Wither: Interpret
by Quortoth
Chapter 2: Interpret
~ 2004
My life isn’t some great story. Nothing epic. If I wrote a biography is wouldn’t be read. Life has had it’s up and downs, nothing great.
I was born Ramona Lillian Locke August 5, 1987 in Buffalo New York. My parents were successful people, Tom and Ellen Locke. I got my looks from my mother, the old cliché. Wavy Red hair, and gray eyes. And, like I ended up 5’2” because of my dad.
Living the normal life. Without the milk man for the extra turns. I have an older brother, he’s a little older than me. 21. Born March 6, 1982.
He doesn’t really matter though in the telling of me besides the facts, he’s mean. Controlling. 5’10”, red hair, blue eyes, gets all the girls kind of guy. The kind of guy that thinks he’s the best thing since Velcro. Oh, and he’s not afraid of dumping the girl either. Or cheat. He’s just a big cheater.
Of course he’s got a job, so that‘s good. Engineer of some sort, that I don’t care about. And if he stops trying to give me a noogie I swear, I’ll teach him a lesson. I can.
My dad doesn’t care was he does, cares a lot about work. I’m not saying my dad doesn’t love me, he does. With his whole heart but he’s just like, “Mark, leave your sister alone.”
I’ve always called my dad Tom. Always, can’t remember not, since my mother died. She died when I was 4. My dad was out at the office, he’s a journalist. Not a famous Journalist. He’s that one you don’t ever get to hear about, yeah, that one, behind the famous one.
He’s good at his job. He’s good at his family job, he tries. Hasn’t screw me up.
I don’t know how my mom died. I was too young to remember, I just remember the funeral and it’s like that’s when my life started. Ironic it rained that day.
My mom was the sweetest woman ever. Ever that I’ve known. She would make cookies my brother told me. On one of his “Lets not Torture Little Sister Day.” I wish I could remember her.
My memories got kind of vivid when I was 6. I began to have these dreams. Odd, violent dreams.
Violent in, Wars, havoc, apocalypses without the Chocolate Fudge Sunday afterwards. Demons weren’t out of the question and the main of the dreams. These apocalypses had, death, and sometimes a guy with cheese.
Like how my grandpa has a foot fetish. Except this guy was whispering about it.
That’s not the point, I just saw things. They weren’t like dreams, but I had them when I was sleeping, and hardly when I was awake. Scary.
Obviously, these were scary dreams. And I still get the dreams, but a whole lot less. And for good reason one would say.
My first dream was on my sixth birthday. Great. I went to bed after some cake and a brother and sister tickle-a-thon. Filled with all the extra noogies.
I dreamed about a woman. She was chained to the earth and these magic, black, shaman kind of guys were around her. 3. They were banging their wooden sticks on the ground, music the whole enchilada.
I was scared for her, I thought I had to save her. I couldn’t though and she tried to fight the men but she couldn’t. They destroyed her. Metaphorically.
I didn’t understand it that way. I just knew she was scared. And for a child to be getting the idea that the person is quite overtaken with pride by what was going on and scared at the same time it’s confusing and scary. This being was a girl that was entirely alone.
Black things, magic or something flying through the air into her. Those men were hurting her. I woke. And that was the start, I told my dad the bad dream.
Got one that next night, one after that. All of my dreams having to do with a girl and demons. Got the dreams, told about the dreams. I would refuse to sleep after awhile. I’d be left in my room till my little eyes closed.
~ April 11, 1994:
It was drawing time at the school. “What are you drawing Ramona?” asked the teacher.
Ramona looked up at her kindergarten teacher, big gray eyes, “Nothing.” She looked back down drawing with the red crayon. Blocking her picture from the teacher.
“Let me see your pretty picture,” asked the sweet woman, “Come on.”
“No,” said the little girl, “It’s not for innocent eyes.”
“What do you mean?” her teacher knelt down on one knee.
“I mean it’s not for you, what do you not understand?” asked the 6 year old.
“You want to go in the corner?” asked the teacher.
“I’m better I don’t need to go in the corner, I just want to draw,” sobbed the little girl putting down her red crayon.
“What do you mean fixed?” asked the teacher, “Ramona, let me see the picture,” she was very serious.
Ramona looked back up at her teacher. She looked down at the picture. All of the other little children very quiet. She took her arms off the picture and handed it to the teacher.
“Oh my,” gasped the teacher looking at it, “Ramona go to the corner, I told you not to draw these kind of pictures.”
“I saw it,” said the little Ramona trying to get out of the corner situation.
“No, you didn’t, go to the corner now,” said the teacher in the sweetest angry voice she could muster.
