Post by ariana harley lionford; on Dec 8, 2011 1:43:25 GMT -5
ARIANA HARLEY LIONFORD, SEVENTEEN, WAKEFIELD- PHOTOGRAPHER, STRAIGHT, INDEPENDENT Missing as of: August 27, 2011 ID: Ariana Harley Lionford. Aliases: Known to friends as Ari or Arina. Age: Seventeen. Eye Colour: Blue Hair Colour: Naturally black but may be dyed an array of other colours. Height: Five feet and four inches. Weight: One hundred and thirteen pounds. Distinct features: Tattoo on her left wrist of a skull. Extra Information: She was last seen in her bedroom after storming out of the family living room due to an argument with her parents. It was suspected that she may have been missing when she did not arrive for supper, but failure to appear for breakfast the next morning revealed that she had disappeared. Estimated time of disappearance is between five o’ clock and eight o’ clock at night. If anyone knows of her whereabouts or knows any information that may be of use, please contact the hotline number immediately. A reward is being offered. “Do not take that report seriously. Now before you freak out on me, I shall make something very, very clear. You have not reached the ultimate state of paranoia or schizophrenia in which you hear voices of people who are not there. You have not taken so many drugs that your brain cells short circuited and produced the delusion of my presence. You are not being haunted by my vengeful spirit even if you may wish that it were true so you could go stumbling off to the media for coverage. Do not consider calling a psychiatrist because you have not gone off the deep end, or I am at least not evidence of it. Do not call the police because I do not want to be found. I am alive, and I am well. I have not been kidnapped by a group of dim-witted, selfish pricks; I am not decaying under a mound of dirt with my limbs scattered within a mile’s radius; I am not fish food that has sunken sixty feet below with my feet trapped in slabs of concrete. “I don’t mean to disappointment you or your ridiculous fantasies, but the reality is this: nothing you imagination concocts will be the truth. So before you continue to amuse yourself, I’ll save you from wasting your time and raising your spirits for nothing. I am the one and the only Ariana Harley Lionford, and I am perfectly fine. The only thing that happened in England that night several months ago was that I broke free from the restricting trains of a society purely based on reputation and appearances, and with a bit of financial aid from a close friend of mine, I found myself in America. “This is not a silly rags to riches story. I did not land on some foreign continent with some thick, enchanting English accent, and my dainty appearance did not have well-off men falling all over themselves in a half-assed attempt to court me and win both my heart and hand in marriage. There are several reasons why this would never happen. First of all, I am not poor. Second, this is not my first time in America. Third, if I were to have any distinct accent, it would be Russian because though my home is in England, I spent a large portion of my life being raised in a boarding school in Russia. Fourth, I am not a damsel in distress, contrary to how my physique and taste for clothing may portray me as. Fifth, and finally, I am not some idiotic, hormone-driven teenager who fled her home without anything in mind. I have a plan of action. That plan does not include tossing away the hard work I exerted for something insubstantial and intangible like love. I have learned early on that the emotion is a mere hindrance that should never become the centre of my focus. And now that I have your full and undivided attention, I expect that you likely have a considerably poor first impression of me, and your mind is probably spinning from all this new information as you try to get a good grasp upon it in order to understand what exactly is going on. And because I am so inarguably kind, I’ll grace you with my sob story to reduce that headache you likely feel settling into your temples. “As I have stated before, I am Ariana, though most people “However, just this once, a story won’t be about her. This story is mine to narrate, and mine only. The story begins on the chilly night on December thirteenth when I was born.” As expected of a hospital room, everything was overly sterile, overly clean, and the scent of the antibacterial products used was nearly tangible in the air. It was artificially and blindingly white with everything scrubbed clean until any possible speck of dust was removed from every surface. On an elevated mattress rested a woman in her mid-twenties, and even though she looked a bit bedraggled, there was no denying that she was stunningly beautiful; her long, wavy blonde hair seemed like waves of gold, and they were properly matched with a pair of deep blue eyes and porcelain skin, giving her a doll-like appearance. She beamed at her husband while he leaned over her with an uncharacteristic ghost of a smile over his lips. At first glance, he seemed unsuitable for the radiant beauty with her angel-like presence because there was something gloomy and misanthropic about his jet black hair and brooding, cloudy grey eyes, but upon closer inspection, there was something picturesque and surreal about the scene, and it became nearly impossible to deny that they were made for each other. She cradled a newly born girl gently in her arms, and he looked at the baby, inspecting every feature of her tiny features. He held a toddler only a few years old, and she stared curiously, only knowing that this new child was supposed to be her younger sister. “Ariana,” the woman stated. “I think