#someofusareblind

[headwitchbitch]

The Progeny || Fiona & Cordelia

I can name the exact sounds a house makes when it crumbles, down to each moaning floorboard. I found out one day, by accident, when we were tearing down the walls in the kitchen to make room for cabinets. All hammers and nails and screeching drywall, dust from the ceiling falling on your back like snow. I almost remember how we got here. How one morning I looked at you and did not recognize you over my coffee. Somehow, overnight, inexplicably, your face had become a reminder for the things I no longer had.

We couldn't agree on a paint color for the cabinets. You never liked blue until now. There were so many things hidden. That phone call with your mother, where you asked her what she thought about me and she said, “I don’t know, honey.” That time I was home alone and took a bath and touched myself solely for myself. My moans coming out of the drywall like ghosts because I love my own blood. How it sings.

And I don’t know if you heard what I heard, when everything crashed to the ground like a sinner to his knees, but it was all there. Every quiet moment, when we thought we were alone. When we thought the hallways were aching with us. Your mother’s tight-lipped smile whispering through the vents, “You can do better. I’m sorry, but you can.”

Everyone else’s tongues are in our walls. I think sometimes that everything is about loneliness. How we bump into it. Sacrifice for it. Leave our families for the taste of it. Maybe that’s what was behind the wallpaper in the bedroom, all rotting and quiet. But we were young, so we looked the other way.

People always say that it hurts at night and apparently screaming into your pillow at 3am is the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken.

But sometimes, it’s 9am on a Tuesday morning, and you’re standing at the kitchen bench waiting for the toast to pop up, and the smell of dusty sunlight and earl gray tea makes you miss him so much, you don’t know what to do with your hands.

Fiona had experienced her first heartbreak at the age of fifteen. She was young, she was foolish, she thought she was in love. This was way back when, when Fiona's soul was probably still intact, when she used to feel so many emotions. Thinking back now, rampaging hormones were probably at fault for the profound emotions that surged through Fiona's arteries like a raging inferno. It was quite possible that Fiona had never been in possession of a soul. Fiona was water. Her first boyfriend was the drop of ink that descended into her glass. They changed each other. One for the better, one for the worse... Even at that age, Fiona's heart longed for roots, but her mind wanted wings. She couldn't bear to listen to their arguments any longer. From early on, she'd been an indecisive girl. She knew what she wanted. Fiona knew how to manipulate people into doing what she wanted. Fiona was wily, she always had been. She'd emerged from her mother's womb with a thirst for vengeance and brutality. Through heartache, Fiona learned that it wasn't wise to find sanctuary in anyone other than herself. She'd grown strong early on in life... immune to the ways of the world... insusceptible to vulnerability. 

If that was the case, what the hell happened to Fiona between the age of 15 and now? Fiona was sentimental now. She was becoming a victim of regret. 

How do you regret one of the best nights of your entire life? You don't. You remember every word, every look. Even when it hurts, you still remember.

How can you regret your own child... yet, in that same breath, confess your love for her in an expression that puts all words to shame? When Fiona glanced at her daughter, her beautiful little girl, in spite of being a grown woman, she saw everything that was never supposed to be... but the one thing that Fiona was most proud of. 

I do not love; I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit. I have none of the selfless love of my mother. I have none of the plodding, practical love. . . . . I am, to be blunt and concise, in love only with myself, my puny being with its small inadequate breasts and meager, thin talents. I am capable of affection for those who reflect my own world. — Sylvia Plath

Becoming a mother is a strange thing, to say the least. You can fight with your child all you'd like. You can curse your child's name and wish, in the back of your mind, that you'd never become their mother. You can despise your child. You can have a strained relationship with your child, as Fiona did with Cordelia... but at the end of the day, when the pieces have fallen into place and all is said and done, in spite of the complicated relationship that you have with your child... you will protect them. Hell or high water, you will fight for your child. The moment you stop showing affection... any sort of affection, even perplexing affection,  is the moment you stop being a mother... and become a monster. Cordelia looked at Fiona like she was some sort of savage. She viewed Fiona in a light that the older woman would never come to understand. They had their arguments, Fiona would grant Delia that... but no words uttered from Fiona's lips have ever been intended to be hurtful in their nature. Whereas most mothers slapped their children on the wrist as punishment, Fiona slapped Cordelia across the face. She would spit words of such rage and hatred in her daughter's direction, but Fiona was nothing if not sincere. 

