Showing results by author "Yolanda Olson" in All Categories

I'm haunted. Not by ghosts, but by a face I can't quite remember. Eyes that shine so brightly each time I see them are now nothing more than a hazy memory. I'm consumed. The thoughts that whisper so quietly inside my mind when I'm sure I have this evil inside of me under control are becoming more persistent. I'm lost. I know where I need to be, but not quite sure if I'll get there. Will she ever show her face to me or will I always only see a blank slate of nothing?

Before I was discarded for the final time on the doorstep of this place, I had been treated as a hand-me-down. A pushover that no one wanted and needed to get rid of, but I was happier then. The rules were never as strict, the punishments nowhere near as brutal, and no unkind word was ever spoken to me above a whisper. Things changed after I felt the cane for the first time.

I haven't fallen down in days. That may not seem like much, but my God, it's such an accomplishment. Being made to stand and kneel repeatedly while he performs his rituals is exhausting, and I'm pretty sure that the welts on the bottoms of my feet are ready to pop. My knees. They're bruised, covered in dry blood and cuts; but I won't fall down. I can't fall down; that means he wins again and I get put down in the oubliette. Being in the dark never scared me; being alone was something I used to cherish until he took me. I just want to find the light now.

A boy and a girl met one night and fell in love. One was broken and delicate. The other was callous and violent. They hid their true selves from each other until it was no longer possible. They both know that people are cruel. They see what’s on the outside and never care to look past the surface. Secrets are kept close within, and while some are never shared, others come to light, bringing to bear the starkest truths. And this? This is the story of how the delicate girl and the violent boy began their love affair.

I was raised a poor girl in the streets of Sinaloa. When my family died during a turf war, I was taken away to Navolato to start over anew. I thought I would be safer here. That the life that had been taken from me in a hail of bullets and rage would stay where I left it. And that’s when he found me. El Señor. In his name, I shed the blood of his enemies and reap whatever rewards he deems fit. My name is Ana Sofia De la Cruz. Everyone knows me as La Carnicera. Either you’re with us or against us. And if you’re against us... corre, pequeño conejo.

Being the daughter of a man such as my father can have damning consequences, but even bigger rewards. I don’t fear him as others do, however, I do worry sometimes that he’ll find out that I’ve been whispering about things I shouldn’t have. It doesn’t matter. He’ll love me anyway because that’s just what fathers do. Forgive and forget. Love and let go. Up until recently, I was the shining stars reflected in my father’s eyes. My name is Tatiana Cancio. And if you thought that the men of this empire can be scary, wait until you cross the women.

I’ve always been different. I knew that long before anyone else did. All I ever wanted was to be loved and accepted for the person that I know that I am deep down inside. Instead, I’ve been mocked, ridiculed, and thrown to the wolves. When I was ready to give up, I saw him. He looks at me with such hunger in his eyes—a longing that I’ve never experienced before. He loves me with every frayed fiber of his being. No one will take him from me. I won’t allow it. Not when I finally have what I’ve always wanted.

I should have been there. I told her not to leave without me, but she didn’t listen. And now she’s gone. No one remembers her—not like I do. I refuse to let her memory die. She was a good girl and fell for the wrong kind of guy. It wasn’t her fault. I think that once I find him, I’ll be able to put the beast inside of me to rest. The one that feels nothing. The one that wants blood and vengeance. I’m sorry, Libby. I promise I’ll find him. Even if means going into the dark.

Someone once said that if you talk about the devil, he’s bound to appear. Most would keep silent, hoping that they’d never be found by such a monster, but I prayed for his touch every night. I knew the devil when I was a child and fell in love with him the first time he taught me that I wasn’t as damaged as I was led to believe. He cared for me, helped me learn how to smile and see the world in a different way. But they feared him, hated him. So they ripped him away from me. What they didn’t know was that he had already created a monster in his very image.

I deal in beautiful things. I'm paid to create unique masterpieces and I enjoy my work. I'm the best there is because I'm patient, kind, and quick. I wear the mask of humanity when I need to, and I play the part of just another stranger walking past you on the street, but there's something I want that I can't quite seem to get my hands on. For all of the blood I shed - for all of the flesh I've stripped, there's only one touch that I long to feel.

I've spent most of my time in a cage. A beautiful steel structure that gives me a sense of safety. I've been let out, and I don't like this. I can't tell if this is a mind game or if I'm no longer of use. Nothing seems real anymore, and I've been left alone. I want to be put back into the world I know, but he's been gone for days, and I don't know when he'll come home, or if he'll come home, and it breaks my heart.