Disclaimer: Raistlin is mine, as is his father and younger sister. The
original Raistlin Majere belongs to Margaret Weiss and Tracy Hickman. The
rest of the Questiverse is Hanna-Barbera. All I have is my stereo, and a
collection of CDs. I'm in debt. If you sue me, you won't get anything useful.
Author's note: Neither I nor any other member of my immediate family has
ever been abused. Child abuse is totally, completely wrong, and if I ever
find out about someone abusing their, or anybody else's child, and I can
get involved, I will put a stop to it immediately, screw the consequences.
Raistlin
By Michael "Michael Zane" Thompson
Kind of sad.
Warning: Strong language, non-excessive Violence.
August 11, 1995
Southwestern Oregon
Richard gingerly rubbed his back. His father had been whipping his little
sister for spilling her supper, some microwave lasagna. Richard had walked
in on the beating after school that day, and he ran over and scooped her
into his arms and turned his back on Father. He was drunk again, as he
seemed to be all the time now.
"Boy! Put your damn sister down to recieve her beatin'!"
"Father, She's just 8 years old! You'll kill her!" He cuddled her close to
him to try to stop her wailing. "shh, Emm'ly, it'll be okay...."
"Put her down, or I'll use the buckle end on you, you rotten bastard!"
"Then use it!!! I don't care!" He clamped his teeth together and waited
for the first blow. His father swung the belt and a corner of the buckle
caught in the flesh, ripping across. Richard steeled himself for the next
blow, which came quickly, applying a new layer of stripes. His father kept
swinging, until he sank into blessed unconciousness.
-Exactly One Year Later-
Richard crouched beside the small black grave marker, mourning for the
love of his life. Richard's father never beat them before their mother
died. Oh, Sure there were the occasional spankings whenever Richard threw a
fit in the toy aisle at Wal-Mart, but those were few, far between, and
usually administered by his mother, with her hand. Before she died, his
father never touched them with other than gentle hands. After her death,
however, he started drinking more, and punishing more often and harder.
Emily's death, well, that was the last straw.
"Oh, Emm'ly, why, sweetie? why did you have to die?" He thought back to
what had happened a year before. After he collapsed, Emily ran out the
door, across the lawn, and into the path of a delivery truck, which was
ironicaly(sp?) delivering a pizza to their house to replace the supper that
Emily had ruined. He had never revealed what had happened that day to
anyone. "Emm'ly...." He started crying. Since then, Father had been getting
worse with his beatings, blaming Richard for the tragedy. "that's it", he
thought. "Father's not beating me anymore. He won't, after tonight."
Richard walked into the house, snuck past his father who was passed out on
the living room couch, and went to his third story room, at the end of the
hall. He quickly gathered his CDs and clothes, taking care to pick only
black, and started to prepare for that night.
"Pity I've got to leave my stereo, but Father would think something was
wrong if He didn't hear it when he came upstairs to bed. I can take the
little player, though..." He snuck into his father's room and took the two
thousand dollars his father kept in his sock drawer. "I'll send him the
money in a few years..."
He packed his backpack full of the things he would need for his trip.
"Let's see...three days of food, my school records, my dragonlance books,
clothes, extra shoes, my nail polish, a picture of mom, a picture of emily,
and a picture of all of us. Oh, and my computer disks" The disks held his
poetry and his stories. He sat down and relaxed, resting for the trip. Too
soon, it was time to leave.
August 11, 1996
Southwestern Oregon
"11:00. Time to go...wait...I can't forget this..."He picked up a small
stuffed bear, worn from years of use. It had been Emily's, or "Emm'ly's" as
Richard had been used to calling her. It was how Emily had referred to
herself when she first started talking. Richard smiled as he remembered
that day. It was the day after Emily's second birthday. She'd been dragging
that stupid bear, which she'd named "Richard" for some strange reason,
everywhere since she got it. "wait, who am I kidding? I was a little jerk
back then, but she adored me. I'd been treating her like crap that day, but
she followed me every chance she got, dragging Richard along with her." He
suddenly frowned. "That was also the day that Mom...died. He put the
bloodstained bear in his backpack and opened his window. "Goodbye, Father."