she’s an Ariana, don’t you?” The young man nodded in agreement, his smile growing until it was visible. “In many of my earliest memories, all the glory I am showered with for my successes has been snatched away by my sister because she has excelled and outshone me. Those of you cursed with those terribly flawless older siblings probably know what I mean when I say I dreaded being near her. Whenever we were even in the same room together, I could feel the weight of intense, judging looks. Looks that told me I could never reach the expectations that she had set for me. Because she was born before me, she paved a road that I needed to walk, and it seemed like I would face some sort of obstacle every few seconds. She had the uncanny ability to overcome her problems with grace and ease. In other words, she was damnably faultless, and you can’t beat perfection. To do that, you would have to set a new standard that’s simply unworldly. If I had a quarter for every time I heard people whispering about how I was second-rate in comparison to her, I would be rich. Richer than I already am, at least.” Torn pieces of paper littered a carpeted floor, its strained marks and jagged edges telling a tale of disappointment and displeasure. It didn’t seem to make much sense, seeing as the printed letter in each perfectly formed little box was an A. On the table laid a piece of paper, perfectly unwrinkled with the exception of two crease marks that were evidence that it had previously been folded. The printed format was similar to its tattered counterpart, though the small boxes housed A-pluses rather than simply A’s. The young girl responsible for the damage sent the remnants of the paper on the floor a cold glance before storming away, a deep frown tugging at the corners of her lips. As she rounded a corner, she nearly crashed into a boy who wore a tailored suit. A guest, she thought. He was her sister’s age and gave her a quick, analytic look before sending her a friendly smile that made her feel like a petty child who needed to be flattered into a good mood. Then he sidestepped around her and walked forward a few steps before he was met by another pair of feet. She didn’t turn around to look, but she could hear the whispered words exchanged between the boy and his companion. “I didn’t know her name was Ariana. Her sister is very pretty though.” “If you’re as intelligent as I expect you to be, then I will hope that you were able to connect the dots and infer from my tone of voice that such a thing never occurred. To this very day, she still stands superior to me. However, in those years, I was young and eager to please, so my parents had not given up hope on me quite yet, and I had not yet given up trying to reach the standards that were too far from my grasp no matter how far I stretched my fingers. There are foolish optimists in the world who believe that there is no such thing as impossible, but it exists. Similarly to how the dead will not rise again from their graves, I will never do better than her at anything. It’s a fact that I have grown to accept. “Unfortunately, it took me years to experience this epiphany. When I was approximately five, my parents decided to purchase a mansion in France so Meridiana could attend a prestigious school that groomed heiresses into proper young ladies. She was trained in mannerisms of a high class lady, and because I was too young to be attending with her, I entered a nursery-styled segment of the school that gradually introduced children my age to social graces and emphasized the importance of appearance and proper behaviour. When I was around ten, and my sister was approximately twelve, she began to grow rebellious. Believing that it was time to move back to the social scene of England, our parents sold off their mansions and packed their bags, taking her with them to return to their old mansion. The catch? I wasn’t invited to join them. During the move, they sent me to an all girls’ boarding school in a different country. To be very frank, it stung to know that though I was the good child, she was the one that they wanted to keep close to them. But nevertheless, I obeyed without a complaint and found that being in Russia wasn’t that bad. For months and months, I stuck out like a sore thumb because of my lack of knowledge about the language, but I gradually adjusted.” Even though the room was heated, the small figure remained bundled up in a thick faux fur coat, the hood clasped tight around a round face framed by long, straight black hair. A dusty pink was brushed over pale cheeks, and her lips were twisted into a tiny frown. She rubbed her gloved hands together, but it did little to produce warmth for her appendage. Wrinkling her nose in dissatisfaction, she whirled around on the heel of her boots, and her deep blue eyes flashed sharply. Fixing her gaze on her friend, she spoke in a harsh, angry tone using broken Russian. Her friend simply laughed and shook her head before leaning forward to turn the knob of the heater a little higher. “Being there, I found that the desire to act my age and the desire to overachieve would constantly meet face-to-face in a tumultuous confrontation. I liked to believe that I was entitled to my right to act out and relax like the other children my age, but at the same time, I wanted to taste what it felt like to be in first place. The latter emotion overpowered the former, and I would confine myself to my desk on a daily basis, intently studying volumes and volumes of books in hopes of absorbing all the knowledge my brain was capable of holding. As a result, I was hospitalized on my birthday for malnutrition instead of celebrating with