I Dreamed I Was Missing, You Were So Scared, But No One Would Listen, Cause No One Else Cared

And After My Dreaming, I Woke With This Fear, What Am I Leaving, When I'm Done Here?

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the place where I will randomly post self-para's for my characters.
They will all at some point have around seven, but so far I'm working on one para per character.
These won't be in order, probably not gonna be short, because I like writing, and most of all these are from any moment in my characters past, present, or near future. With future ones, I'm never gonna give big hints about characters plots, so don't be reading them for that. This is so that you can get a new insight into each characters mind. As I work through them, their symbols will be made ticks, and white. If they still have some way to go, you'll see them in grey, and crosses. Five crosses are on the ones not started. If you see one tick colored, it means its been started. Two ticks, quarter ways through and so on and so forth. Five ticks equals four quarters done, or in the human language, complete.

Buffy's Turmoil: √ √ √ √ √
Anya's Heartbreak: √ x x x x
Skyla's Power: x x x x x
Aphrodite's Strength: √ √ x x x
Ronnie's Change: √ √ √ x x
Charlie's Story: x x x x x
Cole's Identity: x x x x x
Auburn's Mission: x x x x x

I Dreamed I Was Missing, You Were So Scared, But No One Would Listen, Cause No One Else Cared Buffy-summers-and-sunnydale-high-school-tee-gallery

Buffy's Turmoil

‘Mom? Wow, this isn’t dorky at all, speaking to a ceiling. Okay, I’ll speak to the floor instead. No, that seems worse. I’ll just- yeah. Closing my eyes is good. I could be talking in my mind, and not be kneeling on the floor of an empty cabin. It’s quite comfortable… sorry. Mom? Hi- Hey- H- is Hello a good way to speak to you? I mean, from what I’m being told your some awesome Goddess. Hello, Good Morning, Good Afternoon… I’ll stick with Hello. If you don’t want me saying that, strike me with lighting or whatever it is you Gods do. …. . Seeing as though I’m not fried, I suppose hello is good. Well then, hello! I really don’t know how to speak to you… Hello Mother. There. That seems regal enough. Mom, it’s Buffy. Buffy Summers. Why am I saying my surname? Do you know all your kids names and surnames? Stupid question, don’t answer… Well its me. I don’t know did we ever meet before. I don’t know much of anything actually, until say a few days ago. Most of what happened before now is all… well gone is a great description. It’s all gone, everything. My name was even gone. I’m not over the Buffy part yet. Sounds like Bunny, only you know, with f’s instead of n’s. Sorry again. Most of everything is gone, that was where I was. And I don’t remember anything! Anything at all. I keep being told I should remember things. That I should remember my name, my age, my dads name, my dogs name, my dog, my friends…
People keep telling me what my favourite things are. Like that girl… her name… Anyanka. Yeah, her. She keeps piping up during different things, explaining like “Before, you liked cheese. Cheese was your fave thing in the world. You’d eat cheese for America. Do you like cheese? You should.” And it’s hard. It’s hard when I find I do like cheese, because isn’t that something people should find out without being told? What if I don’t like cheese now, but I did then. I don’t want to know anything about cheese, other than where I can buy it and at what times it’s appropriate to eat. It’s strange for someone to tell me what I like, what I don’t like, before I’ve even tried it. Because while they keep saying I’ve already tried it, like cheese, to me, it seems the first time. I was showed a puppy yesterday. A nice puppy. His name is Keno, and apparently I gave that name to