[Journal 4][P][Sickly Dream][Loading...]

I hear every so often, that some people remember their own birth. I don’t. My first memory is when I was two of my father holding me- “I could not have created a better child myself.” He said as he held me aloft in the warm sunlight in safe, leather-gloved hands. They smelt of oil. My mother stood next to him, smiling happily with her long hair tied back in a pale blue dress, “Look at how her hair catches the light, my summer love- Truly, a winner of the genetic lottery…” He pulled me back into his chest, the both of them looking down at me and I remember the smile his lips pulled into- “Let’s kill the others.”

Father has always had his own way of doing things. Growing up, I remember us traveling often- never staying more than a couple of nights somewhere. I never knew why for a long, long time- I found out why when I was 7 years old.


We were well fed… well cared for, my sisters and I. I still don’t know today if they were really my sisters by blood, but that's how he introduced them to me. Father loved my mother in a curious way; I knew it was ‘love’ but there was something… off about it… I don’t know if he brought the girls because he liked to catch them or because my mother wanted them. But he brought them and she was happy to take care of them… It all began to unravel when she fell sick and my father moved us for one of the last times. That was the night I found out at 7 years-old. That night, he gathered us in the living room- my three sisters and I, four of us total- “Girls. Your mother is very, very sick. We will be staying here awhile, until she is healthier.” We didn’t know what that meant and he sent us off to bed. Father had to come in and explain to us, who were packing our things to leave in the morning- that we needed to unpack. In the night, I left the room to go and get a glass of water from the kitchen, and I saw it-

Father was handing over a jar with a pair of eyeballs floating in it, and a bag with a severed leg on ice, to a man in a black coat- “As requested.” My father said and the man handed over a metal case then took the body parts and hastily left, but my father turned to me, “Hello baby girl- I’ve been thinking… this is a needed moment for us.” I was terrified. “A good moment...One I’ve been waiting for for quite a while,” I wanted to run back to my room but my legs only shook instead of moved. “I have decided. You will be a butcher and follow in my footsteps. With my beloved sick, we must be precautious and we can't have her be destitute, can we?”

[WC: 520 ]
[ Entry 1 of 6 ]

At seven, I learned that a ‘Butcher’ is what he called himself and he will spin you a beautiful tale. He will make you think he is Robin Hood… as he made me think for a long time. He will say things like, ‘We’re helping the community’, ‘We are saving the planet’, ‘We are being eco-friendly’, and ‘We are doing population control for this ecosystem’. My father is a liar. He is a murderer. He is a monster. He is a vandal in the night. If I didn’t know better, I would assume that my father is the thing other parents fear when they tell their children not to talk to strangers. I still don’t know better… I know that he catches people and he derived pleasure from it. My father catches people his “Clients” want… for parts. A pair of eyes here, an arm and a heart there, a liver maybe- anything- and he harvests the requested pieces and sells the rest. Nothing goes to waste in his line of work… like a real butcher. These are people. Nothing is wasted. Actual, living, breathing humans with families that love them and people who worry about them. My father says that the fear that runs rampant in their eyes and causes them to shake on the floor?- “Ah, that’s just flavoring the meat. Makes the parts viable and usable, baby girl.” He catches them, chops them up then sells them and the first month after he made me watch every second of it. “You’re going to be an excellent butcher, dear.” I didn’t know what to say. That night, when I found out, my father put me to bed and tucked me in. A week later, he moved us into another temporary house, then moved us to ‘the Farm’- a big house with a drain and a table in the basement on a lot of land. No neighbors around for a good mile or so in each direction. “The country air will be good for your mother’s recovery… and the basement has all that we need, dear.” Then it began.