The teacher took the picture and put it in her desk . The picture was of a demon and a girl. The demon had bodies on the ground all around it. This picture was very detailed, very gory.
Later Ramona’s father came to the class, the other little children had been gone. Off and away with their parents. “What’s this about?” asked her father walking into the classroom.
Little Ramona sat at a table drawing again. He looked at the teacher. Her dad raised her eyebrows, “Is this about pictures?”
“Yes,” said the teacher.
“She draws what she wants,” answered father, “I’m not going to squash my daughter’s potential.”
“Sir these pictures are very, very disturbed,” said the woman.
“Is she drawing naked people again?” questioned Tom.
“NO,” said the teacher quickly, “Worse.”
Ramona’s dad looked at her suspiciously, disgusted. His voice grew to a whisper, “Ma’am, where the heck would she be picking up pornography?”
“Sir, no, not that. Look,” said the teacher pulling out the picture.
He turned away quickly, “Well I don’t want to see it.”
“No, it’s P.O.R.N.” spelled to teacher, “Look.”
Tom looked down at the picture. He looked at it, then at the teacher, “It’s not any worse,” he looked over to his daughter, “Ramona, come on we’re going home.” Carrying his briefcase with him, he walked towards the door, “Ma’am.” He turned towards the teacher, “You can call me when she’s drawing pictures of naked people alright-”
“Mr. Locke, don’t make me call social services,” said the woman firmly putting her hands on her hips.
Ramona sat in her chair her legs up in the seat watching the two adults, “Where do you think you’re coming off woman?” Tom questioned.
“I’m just saying, you don’t investigate what’s going on wither her. She could come out a very disturbed adult.”
“You seen the world?” he asked putting his briefcase down on the table. “They’re just pictures, she a sweet girl, doesn’t do anything bad. And I don’t think starting this, at 6 is going to make it change.”
“You told me she wasn’t sleeping well,” sighed teacher.
“So, she’s just a little afraid of the dark is all, you can’t take my kids, alright,” finished Tom. “I take very good care of them, everything they need, don’t spoil them but a little cause it builds character. I’m not a bad father, alright. So back down.”
“I think she should see someone besides the doctor about her sleeping,” said the teacher going over to her desk.
“What, who?” asked Tom.
Ramona’s teacher opened the desk top drawer and pulled a card out and went over to him and handed the card to him, “This man is world renowned.”
Tom looked at the business card, “A shrink, you want my daughter to see a shrink. She’s 6!”
The teacher just looked at him firmly. “What’s a shrink?” asked Ramona suddenly in her little voice.
Tom didn’t answer Ramona, “She’s sane.”
“Daddy we need to get home before dark,” squeaked the little voice, “If we don’t-”
“Tell me, what is there to be afraid of Ramona?” asked the teacher.
The little girl looked down, “The monsters. Demons, vampires. She won’t help us.”
The teacher looked back to Tom, “Mr. Locke, you don’t at least a little bit. If you don’t investigate this even a, smudge. I will have the social services check into you for neglect.”
“A girl can have imaginary friends,” said Tom.
“These aren’t friends, demons?” she replied.
Ramona took her daddy’s hand, “Daddy, they’ll come.”
“Alright baby,” he said looking down at her, “We’ll get home.”
“I know you’re a hardworking man,” sighed the teacher, “Maybe you work a bit too hard. For your daughter’s sake, especially.”
If you tell an adult too much they’ll really take it to heart and start thinking about it. I remember sometimes I did fall asleep. Woke up trembling and crying.
The final time I woke up in my own room was when I was almost 7, that April. I had finally gotten the rest but it was plagued with the dreams. I woke up suddenly.
Screaming little girl I was crying. Sweating. My daddy ran in and picked me up out of the bed. He ran out into the hall, “MARK, GET UP WE’RE LEAVING!”
Mark came along quickly. Didn’t understand why we were leaving the house in the middle of the night. Being a teenager who wanted to sleep, and as it turns out snuck back into the house through the window when Tom had called for him.
My dad ran me and Tom out to the car made him sit in the back with me as I was crying. He sped down the road and into the hospital emergency area. Mark was sleepy but I was crying and wondering why my daddy wasn’t talking to me like he usually did when these things happened.
Mark sat with me in the waiting room. I was in his lap crying holding onto his T-shirt screaming. I was the loudest in that room but I could hear my dad talking to that nurse.
“You’re going to give her a room something. You’re going to figure out what’s wrong with my daughter you bent!” he was speaking harsh words to that woman. “You’re going to get the hell out from behind your big counter with that stupid computer and get a freaking doctor or I’m going to hit you!”