Fiona was a complicated woman. Cordelia had her number. The two women had been playing this game for so many years, but beneath all the disgust... the loathing... the mutilation... she knew that her mother loved her. Fiona wasn't able to express love. Christ, she didn't even celebrate her kid's birthday. Fiona hadn't engaged in such a trivial act of kindness--appreciation for her beautiful Delia--ever since she'd been a little girl. In those days, Delia had gotten the most lavish of gifts. She was looked upon my strangers, eager to take a peek at the Supreme's one and only daughter, if only for one time... Celebrities... Kings... Queens... Cordelia could have chosen to rule the world. Instead, she'd landed herself in this shithole Academy, and would remain so, probably until the day she died. 

If the girl kept it up... she'd see that day sooner than she was hoping for. 

I once knew a man who was heir to the throne of a great kingdom, he lived as a ranger and fought his destiny to sit on a throne but in his blood he was a king. I also knew a man who was the king of a small kingdom, it was very small and his throne very humble but he and his people were all brave and worthy conquerors. And I knew a man who sat on a magnificent throne of a big and majestic kingdom, but he was not a king at all, he was only a cowardly steward. If you are the king of a great kingdom, you will always be the only king though you live in the bushes. If you are the king of a small kingdom, you can lead your people in worth and honor and together conquer anything. And if you are not a king, though you sit on the king’s throne and drape yourself in many fine robes of silk and velvet, you are still not the king and you will never be one.

It is a shame, really... that the daughter of the Supreme, the Queen of witches, grew up to be nothing more than a peasant chasing after a simple life and a husband that wasn't worth a damn. Cordelia may have inherited Fiona's good looks, but the girl didn't possess any detectable intelligence, nor did she have a sense of humor. Jesus Christ. Where did Fiona go wrong? What the hell happened to her daughter? Of all mothers in the world, Fiona should have given birth to the progeny.

... But that was just another check on Fiona's list of regrets. And it was all Fiona's fault, too. 

I guess you shouldn't trust your tongue when your heart is bitter.

[headwitchbitch]

Taupe and Tears || Fiona & Cordelia

Death twitches my ear. "Live," he says, "I am coming.” ― Virgil Publius Vergilius Maro

Fiona certainly felt that her death was approaching--sooner than she would have hoped--but there was nothing that she could do about it. She was exhausted, her limbs heavy, almost as if they were anchors, drowning her out at sea. Fiona had secrets, and lots of them. Between her mysteries and this god damn cancer, she wasn't sure which fate would claim her life first, but she was certainly hoping to take the route that held less pain, and wished to avoid burning at the stake. It was coming, too. She could feel it in her bones, just as she could feel herself blossoming into the coven's next Supreme so many years ago. Fiona was feeling her own mortality, and was experiencing how it would feel to have it ripped away--yanked out of her grasp, out of reach--and flushed down the toilet. Death was coming, and she felt it. Her soul was singing this song... a song of such despair. It was difficult to explain, and she could barely find the words to explain it to another person, let alone herself, but it was there. This song was loud in her ears, reverberating within the walls of her mind... an echo that just wouldn't seem to fade. Fiona had long since stopped trying to make the melody--a dangerous melody, a dark one--disappear. She'd never been a woman that was known to quit, but she was exhausted. Utterly exhausted. And quite frankly, feeling counterproductive.

“It's better to burn out than to fade away.” ― Neil Young

Fiona was fading. With each day that passed, it was almost as if she had grown paler... translucent. It made perfect sense, too. The blossoming Supreme--one of the little peckerheads in the Academy--was murdering Fiona. Brutally. Each morning, she woke up, throwing up. She vomited the contents of her stomach until there was nothing left to emerge on the surface but bile. The bitter liquid burned, but not as much as the question that burned in Fiona's mind on a daily basis... will today be the day?