For a month straight, my father’s routine was mine. He came to collect me in the morning- I was expected to be dressed and ready before he came- then we went to the basement. Father had what he called ‘The Call List’- requested parts from Clients and the prices they offer to pay. Father calls them the night before and negotiates a price and makes me listen. “My rates are firm because I have an expensive, nosey wife.” Father says but it's a lie; sometimes, Clients need to ‘hear personal problems for relatability’. “You need to be firm only with our rates… we’ll talk more on that after your coming of age, dear.” Then, we went to fetch ‘the animals’. I had to shadow him and watch him lure them, catch them, then bring them home. “Now- we can begin. Pay attention.” I did and it was horrific. I squirmed and voiced I wanted to leave- “No. You need to learn.” A month’s worth of every moment watching him. Then, he began to bring in the ‘Strays’. He told me they were my sisters; they looked close enough to be my actual sisters, in the beginning. The Strays varied; sometimes, they were fresh born babies and sometimes, my age or older. My three original ‘sisters’ began to vanish one-by-one. Some times, there were ten Strays then the next day, only one. During these times, I don’t remember seeing much of Mother. “She’s sick, dear; She needs to rest, let’s not bother her.” He would say and change the topic- “Add your chakra to the scalpel or the bonesaw; it makes the blade sharper, quieter; It’s rude to bother the neighborhood, dear.” As if our miles-away neighbors could actually hear the undiluted screams from the people he cut up. Sometimes he drugged them to make them silent, paralized but aware- sometimes, he ‘liked the background noise’. Father was an attentive teacher over the next two years; he taught me ‘the family business’ of being a Butcher and he brought in someone to train me.

[WC: 693]
[ Entry 2 of 6 ]

My days turned into blurs of learning things one would learn in Ninja Academy and watching father bring home ‘Strays’; watching the number of my household rise and wane like the tides. Some stayed, but the others- “OH, them? Oh, they were no good. Best to not trouble yourself.” My nights were shadowing and learning, watching him carry out his dastardly work; the one time I tried to call another adult over to catch him or report him, he showed up before me as if he sensed it and quickly dragged me back home. Then… again, the Strays. He just seemed to be collecting them, a year from when it began. He lured them in, gave them meals and tucked them in like the father he was in my childhood. Mother grew better and became more active in the house- several times she asked to ‘go back to how things used to be’. Father would look over at her, “For now, watch the home until you recover fully.” Mother was never allowed to give my sisters more attention than she did me and Father was quick to curb it by clearing his throat or coughing. I did not always need to watch him harvest. Father left sometimes without me and would be gone for days, sometimes weeks, and the routine was always the same when he returned home- Mother always seemed to know first. He came in and Mother would welcome him home, take his things and put them away as he went to bathe, then he came down and she set out a hot dinner and ate with him. She cleaned up- he hated disarray- and he would come around in his own time to her as I watched. “My summer love, come and keep me company.” He’d coo and purr darkly- the same way I imagine a pedophile would to a child, with sweetness and underlying venom and ill-intent- but she would smile and happily leave with him. One time, I crept to the basement door and put my ear to it, to hear them and I heard nothing. I grew worried that he had killed her too until I would see her the next morning. Glowing, giddy, floating about the house on cloud nine.I always wondered about their relationship and I got a better look when I came of ‘Age’. It was the time I got my first period- or ‘monthly cycle’, whatever you want to call it. By then, there were 6 permanent sisters, all deemed ‘good enough’ by father. It was the last day I was allowed to speak to them- “The time is here. The time has come.” Father mumbled, mostly to himself, “It’s here. It’s HERE.” I didn’t understand until he stepped into the doorway of my room, “Your mother will speak to you, daughter.” He said before he pulled me from my room and down the hall, passed the open-door rooms of my “sisters”. Those that remained longest, younger than me, looked as if they could be my actual blood-sisters but I still don’t know. To my knowledge, my mother carried children faithfully to term and Father stayed home longer and longer in the last few months of every pregnancy- but any babies brought into the home were accompanied by another child or two and not often looking alike. This day, he opened the door to their room and stood in the hallway, “Go on… she’s waiting for you.” He purred darkly and I gulped before walking into the wood-floored room and saw her in the back, left corner of the room- my favorite corner. I entered and he quietly shut the door behind me. My mother looked over and gave me her small, warm smile,

“Come, my dear.” Her nicknames were ‘Summer Love’, ‘Quiet Love’ and ‘Darling’ but her true name I had only ever remembered because of its beauty. Bhelorah. “Let’s talk.”

