and leaving to shower. She fled the campus each night to make sure nobody would be in His way when He came for her. A veteran in the art of running away, it wasnât too difficult for her to sneak past campus security at this point in the game-- or maybe the night patrol knew her routine by now; Tara always came back to campus before sunrise. But whether they noticed her or not, her late-night exploits were never intercepted in all of her three years at Network. Looking back with this in mind, she should have been more suspicious when something that claimed to be a teacher stopped her at the school gates.
Flicking her attention over her shoulder every ten steps, she was sure that she was alone by the time she reached Networkâs exit. She slunk her small frame over the fence, then rushed to her destination, disappearing into the road where school lights no longer lit her path.Â
There was a creek in the woods not too far off campus. She didnât fear running into the night alone anymore; no shady person on the 3 AM streets could compare to Him. She was reckless and careless, dumb and numb as she navigated through domineering trees and blackness to find her throne: a boulder in the middle of rushing water. She stepped through wet mud in the shallow part of the creek to take her place as queen of the dirt.
She needed this place, where she was close enough to former friends to see the schoolâs highest story through the trees, but far enough not to tease herself with walking among the community. She was in a place where screams and cries went unheard by the rest of the world, and where she could stare into the sparse moonlight sprinkled on the water with fleeting fantasies of drowning, before she reminded herself that running away was not an option this time.
She turned the area into The Alpâs waiting room, where she could soak in her anxiety until her godforsaken corpse was lonely and bloated enough to be graced with His entrance. Every tiny creak of the woods startled her, because she knew what to look out for. She was justified in gasping at the tap of a fat cricket landing on a rock, and in clutching the back of her neck when a nocturnal animal rustled the leaves of overlooking trees. Accumulating omens were His red carpet, and she knew exactly when to dread His arrival.
It was around the time that the early birdsâ songs began to sound like screaming, and the time that the running creek water turned into thunderous rapids, and the time that the mosquitoesâ buzzing sounded like an unstoppable trainâs breaks screeching as it tried in vain to halt before crashing into the girl trapped on the tracks. She shivered at the blood inching down the sides of her neck from shattered eardrums.Â
The mosquitoes had sucked her dry and abandoned the wrinkly, barren carcass for Him to collect, and the rest of the universe followed suit. She couldnât feel the Summer beetlesâ jagged feet scratching against her scalp or the ants crawling up her legs. The rapid water came to a standstill, allowing any demons to cross. The hints of sunrise retreated and left her in an empty darkness.
He came when everything around her became silent,Â
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                                                                  Choked up wine and traces of bile crashing into the water pulled Tara out of the void. Bloodshot eyes burst open while a limp and dehydrated excuse for a body struggled to sit up on the rock. She leaned a colorless face over the edge to finish emptying her stomach into the mud below. When sickness settled, her red whites and dilated blacks scanned the area. The only other creatures in the vicinity were the bugs who tried to claim her body prematurely. She brushed the scavengers off of her sticky and shaking limbs, and her breathing tried to quiet.Â
It was hard to think through the brutal migraine, but based on the sudden and stark change of setting, she felt safe to assume she just escaped a nightmare. While the lines between consciousness and unconsciousness blurred more and more with each passing day, and nightmare felt no different than reality, details in setting became Taraâs only way of knowing when she passed out. She didnât drift into sleep anymore, she dropped. In her recent state, she fought off shut-eye until exhaustion overthrew will. Weakness won tonight, but maybe that hour of REM would be enough to fuel her for the next couple of days.
She slid off of the rock, and hungover delirium would make her forget that her feet would get wet and cold when she stepped into the creek. Matchstick legs were daubed with goosebumps and she finally felt awake. The water gave her the real, frigid bitterness she felt when Raven scowled at her, and when Bess almost hit her, and when Benny bruised her. It served as a consequence for another stupid decision.
The transition was a blur, but suddenly she was dunking her whole face in. She felt her forehead slip across the slimy stones that sunk to the bottom and the string of water up her noise.
She was sick of the small drops. She wanted to plunge straight down. She wanted to hit rock bottom and face Him already.Â
âSo, theyâre letting us stay here the whole Summer? Weâre gettinâ food and housing in a beach town right next to Seattle, and people are bitching about this?â
An Arbor Fish 39âł x 8.75âł Pintail. The trucks are 161 mm Arbor Fifty Caliber 9.0" -- ideal for Tara, who likes sick carves but needs stability at high speeds. Purchased for $145, it's easily the most expensive thing Tara currently owns.
Tara has been riding for about 5 years, and what started as a hobby has now become her primary mode of transportation. She has great maneuverability but overestimates herself when she gets too excited. Losing control at reckless speeds has resulted in more than a few nasty scars.
