abby ramble

I woke up to a body that was still warm. Its previous owner departed only hours before I came into being, but already I was burdened by her expectations.

My father claims he returned me to life, but I know that now to be a lie. I was born in that moment, most likely the result of one of my kind that he coerced into doing the deed, but that never stopped him from believing that I was his little girl resurrected. He placed me right back into her roles, and with no other guidance, I did my best to play pretend to please the only person in my life. Perhaps if I could follow his directions, I would eventually become that girl. I wouldn't feel this tug in my chest anymore that something was very wrong.

It wasn't long at all before it became clear that I just couldn't be who he wanted me to be. Nothing I did could satisfy what he really wanted, and what started as mere frustration grew into an awful, cloying jealousy. To him, I became a lot of things, but the one thing I never became was an individual. How I sometimes wish I could have been even so much as a doll in his eyes.

But dolls are loved. I was despised.

 Unbeknownst to me, my azoth had been calling out, and someone eventually found me. She was fascinating. We shared the divine fire, but she was wonderfully imperfect. A mismatched array of spare parts determined to carve out her own path. My heart ached when I heard her speak of the pilgrimage. Such freedom! It was all that I never knew that I wanted. However, I was still afraid. It would mean letting go of a home that made me miserable, but it was all that I knew.

Then she saw my father strike me one night. She decided to return the favor to him, and he didn't get back up.

Despite everything, I can't be sad about that. It was an immense relief. No longer would I have to live in some dead girl's shadow.

I was free to be me.