Corrupted Souls: A Crimson Flaw

PART 1 SECTION 6

"Then I'm going to be grounded for a long time. Have fun with Rosemary, Mother~"

With that said, I waltzed pass and upstairs into my bedroom. Where I threw myself on my bed, the pillow muffling my screams. Sometimes I think and wish that the women I call mother is just a Barbie beholder who capture all her look a likes and takes their place to torture the children with her fake plastic self. Maybe my real mother is in a dungeon. Sadly I know that's not possible.

Or is it?

I wish.

With thoughts of an army of perfect Barbie's zapping electricity with their doe like eyes, and hundreds of screaming children with chains of their fake blonde hair around their neck, I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up the next morning I felt refreshed, brand new.

Only to groan, for the first time I was actually looking forward to school to kick ass with my new- no with my true self, as corny as it sounds. But sadly that would have to wait another two torturous days I have to spend with the plastic Barbie.

I looked up at my plain ceiling, mmmmh. I'm sure I'm going to spend some nice quality alone time in this room, I should decorate it. Make it more me. It'll be boring staring at plain white walls all day. Wow, my life is so interesting isn't it.

I wonder if I can convince my dad to buying me a iPod, it may not be no iPhone but it'll entertain me for a long time. Hey maybe I can even write down some of my imaginative thoughts and turn them into mini stories. I'm way too lazy to actually finish a book. Maybe a book with a lot of pictures? Some manga? No that's wayyyy too much drawing. I doodle but I'm not too keen on numbing my fingers, having a sore wrist and squinting my eyes to make sure I got every line or curve perfect.

I bet some of you expected me to also say getting my fingers dusty or mugging some pencil led on my face. I doubt I would even notice until Barbie points it out and shakes her perfect little head at me.

How pretty it would be ripped off her neck and splattered all over the walls?

....

Where did that thought come from?

I always had a temper and not so pretty colorful ways to express it, but never had it been this violent, much less in form of a voice, actually in my head too with a venomous and murderous tone to it.

Guess hatred does wonders. That would explain it, but if it does I surely don't look forward to what it does to those villains who hold grudges towards the hero in movies and books, all those wrinkles and permanent scowls. I'm good.

Deciding not to give it anymore thought, I mustered up from energy despite my strong urge to flutter my eye close and sleep until Monday, I rink and was in desperate need of a shower. Besides I needed to check my cheek from last night, I'm sure one of Barbie fake nails probably left a scratch. I could feel it stinging as you read too. I sighed as I roll over and off my bed with a thud and a dramatic 'Oof', I continued my journey towards my drawer, grabbed a random tank top and some joggers. I kicked open my door and rolled my way down the hall towards the bathroom.

  As they say Rock and roll.

"What are you doing Destry?"

A low chuckle hoarse yet smooth could be heard above me as I glanced up at the man who doesn't deem me as a disappointment, and certainly understands my creative ways.

"Oh you know, admiring the floor's battle scars. Wondering how many were caused by those torturous disgraceful foot wear, dare I say it, heels? Who would do such a cruel thing father?" I grinned up at him, genuinely happy to see him, and not the plastic doll.

Barbie would most likely screech inhumanly and scold at me for my unladylike actions, I mentally scoffed at that, and sounding like a dying hyena is ladylike?

Father now gave a full on belly laugh, he knew who I was referring to, that would do such a cruel thing. Barbie, she practically lived in heels. I smiled up at my father, with his tousled dirty blonde hair and gray like blue eyes. I felt good that I made him laugh, I may disappoint the real life doll but I never disappoint to make my father smile. A real smile, nowadays I barely seen him smile around Barbie, more like a grimace, like: what happened to the women I fell in love with and who is this evil spawn of plastic dolls?

"Is that so? Have you captured any of those evil dust bunnies creating dust storms for those poor creatures in those cracks?" My father smiled as he played along.

One thing I got from my father was his imagination, I heard stories about Barbie falling in love with goofball ways. Funny thing is, she loves it on Isaac, aka my father, but despises it on the child she created with him. How interesting.

I guess he just wears it well. He really can make anything look good, and I can't lie about that. He was practically ripped off from those hot boys shown in magazines, utterly perfection. I scrunched up my nose as I registered what just went through my head. No I am not calling my father hot. He's handsome, but not hot to me. Now your probably thinking what's the difference, he's one huge chunks of fresh meat or whatever goes on in your horny minds. But hot, practically refers to a erotic attraction towards that person deemed hot. That's just gross. Definitely not something I feel for the wonderful man in front of me.

"Yes sir, I have yet to capture the last remaining ones to force them to do my bidding. Dust storms shall appear in the bedroom of those torturous heels." I tried to keep a straight face as I said that.

"Ah, sweet revenge." Father bit his lip, trying to do the same

We both burst out laughing at the same time. I felt warm inside as corny as it sounds at our rare father and daughter bonding.

Father ruffled my hair as he walked over me.

"You better return those cotton soldiers safely to their families."

I saluted him in response and received one in return before he turned the corner and into his office. He probably thought I didn't notice the bags under his eyes or his rapid blinking, as if he was trying not to pass out. But knowing it would do no good but put him in a foul mood I decided to let it pass. Especially after he left in a good one.