She refers to âhimâ as Earthworm, for the way it glides through any soil, its shape, and the ecological benefits (sheâs not using gas to travel, the board has eco-friendly water-based sanding sealers, the clear grip is made of long-lasting crushed recycled glass, and the wood material comes from sustainable sources of supply).Â
          i ran my mouth off a bit too much
                         oh what did i say?Â
          well you just   laughed   it   offÂ
                            it was all okay
Ben couldnât decide if he was disappointed or impressed. He lost the entertainment of a wannabe trying and failing for his attention, but the fall was cushioned by an ego boost. Tara could act as tough as she wanted now, and maybe she could even pull it off. But a smooth drag from an unfiltered cigarette didnât change the fact that she was stuttering, groveling for his amusement and approval just a few moments ago. She obviously approached him in an effort to be his friend. Proving that there might be a hard bone in her body just made him feel cooler. He was used to people (girls especially) flirting with Brick when they wanted to âroll with the bad boys.â
Now he knew how Brick felt when they were kids. This was how it felt to be the captain rather than a follower. He mused on the idea of turning Tara into his bitch, someone he could mold the same way Harrison and Moses were molding the boys. He thought about being the idol, the kid with enough respect to have an apprentice, and how people would eventually follow Taraâs suit. He thought about how hard it would be to considered âone of the Rowdy brothersâ when he was leading his own gang. Or, if he changed his mind and wanted to become an independent force, he could just dump her after he built up his reputation.
And he liked the idea of a hot blonde sidekick. Tara could⌠almost be that, if you squinted and looked far enough into the future. Sure, it wouldnât kill her to shop for a push-up bra, but she had the pretty face, a slender body, eyes blue enough to make a poet cum for weeks, the balls to approach him and basically tell him to fuck off when he asked for money, the ability to be cool when she stopped trying to be funny, and probably the endurance of a skater, based on how often he saw her on that longboard. She clearly had more experience than she let on, judging by the way she handled her smoke. There was an attitude she was hiding from her dweeby friends, and it looked like she was finally letting it slip out. She had definite potential, he just couldnât calculate how much.
He had to test her, make sure she was worth a damn before he wasted his time.
âTsâalright. Not really a hard debt to repay.â Benny took a drag before continuing. âClasses let out for the day in about twenty, yeah? Throw your shit in your dorm and meet me in the east parking lot around then.â
                      the  t o r t u r e  of  SMALL TALK Â
                      with someone you used to love
âI think so. My sisters are extremely different than me, so they have a different viewpoint and way of life than me. They have so many traits that I wish I had, honestly. So, yes, I find them, and everyone else around me, fascinating. Meanwhile, my father is a single parent and still managed to raise all of us. So yes, my family is very inspiring.â
Logically speaking, Network Academyâs 13th Annual Spring Fair should have been the greatest weekend of Tara and Garâs year. Carnival settings were designed for people like them-- the kids who screamed the loudest with the adrenaline rush at the peak of the roller coaster and the finale scare of the haunted house, and wouldnât quit until they won an inconveniently sized stuffed animal for every one of their friends, and welcomed candy apple and funnel cake-fueled tooth decay with open arms, already shaking from the sugar rush. But by the end of the night, when the rides stopped lighting the boardwalk and students were called back into their dorms for curfew, she couldnât say she had much fun. A feeble victim of her own inhibitions, she started bumming herself out early into the day, when Vic referenced an inside joke that predated her arrival to the friend group.Â
This wasnât something that happened often, and of course, everyone was quick to explain the joke to her, but Taraâs brain had this funny quirk of making every tiny feeling of alienation snowball into something that could crush a barrel-chested strongman, much less a teenage girl with bony arms and an inferiority complex. The joke didnât click with her because she didnât click with them. She spent the evening smiling and laughing with the crowd, but she couldnât bring herself to shout as loud on the rides, or initiate any conversations. She was convinced that anything and everything she did would only serve to annoy the kids who kept her around out of pity. This black rain cloud above her head made it hard for her to enjoy rigged games, rickety compactable rides and nauseating concession stand sweets. And the only person who seemed to be having a worse time than Tara was the boy unfortunate enough to be called her best friend.
It had to be her fault. Gar was getting better and better at reading her vibes with every evening they spent together, so it wouldnât be a surprise if her gloom extended to him, too. His laugh didnât have the same squeak when it reached its climax when he saw himself in face paint, he barely reacted when everyone picked at his french fries, and when everyone else was looking up at the paper lanterns, she could swear she saw a frown. There was nothing natural or reasonable about this subtle melancholy. He was in an environment where his usual loudness was encouraged, painted like an African animal he loved, among the four friends that brought him nothing but smiles for the last two years. The only thing that could have tainted the scene was the awkward little rag doll whose misery demanded company; a compassionate, loving thing like him was an easy target.Â
She was already thinking of an excuse not to go tomorrow; he could have the second half of the festival to enjoy himself, free of his ball and chain. But she still felt needed a way to assure him that he didnât have to worry about her. She needed a way to make up for the first day she destroyed. And on her way back from a pre-bedtime ride around campus, she found the solution. At 2:39 in the morning, she tip-toed into her dorm room, placed her longboard gently against her closet and navigated through the clutter on her bed to find a cracked-up cell phone.
âStill awake, Beaver?â The answer was so obvious, the message probably read as sarcastic. Gar was one of the few kids Tara knew who stayed up later than herself. She didnât need to wait for his answer before typing her reply. âIt might interest you to know that patrol cops at the boardwalk made their last round for the night. And NUTHIN in the carnival is locked right now ;) â
Network Academyâs 13th Annual Spring Fair should have been the greatest weekend of Tara and Garâs year, and she wasnât going to let the first night end until they were both smiling. Real smiles.
