An escapist from a conformist world.

What the hell do you want to know about me for? If you know that I exist, then you know whose blood courses through my veins. I'm a Reject by blood, and your conformist world won't change that. Ever. You see, I never did have a daddy. I was raised in a strict household by a good God-fearin' woman. She read the Bible daily, prayed before every meal, and even had me kneelin' by my bedside before I went to sleep to thank her God for all the things I did have, and even for the things I didn't. She never swore around me, and she even schooled me at home so those teachers out at the school couldn't tell me something she didn't want me to hear. Now, I know my momma wasn't always that way. At one point she was possessed, as she called it. Satan had taken her down a path of debauchery that she regretted. Momma had worked for a man named Charlie, at some whore house near the edge of town. It was because she had nothing, she said. Because her parents were gone and she needed to make a quick dollar. She said Charlie offered her that. All momma got from Charlie was a roof over her head, and knocked up by a regular customer. I suppose this is where I come in to the story. Momma didn't ever tell me the name of my daddy. At least, not until it was too late. In Ruggsville things had been going on. Bad things. Things that made you want to barracade your doors and board up your windows. People were going missing. Most often broadcast on the news was the disappearance of some cheerleaders from the high school. Momma said it was reasons like that why she never sent me off to school. What momma didn't know was that I wasn't going to end up a victim like those cheerleaders. I'm not a follower. I'm a leader. Come to find out, it's in my blood. I could only take so much of momma's God-babblin', and one night I decided to give her the opportunity to meet him. It was just us two, home alone, eatin' dinner when I gave her this gift. By the time I'd gotten her into the basement, she was weeping, repeating the Lords Prayer over and over and over. She screamed and pleaded with me as I tied her to a chair in the corner, and offered me forgiveness for my sins. I didn't want her forgiveness. You see, I didn't NEED her forgiveness. My blood was hot with fire, and I had the ghosts of hell itself backing me that night. Poor momma couldn't stop her screaming, so I had to sew her mouth shut. I still remember her wide, tear-filled eyes as I ran the needle through her flesh and tugged her lips shut with the thread. All I could hear after that was her muffled protests, which were better than the screaming at that point. Hours went by, and I began to explain to her where she'd gone wrong. I told her all about who I really was, despite her best efforts to 'raise me up right.' There had to be something more to me. I wasn't average, I was extraordinary. When she had calmed down enough, I cut the threads, allowing her a last opportunity to speak. Through bloodied and swollen lips she told me what I wanted to know. What'd I'd needed to know. Those over at the Firefly farm, the ones they'd been calling 'The Devil's Rejects' are my family. Cutter, the one they call 'Captain Spaulding,' is my father, which made his daughter, the one they call 'Baby,' my sister. It made sense. It made so much fucking sense! I kissed the poor woman on her forehead and gave my apologies. I wasn't sorry for what I'd done. I wasn't sorry for what I was going to do. I was sorry that she'd had to be the one to give birth to such evil, but that's the way it had to be. Momma bled to death that night after I slit her throat. After that night I watched the news daily, trying to see if they'd gotten any leads on where the three might be (they had a man named Otis with them as well). So far, nothing. There's a local Sheriff, John Quincey Wydell, who's huntin' 'em down. What that Sheriff doesn't know is that he's got a little competition. If that man should get in my way, may his God help him, because he won't survive it. I want to find my daddy. No, I NEED to find my daddy. His blood runs through my veins. His tendencies have shaped me through life, despite momma's Christian teachings. I'll find 'em, I will. Wydell better stay out of my way, 'cause I'm not stoppin' for no one. Momma always called me her little doll. So I suppose that's what you can call me too. Just watch out, this Doll bites.img alt="Skem9.com!" title="Get