[ WC: 653 ]
[ Entry 3 of 6 ]

I went over to her. I loved the Mother's section of the room. Father put bookcases along the entire left wall, then a couple to enclose the space in. The only span not covered by a bookcase was a large window underscored by a small bookcase. A large plush rug, meticulously taken care of that was red and gold laid on the dark floor; perfectly without a centimeter of space between the rug and the space at the bases of the bookcases. Mother sat in her chair- high-backed, tufted, comfy and a vibrant red velvet, flanked on the right by a gold lamp with a gold shade and to the left by an elbow-height, medium-sized dark wood table. Dustless. Spotless. The table had a large mug on a coaster, gently steaming and now empty plate on a coaster as well so no rings in the wood. Her hand gestured to a chair in front of her- matching hers. I sat down, “Your father tells me you are excelling in your training. He looks forward to you working alongside him.”

“...I’m glad he’s pleased.” I answered as she closed her book and set it on the table, “I have reservations.” She raises an eyebrow and looks at me, “Am I to take people from their families as well?” Mother levels her expression, purses her lips into a tight,fine line and replied slowly,

“That is… dependent on you as a person and your father as a teacher…” She voiced and I ask,

“Has he always been a Butcher? Have you always been so compliant to his crimes? It… It can’t be legal to just flippantly cut and sell actual people.” I ask and she waits until I finish before she replies,

“Yes… he has always been a Butcher… a third-generation Butcher, to be specific. No, I have not been compliant, not always.. But sometimes, you must pick your battles.” Mother said and asked, “Have you ever not had a roof over your head? Or food in your belly? Or a safe place to sleep with a comfy bed to sleep in? Or clothes that fit you?” I had had all of those and experienced them all. She looked me in the eye,

“Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made and it is up to you, how to interpret them for yourself.” Mother said and I shuddered as she paced slowly, “Is this not something you are willing to do? Because if you do not wish to be a Butcher… tell me now. You’re bleeding now, which means that you are a woman and as far as your Father is concerned, you need to make a decision… but if this is not what you want… say so.” I swallowed and nodded,

“I do not want to be whatever Father is.” I answered and she looked… conflicted. Mother looked away and nodded slowly, “...What do I do now?” She clenched her hand into a fist and tapped it lightly against her plush lips in thought before she looked at me,

“Go. Pack your things and run.” She said and my heart skipped a beat, “Tell your father I want to speak to him… I will stall him.”

[ WC: 533 ]
[ Entry 4 of 6 ]

“...Will he hurt you?” I asked and she gave me a sad smile,

“I lost my ability to run a long time ago… you need to be fast for the both of us.” She said, “I will be fine.” I took a deep breath and nodded but I left- I gave her and her book a last look before I shut the door behind me and went to my room. It wasn’t long before I heard my father’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and he once more appeared in my doorway.

“What did she say?” He asked eagerly, “Are you ready?” Before I could respond there was a crash from down the hall and a yelp, the wraith of a man in my doorway completely abandoned me and flew to my mother’s room as I looked out, he opened the door, “Bhelorah-” He said and mother’s voice weakly wafted out, “I’m so sorry, I lost my balance-” “Leave it, you’ll hurt yourself.” He said as he vanished into the room and shut the door behind him. I took that as my opportunity to pull out my small bag and pack hastily. The first time I ran away, I don't remember how far I got before my father caught me and dragged me back to the house. I was afraid he would beat me to death but as he tossed me back into my room and moved to step past the threshold, Mother shouted from down the hall,

“Augustus, not another step!” Father pulled away as the door slammed in his face and I hid my bag as they argued in the hallway before it stopped. I waited until there were no more sounds and opened the door to see Father shutting his bedroom door, looking at me,

“Velvetine.” Father hissed lowly and I shrunk, “You have no right to turn your mother against me; NONE. You have no right to rile her up, you know she is sick.” Father said and straightened, “Tomorrow, we will talk more.”