him. Anyanka said he’s a wolf hybrid, and that I got him only a while ago. Apparently he’s my best friend, but while he does all those things dogs do, like woof and growl, he doesn’t seem like he’s mine. He seems like he’s someone else’s. Someone who I can feel stirring inside but can’t locate. It’s like I’m trying to be two different people. Like this other girl, this “Buffy” she’s still there, been forced out. But at the same time I feel like I belong, and that she’s the intruder. I’m here now, what if I don’t want her to come back? If it means I lose myself, then I shouldn’t want her to come back-
And this sister! I was given this cross necklace, its silver. I’m wearing it now in fact. But it doesn’t seem mine. I was told it is that my little sister… sun… day… bright… Dawn! Yeah her, she gave it to me. And all I could think was “what?!” They showed it to me, and I nodded, and smiled, but it’s not mine. It’s the other ones, the one who was here before.
This is so hard! Everything. I see people around and their laughing and joking and they smile, maybe wave at me before someone nudges them to tell them about that “problem Buffy has”. Admittedly, that’s only happened a few times, because apparently the other me- I- her- the other one didn’t have lots of good friends, she only had a few. But from what I can see, the world shouldn’t be like this! I shouldn’t be searching for this other person to please these people. I shouldn’t be looking inside to find something- or someone as the case may be, which will destroy me. Right? That would be suicide. Or at least, manslaughter. I don’t know! Mom, all I want is help!
That’s another thing. I don’t know how this works. I don’t know this world; I don’t know what to do. At times I wish the other me was here, the other one, simply because it would be so much easier. It would mean an end to this feeling, this feeling that I don’t have any control over the whirlwind of my life.
I was told monsters kill demigods. That we’re not safe out in the open or whatever.
But I have this nagging little voice at the back of my head saying that when you don’t belong somewhere, you need to find where you do belong. And that means that if I don’t belong here, where do I belong? Would I even find it if I ran? Cause I’ve seriously thought about running. Just leaving one day.
This is so hard! So freaking hard and there’s no one with a handbook that’s all about how to deal with your life when you’ve had all your memories removed.
Have they even been removed? Were they even there in the first place? I mean, what if this is all I have ever known, that I’m right and their wrong. What if I have a twin who’s name is also Buffy Summers and also has a dog named Keno and a silver cross necklace and a friend named Anyanka and-
I look in the mirror and I see me, I see me. I don’t see this other girl, its me! Blonde hair, green eyes… but then I look at pictures, and there’s me! Only its not me because its her!
She’s haunting me! There at every stupid turn, everywhere.
What the hell is happening? My life is mine, not some random persons. Its mine, and I don’t want to give it back, not now, not now that its mine! And it sounds like I’m a child in a schoolyard, fighting over a toy, but it is mine! It feels like mine, it doesn’t feel like hers.
I don’t know what to do, and all I want is help. That’s why I’m talking to you, or to myself, or whatever. Because I want help. I want to know do I really like cheese or is it just a reflex to Anyanka saying I do. I want to know if Keno is or isn’t my dog, is that girl really my sister Dawn, is that necklace even mine.
I don’t want to disappear. I want people to have their Buffy back, that other girl, but I don’t want to have to leave just to give them what they want.
I don’t know what to do…’