Meningeal carcinomatosis. That's what the doctor called it. Tiny seedlings that the cancer planted in the lining of my spine. The little bastards are Satan's diet pill. I used to think I understood pain. A burn, a cut, a broken bone. Heartbreak... But this is as if I've been dipped in the River Styx and all the suffering of all the souls that ever were or will be has soaked my body. My body doesn't belong to me - not that I'd want it in this state. I'm starting to look less Samantha and more Endora every day. And what could be more painful than having to tell your child that you're going to die? They say love is the best medicine. 

The most abundant amount of money couldn't purchase a medicine that would cure the ailing Fiona. Her last hope was to coax Marie Laveau into sharing the secret with Fiona, but god knows the Supreme pissed away that opportunity the moment she'd stepped foot into the voodoo practitioner's shithole salon. 

... I have been to St. Louis No. 1 and I have seen the tomb of Laveau. Seen the fat tourists from Little Rock to Hackensack drawing crosses on the bricks, making wishes to the bones of Marie Laveau. Little do they know, all they have to do to get their wishes granted was come down here to the ninth ward and get their hair braided. 

Not only had Fiona pissed her own immortality away, but Cordelia's fertility, as well. There was no way in hell that Marie would ever assist the daughter of her sworn enemy. Fiona's daughter didn't need that half-assed ritual, anyway. It was a bunch of bullshit, all of it. 

Fiona could remember the day she'd dropped her daughter off at the Academy. Cordelia was dressed in a taupe gown with a white turtleneck tucked beneath, her blonde tresses splayed as straight as an arrow upon the ample material. She had been crying moments prior to arriving at Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies and Gentlemen with her mother at her side, an encouraging hand settled atop Cordelia's spine. Fiona had insisted that this was the finest of education that Cordelia would ever receive in her lifetime, but Cordelia saw through that, even at the mere age of eighteen. She had been in her mother's presence long enough to able to recognize when Fiona was bullshitting her way through a situation, just so the outcome would emerge favorable in Fiona's behalf. Most people weren't so intelligent, but Cordelia was the exception--though Fiona never bothered to share that with her daughter. 

Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies and Gentlemen was a school located in New Orleans, Louisiana. The Big Easy. It was an academy dedicated to teaching the art of witchcraft. For centuries, young witches had been able to disguise what they truly were, a masquerade that was put up in an endeavor to ensure the survival of Salem descendants, but one could never be too sure. There were always threats present, especially in this day and age. Girls, and boys, who were enrolled in the Academy's courses were presented with an opportunity to learn how to defend themselves, to stay on the down low, and to become knowledgeable with their ancestors past.

In a way, Cordelia was somewhat excited to be attending a school of such promise and high praise, from what she had heard from Fiona, but she knew better. She'd told Fiona several times, but it wasn't as if Fiona was really interested. She just wanted to get the god damn kid out of her house, so she could go on living the rest of her life--without the baggage of a child weighing her down. Cordelia knew that, around Fiona, it wasn't wise to get your hopes up. Everyone knew that. It came as no surprise. Fiona lived to see that your hopes and dreams came crashing down around you, and she laughed from the sidelines as it happened.

Unfortunately, Cordelia had been stuck with this woman since birth, but she was certain that the feeling was mutual. Fiona had been stuck with Cordelia, not the other way around... in Fiona's eyes, at least.

There were so many parallels that existed in their relationship. It was almost impossible to mistake the two women as anything other than mother and daughter. 

Cordelia was well aware of the fact that she was a mistake. Fiona reminded her of this often. She made sure of it, ensuring that the girl would never forget it. She'd told the tale time and time again, how Cordelia wasn't meant to be conceived, but Fiona was wild in her prime, careless, with a nasty habit of believing that she was invincible, that the parties and the rowdy nights out around town would never fade. Fiona had been kind enough to tell Cordelia about the evening of her conception, how Fiona had been drunk off of her ass, her legs parted for the next man to walk in through the door. She was the Supreme. She had it all. One thing, however, that she did not have, was a form of contraceptive, and it was a mistake that would haunt her for the next eighteen years, as Fiona would often say.