“Sir calm down,” said the nurse, “She’ll just have to wait like the others.”
“My daughter has been having bad dreams every night she’s slept, that why she doesn’t sleep!!” roared my dad, “I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS GO ON 365 DAYS!” he slammed his hand on the counter, “Now get your fat ass up and a damn doctor!!”
“Sir,” she said aggressively standing up, “It’s the middle of the night!!” They all roared over my crying.
“Fix my daughter!!!” roared Tom.
“Security!!” yelled the nurse.
Tom slapped the nurse. What a night.
3 AM My father had slapped a nurse, got tackled, handcuffed and charges were brought up quickly for assault and battery. Good thing was I went to sleep even before they got me into some kind observation wing. What a night yes.
Good thing the nurse dropped the charges.
~ April 13, 1994:
Dr. Stephen [Ste-fon] Wallace world renowned child psychiatrist walked into the room with a bed and toys in it. Ramona was sleeping in the bed. Precious little girl.
Tom was handcuffed to a chair just so he wouldn’t hit the Doctor. Of course Dr. Wallace could always hit the man over the head with his handy-dandy clipboard.
“What did you give my daughter?” asked Tom calmly.
“A sedative Mr. Locke,” said the Doctor, he sat down in front of Tom.
“I promise I won’t hit anymore people,” sighed Tom, “You can unhand cuff me.”
“I don’t have to power in choosing that,” coaxed the Dr. “As well, I rather not take the chance.”
“Seem like a nice man to me,” said Tom.
“You’re angry, I understand completely. I feel the hint of sarcasm in your voice, it says it all,” said the Dr.
“I’m not being sarcastic.”
“Not consciously.”
“We’re here to talk about my terror ridden child, not your little theories about me,” growled Tom.
“We’ll talk about your daughter as soon as you get rid of your hostility,” said Dr.
Tom gave him a big smile to prove he wasn‘t hostile. They looked over to the small child as she turned over in her hospital bed, things hooked up to her head. But the wires didn’t disturb her a bit.
“I’ve gone over her records, healthy girl-”
“Then what’s wrong?” asked Tom, “It has to be medical. I don’t see anything else to it.”
“What happened when her mother died?” asked Dr. Wallace.
“What?” asked Tom, he took a moment to answer. He’d loved his wife deeply, “She, she. Ramona stopped talking.”
“Is it possible that when these dreams started it was because of her mother’s death,” suggested the Dr.
“No, can’t be,” Tom shook his head, “No. Her mom died when she four, she’s 6.”
“Doesn’t mean things can’t pop up,” assured the Dr. “Understand me, alright.”
“I’m listening completely,” answered Tom.
“I’ve examined her pictures and all of them have a female in them. And by the looks of her surroundings something bad has happened,” sighed Wallace.
“You think?” asked Tom sarcastically.
Wallace gave him a look. Then he continued, “It seems the female in each picture is never dead. Is, like the super hero. I believe that Ramone.”
“Ramona,” corrected her father.
“I believe that all these young ladies represent her mother,” sighed Dr. “And don’t think that the death was too long ago. Things could have reminded her and she can’t handle that reminder.”
“What then reminds her?” demanded Tom. He was deeply saddened by that thought of his lovely Ellen. He felt the tears rising in his eyes.
“When she wakes I’d like to ask her some questions,” answered the Dr. “Have a session with her.”
“Fine, I consent. Just help her,” said Tom.
~ April 14, 1994:
Ramona was playing with some toys in her little room. Brushing a blonde haired doll in her lap. Wearing pajamas. The room was white with a window, sun shining through.
There was a little table with blocks on it, paper, crayons. There was a large mirror in the room. Behind that mirror was Dr. Wallace and Tom. Watching her.
“Be happy she interacts alone like a normal child,” said Dr. Wallace going towards the door.
“Probably knows we’re watching her,” answered Tom.
“Take a seat and watch the session Mr. Locke,” suggested the Dr. Opening the door and going into the room.
Ramona looked up at him when he entered. “Hello Ramona.”
“When can I go home with daddy?” questioned the little girl.
“Soon alright,” replied the Dr. sitting down at the small table, “Now come over here and sit with me.”
Ramona went over to him. She sat in the chair, “Just right,” he said. “Can you do me a favor?”
“What?” she asked.
He pushed the paper and crayons over to her, “I want you to draw me a picture. Like the ones from school.”
“But I get in trouble,” she said.
“You won’t get in trouble this time, now I’ll wait for you to draw one then we’ll see what happens,” smiled the doctor.
“Okay,” sighed Ramona.