cake, ice cream, friends, and balloon animals like other fourteen year olds. “It was a downer to have a hospital as the setting for my birthday party, but part of me was excited because I had hoped my parents would finally understand the extent to which I worked to please them. Then perhaps I would get some sort of credit for my effort to work toward perfection, and that would have been better than any gift they could give me. When they saw that I was fine, they walked away from me. There were no hugs or kisses or inquiries as to how I felt. They did not shoot me any concerned glances or reassure me that they wanted me to simply try my best without going overboard. They just walked away. Instead, I was met by Meridiana’s imposing figure at the doorway. Though she was only older than me by a few years, she had the ability to make her presence seem much more intimidating than it should have been. I refrained from flinching and met her gaze with defiance, and she gave me a verbal lashing. She called me foolish and chided me for putting my health at jeopardy for temporary book knowledge that would likely have little use in the real world. I felt scorned by her reprimanding, and though I hated it, my mind began to process her words and find a kernel of truth that made me into how I am now. “I went back to school to finish the year and bid good-bye to my friends before moving back to England with my parents. They didn’t protest against my decision, and I think it was because they believed that it would mean they could keep a closer eye on me to prevent the incident from repeating, but there’s one thing I know for sure. Since that day, they no longer had any high expectations for me. They didn’t send the message that I should slack off and relax, but there was something about the way they acted that told me that a decision had formed in their minds. Meridiana was clearly the superior, and it would only cause more harm than good to continue pitting me against her to compare us. Part of me was relieved that the burden to be better than her was lifted off my shoulders, but at the same time, there was a terrible sense of guilt because I had ultimately failed them. “However, I soon discovered that I was much happier when I wasn’t crushed by the weight of overbearing expectations, so I set about to discover interests that would give me self-satisfaction. The concept was entirely new to me because a good portion of my life had been spent pleasing others, and change took some time to adjust to. Ironically, it was the one person whom I’ve always competed with who set me free to enjoy newfound hobbies and likes, and because of that, I felt like I was indebted to her in some way. I wasn’t sure how to communicate this feeling and was therefore unsure of how to pay back the freedom she had virtually granted me. As a result, I believed the best method of expressing my gratitude was by having her back and subtly watching out for her. “Before I knew it, I grew extremely overprotective of my sister and would often act hostilely towards the men she dated. I expected her to grow annoyed with my behaviour, but she instead regarded it with slight amusement, which I believed was a rather acceptable and positive reaction. I felt increasingly close to her when she would spend time bonding with me by taking me to frequent trips to places that I enjoyed visiting such as bookstores or unique little boutiques that sold intricately designed clothing. At this point in my life, I believe it’s accurate to say that I have a sort of sister complex.” Knitting her eyebrows together, the youngest member descending from the main branch of the Lionford family shot her older sibling a worried look. A fear shot through her veins as she shuffled nervously, fingers tugging lightly at the hems of her sweatshirt. She didn’t want Meridiana to be mad. She didn’t mean to lash out so violently at her boyfriend. It just happened, and she couldn’t take back the fact that he now had a series of bruises forming on his upper arms. Her dread arrived at its climax when she heard footsteps and saw a slim figure enter the room. A panicked look flashed in her eyes, and she momentarily felt the urge to flee, but she was rooted to her spot by the sight of a small smirk curved upon her sister’s lips. “Ari, great job. I’ve been meaning to dump that guy. He’s a loser.” A smile broke through the gloominess that had settled as her expression, and she ran forward, throwing her arms around her sister and pulling her into a tight hug. She felt a hand gently stroke her head as if praising her, and though she knew she should have been indignant about being treated like so, she really didn’t mind. “Around the time I was finished transitioning from my previous Russian setting to this nostalgic hometown of mine, I was fifteen. I had been extremely impressionable after speaking to Meridiana that fateful day in the hospital. I developed a keen interest in philosophy and abstract ideas that allowed for free interpretation and gave room for creativity. This led to my interest in acting and also led me to develop an ardent admiration for Emily Dickenson and Edgar Allen Poe that quickly escalated so that I grew to love things that were classically considered as dark and morbid. To emphasize a bit more, I grew to adore things pertaining to death and decay, destruction of the human soul, and gothic styles, in addition to my aforementioned passions for philosophy and abstractness. It ties into acting because I’m an avid supporter of the belief that the way a character’s role is played should depend upon the actress’s interpretation of what is best. My parents did not particularly