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Camille Hammond's Blog Entry


Blog Entry
Sunday, Jan 22, 2017
Fuis le plaisir qui amène repentir

    Dodo l'enfant do,
    L'enfant dormira bien Vite
    Dodo, l'enfant do
    L'enfant dormira bientôt

    Soft words fall from tattered lips. Against the painful silence of still November air, a stark accent graces the words of a familiar French lullaby. It fills the air, breaking through the nothingness of the night with a false sense of comfort.

    Over a freshly stirred patch of earth, there's a girl. She's young. Blonde. She sits back on her heels with legs pressed into the soil. Mindlessly, her dirty fingers churn through the gravel, and the smell of newly disturbed dirt assaults her senses with no remorse. One quick glance would not offer any truth to her movement. No one could know whether she is digging or burying.

    Une poule blanche
    Est la dans la grange.
    Qui va faire un petit coco
    Pour l'enfant qui va fair' dodo

    Closer inspection would reveal scrapes and bruises mapped over her supple skin. Under her eyes were dark purple puffs of swollen indication that she hasn't slept in days. Over the bridge of her nose, a small lesion where her nose had been broken. Along her lips were cuts where knuckles had split her skin. Its not clear whether she's been beaten. Maybe she's been in an accident.

    Regardless. Fresh blood drips from the corners of her mouth. Whether or not it is her own remains unclear.

    Still, her hands work diligently against the cold, loose soil; the soothing sounds of the same lullaby continuously caressing the air.

    Dodo l'enfant do,
    L'enfant dormira bien vite
    Dodo l'enfant do
    L'enfant dormira bientôt

    Troubled irises which were once the most miraculous shade of sky blue now burned with the vibrant scorn of muddled gray and red. They're empty. Nothing lay beyond those eyes but hollowed out and ill intent. Camille's voice melts from a soft coo to a hoarse whisper. From her palm she drops two perfect white molars into the ground beneath her. There's blood painted across the enamel- and its clear that it is her blood. They'd been pulled from the back of her mouth.

    There is no more churning once the teeth have been buried. Now, she moves to grab a small dagger from the ground at her side. Its no larger than a letter opener, but is twice as sharp.

    Camille drags it across her palm, tearing at her flesh until blood springs freely from the wound.

    Tout le monde est sage
    Dans le voisinag

    Over the soil she spills her blood, seemingly unphased by the situation at hand.

    That is; until up through the dirt a long arm stretches, hand reaching up into the night from the depths of the earth.

    Il est l'huere d'aller dormir
    Le sommeil va bientô venir




    [As written by Matilde Beaumont]:

    The set of bones had existed once before, but was forgotten. It had never known life. It had never experienced the Roller coaster of emotions. Much like other people that walked the Earth, it had merely existed until the last day it wasn't there. The celestial blood ravaged the soil and connected each piece to fully gather the puzzle.  

    She could hear the lullaby as her muscles and blood started to build in a blanket of soil. Creation used the dirt cloaked over her to help her flesh cover up her open anatomy. One hand stretched forth to fiddle the tiny particles of dirt against her fingertips. Matilde didn't know quite yet what this sensation was. Only a few minutes later her mind sparked to life, and she could taste the filth against her lips. The dirt fell into the tiny gap she had created with her mouth.

    This was God's dirt, but she was no child of God. The blood that had created to her whispered quietly. A name. Camille. 

    Mes appels mère

    The voice it took her several minutes to realize belonged to her inside her own skull. She could speak, and more importantly she could understand. It was as if God created her himself, but no. She sprung forth as the dirt rained down her nude body. Blue eyes lit aflame as they opened for the first time. A staggered deep breath, as she glanced around God's Earth. Something from her back caused her a foreign sensation, that bent her feeble body forward.  

    Bones crunched hollowly as they rearranged and pressed into her flesh to break through. Her lips opened to produce a shriek, but no such sound traveled from them. Instead the horror was trapped behind her face. In her mind where she could hear herself talk. Why did her creator bring her here? The brittle bones finally stabbed relentlessly through the meat and dirt stained flesh. One large flap and she could feel the celestial blood hum a peculiar melody.     

    A lullaby.  
    Her mother's lullaby.  

    Her lips curled in a sneer of disgust. God's world. Narrowed eyes moved to glance to her creator, and using the intelligence the celestial blood granted her. She started her life questioning who gave it to her.


Posted at 11:19 am

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