riley casteling is angrboða, not happyboða (griefbringer) wrote in monte_rpg, @ 2012-05-13 21:30:00 |
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Current mood: | contemplative |
twenty-seven.
[Mother's Day was a hard day for Riley, it had always been. Even in their native Gauteng, it was celebrated on the second Sunday of every May, and children would honor their mother by wearing a carnation -- red for the living and white for the dead -- but there was no point honoring a woman who had never wanted to be a mother to begin with and was barely around to care.
Ever since she could remember, she'd been more of a mother to Reeve than their own mother, but nobody stepped in to be a mother to her. Their grandmother, who she knew loved her despite her myriad flaws, never did anything more than tell her to stand up straighter, brush her hair, and put on a dress every now and then. There had been no trips to the store to buy bras and panties, no frank conversations about maturity or sex, and certainly no attempts to teach her how to be a lady. Everything she'd learned about being a woman she learned from television and movies. Even cooking was something she taught herself, all so that she could make sure that one day Reeve would be considered well-adjusted enough to make something of himself. She was a lost cause, her baby boy was not.
Then there was the fact that as an actual mother Angrboða had failed at protecting her babies. She would say she was a worse mother than Riley's was, but at least she wanted her kids. There was just no way she could fight off Odin when he took her by surprise. That didn't mean remembering didn't put her in a foul mood. The fact that she woke up with a red flower growing out of the top of her head wasn't helping her mood either.
This was why finding the present from Reeve had set off a strange reaction in Riley. At first, she couldn't even bring herself to be in the same room as him, let alone thank him. The gift -- tape for wrapping her hands when she fought -- was simple, but perfect for her, and the sentiment behind it brought tears to her eyes. She was supposed to be buying him gifts, not the other way around.
Later, much later, when she'd managed to calm down and was able to face him without being embarrassed, she still couldn't say thank you. Instead, she just wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug, hoping he understood what she was trying to get at.]
My baby boy said everything that needed to be said about our mother, so I won't elaborate. Instead, how fucked up are these flowers? I looked mine up, and apparently amaryllis symbolizes pride, determination and radiant beauty. Can't complain about that -- two out of three ain't bad.
Oh, I wrote a new poem. I think it's my best one to date.
Storm Clouds
Storms are brewing
Dark clouds above
The light has faded
In the darkness we cower
The blue skies recede
Life’s cool breeze of calm
A distant memory
Succumbs to its power
Once light shone above
Now dark and forbidding
Rough winds blow and howl
Blind every new dawn
The summer long over
Its shoots withered and dead
The dark night of winter
Acceptance, the norm