care for where tastes had strayed to, but I cannot truthfully say that I minded what their thoughts were due to the fact that I was wading in the enjoyment of being able to act according to my whims without any pressure to achieve anything. “In that time, I hard only experienced a mere fifteen years of life but not once did I ever have to deal with the concept of love. I recall that my sister began dating as a young teen, going through a new boyfriend every week. However, unlike her, I was not particularly fascinated by the emotion. My younger years had been consumed by my struggle to please others, and the recent few years had been encompassed by self-discovery and appreciation of oneself. It was afterwards that I had met my first confrontation with that dreadful emotion, and its source was an extremely unexpected one. “To backtrack a little, there is one other significant person in my story whom I have scarcely mentioned. Do not mistaken this lack of mention for any lingering hard feelings. I am not angry with him, and I still maintain a healthy friendship with him at present. But the matter of the fact is that he was not noteworthy before this part of my life. It is accurate to say that he was my childhood friend, but I was not a shunned child; I had other friends. “His name is Xerxes, and if his name weren’t unique enough, what made him stand out from my other friends was the fact that he treated me as an equal to Meridiana. My other friends often drew comparisons between she and I whenever we were in the same room together, and when in her presence, they would shut out everything I said in order to admire her. Unlike them, he would uphold a steady conversation with me whether or not she was around, and though he would quietly be in awe of her, he did his utmost to respect the fact that I was her sibling and not her defective clone. I liked him for it. “For the longest time, I was content with the friendship, but at the tender of fifteen, I grew envious that my sister held his affections. I wasn’t sure if it was an old sense of competitiveness rearing its ugly head or if I genuinely had feelings for him, but I can accurately say that I often vied for his attention. It irked me that the tabloids would often feature them as an ideal couple, so I began to shun everything the tabloids published out of scorn and contempt toward their fascination over my sister and my crush. “He was aware of my feelings and regarded me as a younger sister, but I confused his attention with reciprocated affections, believing that he had moved on from his past feelings for my sister. I was met with a slap in the face one day when he came up to me looking quite dreary and morose. After much poking and prodding on my part, he confessed that he and Meridiana had been dating for several months and had just broken up. I experienced a double-take and went through archives of past tabloid articles, met by the cruel truth that while I ignored the publications out of anger, they provided updates as to the status of how Meridiana and Xerxes had gone from close friends to idealized couple. I wondered if I was perhaps blinded by my affections so much that I failed to notice the signs that they were together. A fragment of my heart was happy that they had attempted a relationship and failed to make it thrive, but another fragment felt sickened and disgusted. I wanted to pursue him because I liked him, but I didn’t want to have my sister’s second-rate hand-me-downs. I know that it’s terrible to refer to him in such a way, but after finally breaking free from my sister’s shadow, it felt like chasing after him would put me back in square one. “After much pondering, I eventually came to the conclusion that love is simply a hindrance. It’s more trouble than it is worth. I was fifteen and had more than enough time ahead of me to become interested in petty matters such as dating. There was no need to stir up drama if it was unnecessary. Aside from that, there was new excitement waiting for me in the States. Meridiana was going to attend a boarding school in New York, and I was given permission to attend it with her. The thought of an entirely new continent and a clean slate reputation had me at the edge of my seat. I expected things to be fun. Unfortunately, drama came to find me. “When appearance and a good reputation in the social scene are important because of your family name, your peers tend to be the snobby, shallow kinds whom you can trust as far as you can throw them. When you’re society’s sweetheart, they want in on the spotlight and will act like your closest friends, but once you fall out of favour, they will pretend you had never existed. For a long time, I conformed to unspoken rules and existed, but I was never one to garner much attention. No, that was Meridiana’s specialty. When I was sixteen, my changes in style and unconventional preferences became an object of ridicule. I no longer wished to fake eloquence and grace to please others because self-satisfaction had become incredibly important to me. Because I didn’t smoothly fit in with my peers, I was often criticized, and gradually, I became the perfect rumour mill and scapegoat for idle gossip. I could easily deal with slander because it parted my real friends from my fake ones. I was spending a good portion of my time in school in New York, so what did England’s affairs have to do with me? But my parents disagreed and seethed that my reputation was a negative one. I argued with them for weeks during my summer break back at home, and they reached the conclusion that it was best if I was sent to a reform school. Need I explain why I refused to comply with their