Eighteen years. It was Cordelia's birthday, and her only present was her mother dropping her off at the Academy's doorstep. Fiona had her second husband waiting in the car, shouting, demanding that she hurry it along. He was loaded. He could have retired at the age of thirty and would have been set for the rest of his life, but that was before Fiona walked in. She stole every penny that he had ever made, and sucked the very soul from his body when he was no longer of use to her. Then, it was time to find husband number three.

The past was the past, however.

Ever since Fiona's arrival in New Orleans, she'd been trying to mend her strained relationship with Cordelia. Both women were stubborn--headstrong--and despised being within ten feet of each other. Fiona supposed that it was her fault, but she didn't believe that she should have been the only one considered to be at fault for the tension that was blatantly obvious in their relationship. 

If Cordelia had listened to her mother at all...

...if she hadn't ran off with that loser...

...Did the girl understand anything at all?

Fiona seriously doubted it. Her daughter was as naive as they come, much to Fiona's disdain. 

It's been said that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree... If that was the case, what the hell happened to Cordelia? 

What you lose in blindness is the space around you, the place where you are, and without that you might not exist. You could be nowhere at all. - Barbara Kingsolver

Philosophers have often said that, when someone goes blind, their other senses are heightened. The drop of a pin as it collides with the wooden panels of the canvas below can be heard with not much concentration--little to no effort-to hear such a sound that would ordinarily be out of earshot. The aroma of a warm apple pie--baking in the oven, the distinctive fragrance of it permeating the air--could be detected so easily. The taste of a bitter chunk of pineapple could taste as if it were a droplet of poison upon an innocent tongue. And touch... a simple caress--a gentle graze of another's flesh against your own-could elicit so many emotions from the receiver, so many images--vibrant images... images that vibrated with luminosity, an incandescence that could put the sun's rays to shame.

Fiona could remember that day in the hospital... the day when her daughter had learned of her blindness... like none other. It is a memory that continuously haunts Fiona, in spite of her daughter's restored eyesight... by that god damn firecrotch that couldn't even be bothered long enough to find a set of eyes that matched.

Nonetheless, Fiona was thankful. Not only for herself, but for her daughter. 

Enough bullshit! Anything else you want to tell me now? Because I will see it sooner or later. I had to go blind to see things about you I couldn't see before. A bad cosmic joke. It's a different kind of clarity, an absolute clarity I've never had. The images almost vibrate with light.

Roses pull in love and romance. That's not what I'm looking for right now. I need chrysanthemums. All kinds of them, for strength and protection.

Madison wasn't the next Supreme. The hallmark of any rising Supreme is glowing, radiant health. Madison had a heart murmur. She kept it monitored, she kept it secret. So, I'm sorry, Myrtle. For 40 years, you've been barking up the wrong tree. My mother is the Supreme for a reason.

So many memories rushed through Fiona's mind, memories of Cordelia... her pain. It made Fiona ache. Cordelia had been unnecessarily harsh with her mother the day that she returned to the Academy with her asshole husband, but it was an understandable situation, to say the least. Understandable.

Almost.

Fiona was doing everything that she could in order to release this grudge that she was holding against her daughter, but it was difficult, for lack of a better word, to forget wrongdoings. As much as Fiona wanted to try to mend their relationship, Cordelia was making it impossible. She was a stubborn woman, much like her mother... but, the polar opposite of Fiona, if it made any sense at all. 

Which, it didn't.

And that didn't surprise Fiona. Not at all. 

Lord, help her... she was going to regret her next decision. She knew that much, but her doubt of the situation did nothing to stop Fiona from departing her room and ambling down the hallway in search of Cordelia. She was almost positive that the conversation--an understatement--probably a screamfest, would end in another argument...

But she was trying, and that was more than Cordelia could say.