Current mood:	nauseated
Entry tags:	can't one-up her easily, cursed up a storm, don't believe in change, erased memories, fairy tale princess, get a life, hiding it, i has a thump-thump, irony, memory lane, middle name is nostalgia, mr. bennet, omg it's a spiderbaby, papa suresh, primatech paper, regretfully yours, the haitian, what sarah said, who are you really?

013 ][ everything else unravels
private ][ cursed hackable

There was a commonly used technique, whenever partnering up with the Haitian. Well, I suppose 'partnering' is almost too generous, in a sense. He never spoke, never argued. Just did as asked, performed all his tasks with near-frightening alacrity. The only one in the Company who I remember plainly to have often broke the general rule: One of us, one of them.

We were both members of 'them,' after all.

Some might have called him a tool. I might even admit that he was, in certain respects, just that, although I loathe to think of any person as a tool, as a means to an end. It's one of those truths that you keep your eyes closed to, the fact that you're just another cog in a well-oiled system. Just a highly persuasive agent, and the moment that persuasiveness wears off, you're out of the game. Sylar would know.

The technique is to leave the guilt. Leave the emotion. Memories are a funny thing, after all, some aspects of it revolving around the tangible, the names and dates and smile lines on a mother's face. Other aspects lie beneath the surface; muscle memory might be the best way to describe it. How your throat constricts when you think of something that makes you sad, or how little triggers of scent can make you smile. It seems ironic, that this is what the deities left me with, when I traded Sarah Ellis in for a life. Eden's life.

I have my files, from the Company, on my laptop. My mother died soon after I was born, my father was an alcoholic. My stepmother was abusive, moreso verbally than physically. Or, at least, that's what the files read, that's what the files have labeled her as, but there are others accounts included here. Accounts written in my handwriting, so I imagine that they're mine, even if I don't remember the exact details, and even if the picture included of my father is just some stranger, to me.

He left the family, apparently. It was falling apart at the seams, the bonds that tied us together, fighting and arguing and bickering day after day. I stayed in the corner of the room, watching TV, trying never to make a noise, because I was afraid. And one day, he packed up his belongings and went out that door, and I didn't say a word to stop him.

That's when the guilt comes in. The guilt and the shame, because he didn't take me with him, even though he'd clearly raised me after my mother passed, and I never really did want for food or shelter. His name doesn't even ring a bell, and the memories that this curse try to bring to the surface of my mind are blank, a faint buzz and white noise. And it's not him I hurt, not him that made Sarah Ellis disappear, not him that provided the final straw that broke the camel's back. That was my stepmother. I gave her a heart attack, unintentionally.

Instead, the question that this curse brings is singular.

Why didn't he want me?

If I'd cared a bit more, if I'd spoken up and reached for his hand, would he have stayed?

Life is a timeline. And people come and go on that very timeline, colored bars marking their presence, and we're all sorry to see them go. I wasn't all that upset, that moment before I died, because leaving first means that you don't have to watch others go, and after my father, I didn't want that to happen a second time. The smoky bars, one-night stands, I always left first, and I never looked back. My only regret was that I knew, from that phone call, that he'd come back, and I could have spent more time... well.

But here, I've been forced awake, and there's more longevity than I can handle, given that I've practically resigned myself into believing: everyone will leave. It's a matter of steeling one's nerves for it.

I expect someone will read this, as a result of the curse. And I do hope that people will, at least, own up to it if they do. Just so I know.

I'll remind everyone that my smile is very much real.


So, this pesky curse aside, I have a question to ask of the City. It's a little insignificant compared to all of the curse posts, I think, but my stomach begs to differ.

Are there certain foods which are easy on an upset stomach? I think I'm coming down with the flu or something along those lines, but it's getting difficult to keep anything down. Other than Saltine crackers and Gatorade.

And I'm getting a little tired of Saltine crackers and Gatorade.