He slipped out the window and down the tree, pausing only to spit on his
Father's car, and then, he was gone.
August 14, 1996
Northern Montana
It was his third day on the run. He'd planned on being farther away.
Luckily, he checked into the budget motels after ten and checked out before
7. When the clerks were tired was when they weren't looking carefully at
faces. Besides, he'd changed his hair color from brown to black the first
motel, and dad had no idea what his coat looked like. "He just threw me
three hundred dollars and told me to buy clothes for school. He didn't even
look up at me." Instead of buying clothes at the mall, Richard had looked
in the nearby thrift stores and found the perfect clothes for his trip.
After that, he went to the mall to choose the perfect coat. After going
through three malls, he found it, a grey trench coat with an inside pocket.
Sure, he looked strange, but not as identifiable as if he'd stayed looking
normal. The only problems he'd run into so far had been a few people he'd
hitchiked with wanting to get a little too friendly. Luckily, they hadn't
been too insistent, but he'd decided that it would probably be safer to
take a greyhound bus.
He arrived at the bus station at about four that afternoon. He was forced
to hitchike one final time, but the person he hitchhiked with didn't even
bring the subject up. He walked up to the ticket window.
"How much is a ticket?"
"Depends, Kid, where ya going?"
He chose the first place that popped into his mind. "Ummmm.. Rockport,
Maine?"
"That'll be a hundred bucks, kid. There's your bus." The counterman
pointed at a bus that was just pulling up in front of the station.
"uh, Thanks."
August 15, 1996
Somewhere between Montana and Chicago
Raistlin looked out the bus window at the stars outside. *Emm'ly loved to
hear me tell her stories about the constellations, especially what she
called Ferdinand....* "I'm sorry, Emm'ly...I'm sorry..."
"Pardon me, but were you talking to me?"
Raistlin quickly turned his head towards her. "Sorry...I was
just...thinking...about my fa--Someone I used to know."
"Oh...Ok...What's your name?" The cute redheaded, green-eyed girl smiled
at him.
"Ri--Raistlin. Raistlin Majere. ?Y tu?
"Me llamo Jessica."
Raistlin realized the mistake he'd made. "Sorry, I just sometimes lapse
into spanish..."
"Es nada. All is forgiven." She reached down into her bag and pulled out a
Questpiece and her laptop. She thumbed a switch on the Questpiece, changing
it from VR to Display. (the thing that passes in front of the eyes becomes
a display and the Mindlink is input only)
"What's that?"
"Oh, just something a friend cooked up. It's just a better display, full
color." She booted up the laptop and gestured at the screen. It came up in
monochrome, with green text. She typed in a command. ^Voice Command On^
"Hello, Jessica"
"Did that speak?" He looked at her face. Goddamn, but she looked a lot
like his mother. Her voice faded into the background as he gazed at her eyes.
"Yeah...Iris can do that... Oops, I forgot...You're not from where I'm from."
"Wha- Uh..No problem. I don't get insulted easily. He bent over and picked
up his backpack, unzipping it and pulling out a disk. She wasn't watching
him, she'd opened a wordprocessor document that looked like a poem.
"Do you write?"
"Wha-" It was her turn to be surprised. "Some...I'm not very good..."
"Neither am I. but would you like to see someting I wrote?" He pulled a
disk out of his backpack and handed it to her. She quickly put in the disk
and said "Which one?"
"DemonDream.doc."
She glanced over at him and opened the file. (Note: This isn't the
original version. I altered it and made it appropriate for the situation.
I'm allowed, cause I wrote it.)
She looked at the screen and read it.
^As I sit here,
Watching my life
Run out of my wrists,
I look at what I've accomplished,
The people,
Things,
And love that I've lost.