She looked at the crayons and took them in hand and started her picture. The Dr. Waited watching her. Just watching the little girl draw the picture. She finished in the matter of the 30 min.
“Can I see the picture?” questioned Wallace.
She looked down at it. After a moment she moved it towards the Dr. There was a girl with a stake in hand standing in front of a demon that’s face was all disfigured and there was blood on the walls around them. Severe red walls.
The Dr. looked at her, “Tell me, who’s this?”
“Girl,” answered Ramona.
“Tell me what happens next,” suggested Wallace.
Ramona looked at the picture, “There’s a battle. Good and bad.”
“Ramona, what happens to the girl Please,” said the Dr.
She looked at the Dr. just looked at him, “She dies,” she answered quickly.
“Do you think of your momma when you draw these pictures?” asked the Dr. in the most sincere voice his degrees in psychology could pull off.
“No,” said Ramona.
“The girl died,” answered the Dr.
“She dies, all the time!!” screamed Ramona, “They all die. Every girl!!” She stood up, “I want my momma!!”
“Tell me more about the girl,” answered the Dr.
“She fights the bad guys and she dies!!” Ramona screamed again. “That’s what happens!! She dies.” Ramona threw down her chair. She picked up her crayons and threw them at the wall.
“Calm down Ramona, be a good girl-”
“She dies!!! They all die!!!” She flipped the little table. A normal child having a fit could flip the table. “They fight evil and they die!!!” Ramona grabbed the doll off the floor and threw it at the Dr. “DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE!!!”
The Dr. stood up, “Ramona-”
Ramona went over to the doll house in the room and pushed it down. “She is alone and she dies alone.”
“Who’s this girl?” asked the Dr.
“I don’t know,” she sighed.
She went over to her cup on the floor. It had fallen off the table. Her orange juice lay on the floor. She picked the cup up and held it.
“Is it your mommy?” asked Wallace being more blunt than he should have been for the situation.
“NO!!” screamed Ramona, she threw the cup at the glass window and the window shattered.
Tom was very concerned behind the mirror. He wanted to get in there. The Dr. picked up Ramona from behind. “Stop Ramona.”
She bit him. The Dr. yelled in pain. He dropped Ramona. The little girl went to her picture and started ripping it up, “Dead.” She ripped it to little bits.
Dr. Wallace went towards her. Her teeth had drawn blood she bit him so hard. She picked up a block and hit him in the head with it. Picked up another.
Tom couldn’t open up the door, he’d been locked out. Door behind him. He turned around and went out into the hall yelling for help.
Dr. Wallace pulled an injection needle out of his pocket. He went towards her, filling it with something from his pocket. She hit him with another block right in the glasses making the things bust in his eye.
The Doctor dropped the needle and stuff. Orderlies started coming into the room. Tom went towards Ramona, he was going to sweep his sad daughter up off her feet but the orderlies kept him from her.
The girl was grabbed up kicking and screaming. She was injected with a sedative and she started to calm down. Started to fall asleep. Dr. Wallace stood up holding his bleeding face, a handkerchief to his face as well.
After the Dr. was patched up he spoke to Tom. Tom watching through the glass of another mirror his sleeping daughter. Dr. Wallace walked into the room.
“What the hell happened in there?” demanded Tom turning to the doctor.
“The beginning of a brake through, I’ve figured,” he adjusted his eye patch. Just a wound, nothing that wouldn’t heal.
“Refigure, you about lost your eye Dr. Wallace,” growled Tom.
“I want to keep her here, more observations. She got angry because she doesn’t want to acknowledge that this is about her mother’s death,” answered Wallace.
“She’s 6,” said Tom.
“We’ve established that,” answered Dr. Wallace.
“You can’t have her here, in a mental institution,” growled Tom.
“We prefer to call it a facility Mr. Locke-”
“I don’t give a damn what you call it! My daughter isn’t going to be treated like a rat, my daughter isn’t going to be drugged up after this little friggin’ visit. I’m taking her out of here when she wakes up,” her father said forcefully.
“Sir I know you’re concerned-”
“I’ve never seen anything like what happened today, alright. Don’t want to see it again, so you’re going to let me take her out of here-”
“It’s for her own good. Your daughter can’t live to her foulest. She’s not sleeping, And she was telling me things during that visit,” assured the Doctor, “She was speaking out.”
“She bit you and knocked the room around, that’s a break through in the works? You know, you should check yourself in,” said Tom.
“It’s for her own good,” Wallace said again, “I can bring in some of the best Doctors. I’ve seen these kinds of cases. I only want the best for that girl, it’s my job to want it. And I don’t fail at my job.”
“She’s just a girl,” sighed Tom.
