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Last minute indulgenceSomewhere in the wretched dark, there was a faceThe color of dead clouds with eyes black like the plagueWith hair white as the snow and deep wounds cut in such artIt was yours truly; that demon with the bitter heartThe demon who could swap fingers, heads, and eyesThe one who bathed in murk; who indulged in spiteLong ago was he known to steal little soulsBut now a no one in the icy tracks he stumblesLeaving behind a withered breath, a faded trailOver seas and marshes, mumbling, reciting talesIn his old bones they were a-creakin'In his old age had he been screamin'Every day there was a pain in his neck<div align="center">
My Story My name is Annabelle. At least, it used to be when I was still alive. I was born on October 31, 1942. Being an only child, I was raised to be independent. My parents were both spies, but were captured and killed as prisoners of war. I too was captured, at 14, eventually and questioned on what I knew. I was tortured. They cut me, tried to drown me, and shocked me. That's how I got my "joker's scar" on the side of my mouth. One day, I was strapped down to a metal table. They electrocuted me, but something went wrong. January 4, 1943. My death was prolonged for hours upon hours until I evetually slipped away at only 15. Yet, my soul was unrest
My Parents' PartingI remember the day my parents got captured like it was yesterday. It was a rainy day, a bad omen I suppose. Our family had just bought a new TV, we were the only ones on the block who could afford one. I knew my parents were Russian spies trying to get nuclear information from their jobs in America. What they didnt tell me, was the risks that came with it. Being a young child, I thought being a spy was the coolest thing, but I soon learned the opposite.Sitting on the couch, my father and mother with me in the middle. There was a loud bang on the door and voices yelling outside. I remember looking up at my dad, fear struck his eyes. I looked over to mother, the expression of panic written all over her face. The front door busted open, S.W.A.T. teams and police of all kinds flowed into our house like ants running away from thier flooded hill. Dad threw me behind the couch before the men could see me. As they tu
My Scar.It was pouring rain. I could tell because I could hear it pounding against the cieling of my cell. There were no windows, so I wouldnt be able to know for sure. By myself, I sat against the east wall, face burried in my lap. I felt like a trapped animal with no hope left.
I heard the bars of my cage open. I looked up to see two pairs on hands reach down and haul me to my feet. I learned the hard way not to speak or argue with them, so I just let them drag me to my next torture procedure. I knew nothing, yet they didnt believe me...
They sat me down on a cold, wooden chair. Cold dark brown eyes looked down on me. "How did your paren