I Dreamed I Was Missing, You Were So Scared, But No One Would Listen, Cause No One Else Cared 600full-berit-birkeland

Aphrodite De LaMarco

Lessons Learned

The story I'm about to tell doesn't begin with the main character. In fact, the main character doesn't appear until much, much later...

'You know that my Daddy is much richer than yours? I get to go shopping every day!' a young brunette girl boasted, no older than eight years old.
The little blonde girl who she was playing with looked up, the faint smile falling from her face. She wore a petite pink dress, and her blue eyes clouded over in confusion. She was barely five, and didn't understand what the girl was getting at.
'Judy, we're playing dollies! We're not talking about our daddies!' she exclaimed, holding up the black haired Barbie to prove her point.
However, the brunette girl, Judy, laughed and stood up, walking around the large room. The two were playing in the blonde's house, with their father's speaking downstairs. The dolls were strewn around, in the oddest of places. A red haired doll was hanging from the lampshade. A brunette doll was on top of the wardrobe, barely sitting.
'Judy, sit down. If daddy comes up, it’s gonna be to say you have to leave, and Maria hasn't gotten married yet,' she looked angry for a moment, and then she shook her head, turning.
'I don't want to play with dolls. I want to go and get some food.'
Judy pouted, and the young blonde girl shook her head, her eyes flashing.
'I don't want to go downstairs. You can either play dollies with me now, or I'm gonna ask Daddy can you leave.'
It was surprising how much a five year old could look like someone five times her age, but she pulled it off. However, the brunette girl laughed wickedly, leaning down, right into her younger friends face.
'You don't scare me. Now I want to go downstairs or else Maria... well let’s just say she's gonna get it.'
The blonde gulped her face paling. All her life she had owned Maria, the black haired Barbie with a wardrobe bigger than Judy's. And the fact that her friend was threatening the doll hurt her a lot more than if she had simply insulted her, or worse, hit her.
'We can go downstairs yup,' she smiled, standing from the hard wood floor and clutching Maria to her.
'Good,' Judy said, a hint of malicious glee coating her beautiful voice.
Downstairs, the two girls walked quietly through the enormous house, coming to the stairs that would lead to the modernised kitchen in the basement. It was a black and white type design, made only a few months before. While the whole house had incredibly large rooms, this was the largest, with a dining room at the bottom. Taking up most of the basement, the two children knew their fathers would be in the drawing room, because the kitchen was too big for such small matters.
Judy strode in front of her young accomplice, shuffling through the cupboards, while the blue eyed girl sat on one of the high chairs, putting her beloved doll on the counter in front of her.
'Do you have chips? Chocolate? Coke? My Dad always buys me caviar, but I suppose you don't have that,' Judy said snappily, looking in the fridge.
'We have chips in the top left cupboard. Chocolate is in the other fridge. Coke too. Caviar is in that one, top shelf,' her friend said sweetly, understanding the fact that Judy was showing off.
Her nostrils flared, and Judy turned.
'You eat caviar?' she asked, her voice carefully controlled as the girl nodded.
While the brunette ruffled through the fridges and cupboards, the blonde girl got down from her seat, her doll forgotten.
'I'll be back soon,' she said softly before continuing, 'I need to go to the toilet.'
With barely a nod from her friend, she was gone.

'Maria!' the shriek could be heard throughout the house, followed by the long wail.
Judy laughed as her blonde haired, blue eyed friend cried in front of her, over the mangled, destroyed remains of her first childhood toy.
'What did you do?' she said in a horrified voice, picking up the now unrecognisable doll.
Judy continued her horrible laughter, unable to speak, knowing she had received the reaction that she had wanted.
She wouldn't tell her that she'd found bleach under the sink and that Maria had took an unplanned swim in a sink full. She wouldn't tell her about the lighter that had been in one of the drawers, or even the scissors.
Instead all she could do was smile and laugh at the hair on the ground, at the burned remains of chopped off limbs, of bleached white hair that had been charred on the ends. And of course her new enemy, born from a friend.
The two fathers rushed in, and saw the younger girl wailing on the ground.
While the brunette one scooped up his brunette daughter, the blonde one looked down, disgusted.
'What happened?' the brunette, Shaw, asked.
Judy looked up with wide eyed, innocent eyes, tears filling them.
'She tried to chop off my hair! Then she said she'd burn it instead. Look, she got bleach on my finger!' she held up her left hand, which had been dunked by accident into the sink.
'Is this true?' he asked, glancing to the blonde man.
'Is it?' he asked his daughter.
She simply cried, shaking her head, cradling Maria, heartbroken.
'If you can't control your daughter, then know that Judy won't be over here again!' the other man screeched, running out of the room.
'I hope you’re happy. I hope your happy about ruining that business connection, and for losing that beautiful young girl as your friend!' the blonde man shouted, pulling the little girl up by her arm, dragging her away from her doll, bending down and shouting in her face.
'Stop Daddy! Stop please!' she screamed, her tiny heart beating hard in her chest.
'I hope you’re happy, because as of today, you don't get treats. You don't get toys, clothes, a new doll, because you have no respect for what you do have! Until you can show respect for the owner of this house, and your father, then you get nothing from me!'
She kicked at him as she was dragged up the stairs, up, up, up, until she was thrown into the spare room.
'Stop Daddy!'
But as the lock clicked in the door, she stopped screaming, she stopped crying.
'Daddy?'
There was no answer.
And the petite blonde fought back more tears as she crawled under the bed, pulling out a small box, containing a small teddy. Then she pulled the blankets from the bed, pulled the pillows, and walked quietly over to the wardrobe, opening it, making a small nest at the bottom and climbing in.
As her arm throbbed in pain, and her father banged loudly downstairs, furiously shouting down his phone, the small blonde with the lovely blue eyes cried in the bottom of the wardrobe, alone and hurt.

The meaning? To show just how cruel children can be.
This is the first in a series of short stories/paras.