“That’s why we need to fix it now, before we can’t,” answered Dr. Wallace.
April 15, 1994 was the beginning of a long 5 years in a mental institution. Of course it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. I’m not crazy. Wasn’t crazy.
It was actually just really boring. I didn’t want to talk about my mom or anything so the doctors would keep asking and asking. So I just plain stopped talking in 1997. Didn’t talk a bit, nothing slipped my lips.
I still had the dreams but I didn’t tell anyone about them, so what? I knew they meant something though.
My dad and my brother visited me every now and again. I know Mark didn’t want to be there. I may have been mute but never have I been stupid.
One thing to remember about Mental Institutions. You have do everything, choose to do everything for yourself. I went a whole 5 years without a hair cut. If I hadn’t of brought up the bathing thing I could of went a whole 5 years without that.
Or maybe it was just that mental institution.
Good thing, I got out after awhile. A man came in claiming to be my uncle. I was 12. Day hmm…Not sure.
~ September 27 1999:
A man was being lead by a nurse down a hall. He was tall, had black and gray hair. Brown eyes. He had a beard with gray in it too.
“Right in here,” said the nurse, “Just be careful around her. And don’t expect much, she doesn’t talk.”
“I think I’ll get along quite fine,” answered the man. He had a British accent.
He sat down at a table and she went into a room and out came the nurse and Ramona. Ramona had grown in height and her hair was quite long. Resting so on her back. She was a very pretty girl.
“Hello Ramona,” said the man.
Ramona sat in the chair across the table. The nurse left, “Anything happens just yell.”
“I will,” replied the man. “Well,” he smiled at her, “I guess you wonder who I am? I’m Leo Fisher. I’m with a Council.” Ramona said nothing. “I guess I’ll be doing all the talking.”
He was right. She didn’t reply to that, “There’s an explanation for the dreams, yes. But more on what I’m on, you don’t have dreams like that anymore.”
Ramona looked at him confused. “I know you want to get out. And just between you and everyone else, you don’t have those dreams,” Fisher stated, “You’re better. In the words of many a patient in the past a hundred years just about anywhere from mental institution to compact prisons.”
She just listened, he kept going, “Now, you’re going to need to start talking again if you want to get out of here. I know they haven’t tortured you, and that you’re probably going out of your skull as we speak. Not that I’m saying your crazy, just saying your bored. You should be wanting to go to school, you should be able to live like a normal person. Now I’ve spoken to your father.”
Fisher folded his hands on the table, “You’re special. You could have a very, very epic future. Which thinking about the circumstances I can’t disclose to you. I had come here to take you under my wing, to prepare you for a future like that. But your father has refused completely that I take you. He even threatened me to stay away from you.”
Softly Ramona spoke: “I want to get out of here.”
“Well you can,” smiled Fisher, “Just keep talking and tell them that you haven’t had those dreams in a long time.”
“But-”
“This visit is unrecorded thanks to some friends of mine, so as far as their concerned, I never came. And you, you don’t get those dreams anymore,” said Fisher.
I told the council people that run that institution a big lie.
~ September 30, 1999:
“We’re told that you wish to leave Miss Lock. Ramona,” said the leader of the committee.
Ramona sat in a chair in front of them, she’d brushed her hair and everything, and she sat up straight, even looked well rested. “Yes.”
“Well,” began a woman next to the leader, one of five, she had a file in hand looking at it, “I see here you’ve just recently started speaking again.”
“Yes,” said Ramona. “I want to be normal. Go home.”
“Have you had any dreams Ramona?” asked the leader.
“No,” answered Ramona, keeping complete eye contact with the committee. She was a very good liar even though those words were few. “I thought it’d be fun to stay a little longer, but it wouldn’t so I want to leave, see my dad again. See my room, go to school.”
The committee looked at each other.
The leader cleared his throat, looked to Dr. Wallace sitting at the end of the table, “Now looking back on your record, you’ve shown to be stable. You know what that means?”
“Sane,” she answered plainly.
“Exactly, I believe with good reason you can leave,” he looked to his comrades, “Do we all agree?”
They committee people shook their heads in agreement, “Do I get to go home?”
“Yes,” said the leader.
They let me go to live the normal life that I’ve always wanted. Everyone lives a normal life, why couldn’t I have one. So what I’ve had my bad dreams, I wanted one just like everyone else.
Of course in life everyone thinks there life isn’t normal and or holds their own to a higher significance. People all over the place have worse off problems. Got people out there with real mental illnesses.
The dreams became fewer and far between. And when I woke up I didn’t tell anyone about having them. Just went back to sleep.