He stayed true to his word but the next day, Mother stayed in bed propped against some pillows. The curtains were drawn in the room to keep out the sun; her lamp was on to give light but she looked sickly as he sat next to her on the bed and I stood at the foot of the bed while he tried to entice her to eat something- “Come, my summer love.” He purred darkly as he held a small plate for her; fruits and some small pieces of bread. She covered her mouth and looked green so he sighed and set the plate aside as she took slow, deep breaths and rested her hand back down in her lap. “You come from a line of Butchers, Velvet.” He began, “My father and siblings; all Butchers. Do you know what makes you so special?” She didn't have an answer, “You were born out of a Butcher and a Butcher Wife; the relationship is, traditionally, purely symbiotic. Platonic. There is never meant to be a romantic, sexual incline to the relationship.”

[ WC: 518]
[ Entry 5 of 6 ]

“...A Butcher Wife? You never told me about that before…” Velvetine answered,

“You are my heir; you will be a Butcher.” He responded matter-of-factly and continued, “A Butcher’s role you know in depth; but a Butcher’s Wife, no matter the gender, is to ensure the total obliviousness of the ecosystem of a predator; there must always be balance.” He told her, “With your mother’s sickness, I have been both roles; but with your unruliness today, I am beginning to think you may be more suited for the latter.”

“...You don’t trust me.”

“I think you are weak.” Her father said bluntly, her mother looking at him sadly, “I think I wanted you to be a Butcher so badly that I was blind to the fact that you have no talent for killing and find no joy in it, you don't take pride in it, and you take no satisfaction in a line of work that has been sacred to our family for years.” Her mother looked back, “Tomorrow, you will begin the Last Walk.” She hesitated,

The Last Walk was a two year period before Butchers were anointed with the title and then sent out to find their own territory. It was used to educate on what the world offered and allow them to plan ahead on what village or community they would inhabit to work within, to plan ahead. It was supposed to begin in a year but now he had ordered the timeline up.

Earlier in the day, her mother had begun throwing up and her father had stopped his work to look after her; her sisters just watched and whispered promises of keeping them both at bay to buy her time. But Velvetine left. She took her bag, her memories and her necklace of their god, Jashin, with her and tried to leave them in her wake, in the dark night. In her bag was a piece of paper with a phone number on it- the one to the house phone that her father answered almost as religiously as he killed for God and Glory. Clients called and she had watched many times as he balanced the receiver between his shoulder and the side of his face, working and speaking casually as if it was all natural to him.

Maybe being a Butcher wasn’t for her- but she wasn’t going to be a Butcher Wife. She was going to take this time to show that she had what it took to care so little about the population. She was going to prove to her family and her God that she had what it takes since now?


Once more, Velvetine found herself waking up in her bed and looking around, confused. Was that really a dream? What if her mother really was that sick? She grabbed her journal and began to record this one as well.

[ WC: 507]
[ Total WC: 3424 ]
[ Entry 6 of 6 ]

[CLAIMS]
[Claiming:  2 ,625 WC towards Damage Reduction Shield (previously 325/2950) to claim it // previous topic: HERE
Using 25% Max Stat discount on Yin Healing Wound Destruction Master from (Half-Handseals) previous progress is from WC Bank withdrawal to (Handsealless)(from 2500 WC jutsu cost to 1875) , and putting remaining 799 WC towards 1875WC (now 799/1875)]

Approved