I think of the pain
That I've inflicted on others,
My mind intent on The Prize,
And I think of the pain that they have
Inflicted on me,
On my soul,
On my only love,
And I beg for death,
I beg for a release of sorrow.
But that is not what is killing me,
No,
Not at all.
No,
What is killing me is the thought that
I have harmed my love.
I know in my mind that I am innocent,
But in my heart,
I feel like I have betrayed her,
Broken her lifeline,
Nay, I have slit her throat and bathed myself in her blood.
That repulses me,
Sickens me
I look down at my wrists and realize,
Yes,
I have betrayed her.
I have betrayed the only one worth living for in my life.
I betrayed her by betraying myself.
I have destroyed her by picking up the knife.
I destroyed her.
I destroyed her.
I hurt her,
The only way I could:
By killing myself.
I have made the mistake of believing,
Of believing that killing myself was the only punishment
That suited the crime of hurting her.
I awaken to her gentle touch,
And her soft words.
"Go to bed," she says.
I rise,
And look down at myself,
I finally see myself.
I see myself the way she sees me.
I am grateful.
I am grateful that she sees me the way she does.
I am grateful that when she sees me,
And sees the man she loves,
Her brother
The man she looks up to,
The man who will escort her to the altar.
I remember my death,
Yes,
I remember it like it really happened.
How can I forget?
I promise to myself to never hurt her.
An easily kept promise,
For I can see that she would kill herself to keep me alive.
I am not worthy of her love,
But I hold tightly to her love.
I hold tightly to the dream.
It will never come true.^
"Wow...This is really good." She looked up at him in shock.
"Not really...It's just something I jotted down."
"Are you going to see her?"
He just looked at her, a tear in the corner of his eye. He turned away
quickly, but not before she noticed it.
End of Part 3. The Original version of the poem is after this little note.
As I sit here,
Watching my life
Run out of my wrists,
I look at what I've accomplished,
The people,
Things,
And love that I've lost.
I think of the pain
That I've inflicted on others,
My mind intent on The Prize,
And I think of the pain that they have
Inflicted on me,
On my soul,
On my only love,
And I beg for death,
I beg for a release of sorrow.
But that is not what is killing me,
No,
Not at all.
No,
What is killing me is the thought that
I have harmed my love.
I know in my mind that I am innocent,
But in my heart,
I feel like I have betrayed her,
Broken her lifeline,
Nay, I have slit her throat and bathed myself in her blood.
That repulses me,
Sickens me
I look down at my wrists and realize,
Yes,
I have betrayed her.
I have betrayed the only one worth living for in my life.
I betrayed her by betraying myself.
I have destroyed her by picking up the knife.
I destroyed her.
I destroyed her.
I hurt her,
The only way I could:
By killing myself.
I have made the mistake of believing,
Of believing that killing myself was the only punishment
That suited the crime of hurting her.
I awaken to her gentle touch,
And her soft words.
"Come to bed," she says.
I rise,
And look down at myself,
I finally see myself.
I see myself the way she sees me.
I am grateful.
I am grateful that she sees me the way she does.
I am grateful that when she sees me,
And sees the man she loves,
The man she will marry,
The man she will grow old with.
I remember my death,
Yes,
I remember it like it really happened.
How can I forget?
I promise to myself to never hurt her.
An easily kept promise,
For I can see that she would kill herself to keep me alive.
I am not worthy of her love,
but I hold tightly to her love.
I hold tightly to the dream.
It will never come true.
-September 1996
You are brave if you read this far.
------------------------------------------------------------
"Let the twilight song,
float in from all directions,
after the day has faded,
the moonlight child,
sings her song,
and puts young children to sleep,
good night to all,
who live in the light,
welcome to all,
who dance in the night"
~Floy Morris
Chief Black Wizard-Evil Duncan Macleod Flag Waver
HR-ish AGALAIAHRA'n
Member of PAIN TV's Diagnosis: Insanity
------------------------------------------------------------
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