I guess my life changed for the calm normal I’d been wanting. Dad was still the hard worker and brother being older was still the same nuisance he was before. Within a week he was back giving me noogies and a hard time.
We all shut our mouths to what had happened with the mental institution. I went to school and I was back in the swing of things in no time, all considering. Of course there were always rumors. Which didn’t affect me much.
Rumors that I was crazy, stuff like that. Things were hard but I made the grade, people ignored the rumors. I enjoyed life. Really actually enjoyed it.
Before I knew it, a year had passed, then another. And another. I never met that Leo Fisher again. I felt normal. I enjoyed school activities. Nothing could ruin my life. Nothing at all.
~ May 20, 2003:
There was a battle going on, people were dying. Ramona woke suddenly from her dream. She felt the sweat of others, there fear like sweat, bad things happened. Ramona also wasn’t quite sure what to think. Maybe just a nightmare.
She sat up in her bed, looked around the room. She looked at the bright purple alarm clock next to her bed, it was 4 o’clock in the morning. Ramona sighed, sweat on her face. She sat up and went towards the bathroom. Her bathroom.
Ramona took a wash cloth from the shelf next to her sink and she got it wet wiping her face slowly. Cold against her skin.
Looked at the mirror for a long moment, she just looked, “I should be there.” She stopped that thought quickly, “Not my battle,” she sighed, “Not real.”
Her hair was in a braid going down her back, silky red hair. She watched her gray eyes in the mirror then stood up straight in her teddy bear pajamas. She put the washcloth in the sink, let it slip her mind. Didn’t matter anyway.
After school she’d be heading out with her dad. He wants to have dinner at least once a week with his children. Go out have some fun. Mark lives at home, wouldn’t be hard to have him there.
Ramona wanted to feel different. The dreams always made her want to feel different. She was going to change herself a little, make herself a little different.
After school she went to a hair stylist and got a hair cut, one she quite liked. It wasn’t long down her back, it was to her shoulders and layered. It made her feel good. That was good enough for her.
Ramona went home and her dad soon followed. He was ready to go out for dinner. Mark wasn’t doing anything. Making fun of the hair cut but she could careless. Just felt a little different.
Inside she was vaguely thinking about that dream, that feeling she had to go somewhere. It made her feel a little guilty if she thought about it too long. But she ignored it.
Tom drove the car down the street, she was sitting up front. Mark in the back sleeping in the back, that was him. “I’m going to have to pull over at an ATM, but it’ll be quick.”
“Sure,” said Mark, he yawned, “Take your time.”
“This is going to be a good night,” answered Tom to his son.
He pulled over and got out of the car. Ramona’s father went up to the ATM and looked at it, “Hmm… Go in the bank,” he read.
Nice fancy bank. They went in. Tom wanted to wake up Mark and he felt he had to teach his daughter a lesson. One she wouldn’t really know about what to do with because there wasn’t any real visible lesson. Manners towards a teller?
“Watch your sister,” said Tom going up to the Teller.
“Sure,” said Mark chewing on his gum, “So I’m going to be the boss of you kid.”
Ramona looked at him, “Nothing could ruin my day.”
Mark nodded sarcastically. Nothing could ruin her day.
“EVERYONE GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!!!” yelled a man in a ski mask coming into the bank shooting his automatic at the ceiling.
Men followed in with him, seven men in ski masks. Packing the same guns. They were yelling at the customers, “DO IT!!”
Everyone got down on the floor. One of the men grabbed Tom away from the Teller and threw him down on the ground. Everyone was down.
“Incase you haven’t noticed, this is a stick up,” smiled the leader, he was smiling under the mask of course, “If I were you I wouldn’t move, not even the children. Now, Teller, Ma’am, please do put all the money in a bag.”
The shaking teller didn’t do anything at first then the leader shot bullets into the lamp over her head. She screamed and went down, “Now stop your whining and screaming bitch, Ma’am, and put the the money in as many bags as you can.”
The teller, and the others understood and none of them wanted more than a glass raining. None of them wanted to be anymore of the sacrificial lamb.
“Now, all Woman and children, stay on the ground,” growled the leader, “Guys, start tying up the men.”
“Tom,” Whispered Ramona, “What are we going to do?”
“Just breath,” whispered Tom.
“Hey, no talking!” said the leader, “Now lets get this baby rollin’!! And make sure no one presses any secret buttons. Check for the security guards that aren’t on the floor!!”
The men were tied up quickly. Ramona was with other women, and the tellers that weren’t filling bags with money. A couple of children. Ramona was shaking, scared for her brother and father.
‘If this isn’t going to lapse me back into the nut hours, nothing is,’ she thought to herself.
“Dad,” whispered Ramona, “What’s going to happen?”
Tom just looked at her. “Shut up,” hissed Mark.
“I said not talking,” said the leader.
Tears were going down Ramona’s face, she didn’t know what to do or think. “What are you going to do with us?” she asked.
“Bold aren’t you honey?” asked the man going towards her semi automatic in hand.
His buddies were taking out the money then coming back in for more. “We didn’t do anything,” said Ramona, she didn’t quite grasp the moment.
“Not about you sweet cheeks,” growled the man, “It’s all about the money,” he aimed to gun to her head, “All about the money.”
“Please, don’t shoot her,” said Tom, he didn’t think his daughter was stupid for talking to them, he was scared they were going to blow her skull away. Not enough time, “I beg, you, just get your money and leave.”
“Not like I haven’t killed before,” laughed the man. “Do it all the time.”
“I won’t talk,” trembled Ramona. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off her feet and held her in a firm grip.
“Man, we’ve got the money,” said one of his men, all seven of them standing there. “Lets go.”
“What did I say for you to call me?” asked the man.
“Sir, we’ve got the money, come on,” answered his buddy.
You could tell these guys were young. Not their first kill, maybe. If they were going to kill her. “Maybe I want a little carnage.”
“We aren’t here for that,” growled one.
“I decide what you do,” growled the leader.
The man was sweating, shaking as he held her. “I was in a mental institution for 5 years. That was a long time ago,” she said quickly, “But you won’t kill me.”
“What makes you think I won’t?” he asked grabbed her by the hair and looking her in the eyes, his brown.
“Tell me you haven’t kill anyone,” stated Ramona, she was scared to death.
“I have, many. Little girls like you,” growled the man.
“Had a psychiatrist, learned.” Trembling, “Learned,” she swallowed, “When most people are lying they’ll look to the left. You’re lying.”
“Shut up,” he roared, “Or I’ll bore your brains in with shiny bullets.”
“You’re shaking you’re afraid,” she trembled tears in her eyes. “You don’t want to kill anyone, just want the money.”
Everyone was quiet, “Wrong, I want to kill you,” growled the leader.
Ramona looked straight forward for a moment thinking about that battle, “I have my own battles.” She thought about her dreams, all of them in that split second. She let out a breath.
Suddenly Ramona looked up into his eyes. She kicked him in the crotch, she pulled her right arm from his grasp, pulled the fist back quickly and punched him in the face. He flew across the floor, landing hard against the wall about fifteen feet away. He slid down the wall blood coming from the back of his head.
A fist came from behind. She back kicked the man in the ribs. Spun around quickly punched him in the stomach quickly grabbed him by the shoulders just in time for the bullets to come at her. He took them. She threw the man towards the shooters quickly, they didn’t suspect that.
Ramona rolled forward. One went to punch her, she ducked the blow and up cut him in the face. He went through a teller window, bullet proof kind. One on the right tried to punched her. She blocked his blow and jumped up and kicked him across the face, he flew across the floor.
Everything, this was all easy. One grabbed her by the neck from behind and she flipped him. He landed on his back with a loud cracking sound.
“I can’t move!!” he yelled.
Fight was still going on above him. One of them punched her in the face, she landed on her back.
“Ramona!” called her father.
Ramona flipped back up onto her feet. She ducked a blow, spun around ducking another. She grabbed one and tossed him out the front doors, which not even a man could do. She ducked another blow behind her. Turned around and punched two of them in the head. Then jumped up and kicked them in the faces.
They flew down to the floor. Blood coming through their ski masks. Ramona took a in a breath, she looked at her fists. They were bleeding. She saw that man on the ground, “Whoa,” she sighed to herself, “Oh, my, god.”
She turned towards the people the women were untying the men. Everyone was getting untied.
“Where did you learn how to fight like that?” asked Mark Ramona pulling the ropes off of her wrist, “I just thought I could.”
Tom grabbed her hand, he looked her in the eyes, “My daughter. You’re special.”
“Not really,” she said still reeling over the fight, she didn’t know she could do those things. Just thought she could.
“Lets call the police and go to dinner,” said Tom. “You just saved lives.”
She looked down in amazement, “It’s no big deal.”
~ May 22, 2003
After I rivaled over a bunch of robbers I was afraid to go to school. I was afraid I do something, something I couldn’t handle. I remember looking in my bathroom mirror and telling myself I was a freak. Something did ruin my day.
I fought my own battle, I won. I had this strength for some reason. My world was reeling. Everything was confusing. I wasn’t going to go back to school till I had the feeling I wouldn’t hurt anyone, cause, I killed a man.
More than one, but they were evil. Or, were they evil, maybe just misguided. But they made their own choices, guilt of it laid on my mind. I didn’t like this, none of this.
But I saved more lives than killed. And they were going to hurt those people, probably. Someone had to stand up. I wanted to scream.
My dad let me stay home for a little while. A day. I had the house to myself, I sat around in a my pajamas just thinking about what I’d done. Hardly doing anything, something was terribly wrong with me.
There was a knock at my door at 11 o’clock. I wondered who would be coming this time of day. Definitely not social services. This is the first day I’ve missed.
I stood up from the large blue love seat in the living room and went towards the door. There was the knock again. I unlocked the door and looked at someone I knew.
“You might not remember me-”
“Leo Fisher,” I stated before he could do anything.
“Exactly, bright girl. Good memory,” he finished. “May I come in.”
“Sure,” I said, I no fear in him. Had no fear for anything but the immoral at the time.
He walked past me and I closed the door behind him, “What do you want?”
“I wish to be your friend,” said Fisher.
“You’re from a council,” I stated, “Sit down,” I replied.
He sat down, “A council that is long gone, been for months now.”
“The battle,” I blurted out, “So, how did that go?”
“You know?” asked Fisher, “Well of course you do, I don’t control what the dreams tell you.”
“What dreams, huh? I don’t have dreams do I?” I asked.
“Don’t be sarcastic,” scolded Fisher.
“So, what do you want?” I asked.
“You’re very special,” replied Fisher.
“How many times do I have to tell people I’m not?”
“You really are. I heard from some of us, left over of the Council that you were in a bank robbery. Saved 34 people,” he sighed, making it a bigger deal than I thought it was. “And yes we won the war. Well a part of it. There’s much more war out there.”
“So you’re here to recruit me, you ever thought about checking yourself into a psychiatric ward, cause I can prescribe one,” I answered sitting down on the chair across from him.
“You’re a slayer,” he said.
“And I really don’t want to join the Nazis.”
“Not that at all,” Fisher stood up, “You are a slayer of demons. You were chosen. Chosen to fight the evil of the world, and as it turns out you’re not the only chosen one.”
“So I guess that’s not how it used to be,” I stated folding my arms over my chest.
He put his arms on my shoulders, “Time ago I was assigned to be your watcher. You a potential slayer, 12, that’s when one really starts showing up as a potential. Rarely earlier. I was supposed to take you under my wing and train you, but you can thank god that didn’t happen.” He pulled his hands from my shoulders, “If you had left with me we might not be alive now.”
“Why?”
“Well there was the evil of the first, coming through the council, The Watcher’s Council, destroying us one by one. Blew up the main building itself in London. Everyone there died. I come to you now with the situation-”
“Why shouldn’t I call the cops?” she asked.
“Do you want to hear the rest of my story?” asked Fisher.
“Sure, give it a whirl.”
“Alright now we need to establish something, I’m Leo Fisher, you can call my Fisher, Mr. Fisher, Leo, Mr. Leo, or just go all out and call me Leopold Randolph Fisher. But whatever you do, don’t call me fishy. Is that clear.”
“Check.”
He sat down, “Every Generation a Slayer is born, one you’ll fight the vampires and demons in the name of good. That’s the gist. But thanks to ‘The’ Slayer all the potential slayers, possibly thousands of girls have become more than potentials. Slayers themselves.”
I sat up, “Then why are you talking to me instead of one of your other grand if this whole story you cooked up is so true?”
“Because I was already assigned and I feel obligated to you,” replied Fisher.
“Well isn’t that noble?”
“Don’t toy with me, I’m old, to you. Middle aged, but I’m here to train you so you can protect the world,” he stated.
“No, this is- Maybe someone put steroids in my food or something. Mark has done it with laxatives, why not steroids?” I questioned.
“More than I needed to know,” stated Fisher, “It’s not steroids, it’s the power of the demons that you’ll be fighting.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Am I lying?” questioned Fisher.
They were quiet. “The dreams?”
“Acts of the past slayers,” replied Fisher, “Don’t worry those dreams should be calming down if they haven’t already. You’ll only get a dream if it’s pivotal, or you are prone to magic or something like that.”
“Vampires, aren’t real,” I stated. In Complete denial.
Just because a person would let you here their little story doesn’t mean they believe you. No way. And I started to believe him and fight those demons, my battle.
~ January 12, 2004
Ramona turned from her group of friends as someone stood behind her. She turned towards him fully, standing before her, looking down at her, Cillian.
“Hello,” he said, his voice gruff, a romantic deepness. The accent was just helping his handsomeness.
“Hi,” said Ramona smiling, “Do I know you?”
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