demands? “When attempts to change their minds failed, I decided to run away. Before anyone scolds me for reacting in a way that seems childish and immature, let me explain what was going through my mind. For the longest time, I was tired of dealing with the judgmental assumptions of the people I was supposed to impress. I didn’t understand why I should put their opinions before my own, but it seemed that my failure to do as they expected left them saying scathing things. I had long since entertained the prospect of running away because the adventurous aspect of it appealed to my desire to experience something exhilarating. I was not disillusioned by the idea that things would be easy. I understood that I would have to rely on my own means to earn much-needed money for living expenses and other necessities, all of which are difficult to acquire at the young age of sixteen. I was willing to work though. Because I wanted unlimited freedom to do as I pleased, and effort was worth it. My parents refused to budge with their decision of sending me away, so they essentially made my decision for me. I would leave, and I would never look back. “Once I reached this resolution, I gave a call to Xerxes and swore him to secrecy. I snuck out of my house after a particularly intense fight with my parents that left me feeling miserable, and with a bit of financial aid from him, I was able to catch a flight to California.” Hanging up and tossing the phone beneath her fluffed pillows once again, she glided over to her balcony. Ariana paused at the doors and looked back to read her message once again before turning away and unlocking the glass doors, pushing them open and stepping outside. She gulped nervously as she leaned over the iron railing and saw how high above from the ground she was. A bit of fear seized her heart, but she hadn’t a moment to spare. She was far less athletic girl than Meridiana and often rejected participation in sports, but she was still physically fit by average standards. It shouldn’t have been difficult. Continuing to gaze at the ground, she noted that the neatly trimmed hedges would break her fall if she lost her grip. The thought shook away a bit of the fear that had a vice grip on her and allowed her to feel a bit of misguided courage that perhaps the task would be easily and flawlessly executed. Her hands gripped the iron tightly until her knuckled jutted out from her skin, and she stared downwards fearfully. Taking a deep breath, she elevated herself to herself to the tips of her toes and hoisted herself up, swinging one leg and then the other over the railing. Teetering carefully in between the small gaps in between each bar making up the railing, she tried to get more comfortable and moved her hands. She sent a glance over her shoulder and once more felt fear telling her to quickly get back onto balcony, but she pushed on instead. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a short prayer before prying them open again and wishing that someone was down there to catch her if she fell. There was so much that was unplanned, like what if Javier reacted unexpectedly and demanded that she return to her family? What if he refused to help her in running away? And what if Xerxes winded up telling her parents that she had run away? The momentary lapse of concentration while still moving had been enough to make Ariana slip while she had been in the process of passing another rung, and gravity immediately pulled her downward. She barely managed to repress the surprised cry that had bottled up behind her lips and flailed, trying to grab anything within her grasp. Her fingers caught the lower, oblong piece of iron that made up the balcony that her feet had previously been on, and her sigh of relief proved to be uncalled for as her fingers began slipping despite their tight grips. She mustered all her strength and attempted to continue hanging on, but the effort failed as her fingers finally gave out, and she fell, landing among the tall row of hedges the she had previously seen. The wooden stems jabbed painfully into her flesh, and a pained groan escaped as she rolled around only to fall once again as some of the wood cracked and broke beneath her weight. She landed on her back in the grassy lawn growing on the Lionford property with a thud and remained there, unwilling to move. There was no doubt in her mind as she quickly decided that she would never again attempt to scale down her balcony and made a sound the resembled a whine as she rolled onto her stomach. She felt pain shoot through her limbs but ignored it as she pushed herself up and onto her feet, brushing away the dirt that collected on her clothing. She scowled as she noted all the new scratches that littered her previously unblemished limbs, questioning how rebellious teens could stand doing such a thing. Taking a moment to collect herself, Ariana glanced around, hoping that the noise hadn’t alerted anyone into wariness. Silence surrounded her rather than the thundering steps of surprised people, and she walked toward the driveway located at the front of the house. Still sensing that she was alone, she jogged the way toward a car she easily identified as Xerxes’. As he had said, the doors were unlocked, and she slid into the passenger seat, grateful that the seats were cool after having previously blasted by air conditioning. Her back ached and her nerves throbbed under the cool sensation of the seats, and she groaned again, knowing that her previously flawless skin would now be marred with several streaks of healing cuts and splotches of bruises that would take a while to fade. She seemed to feel pain everywhere, but it was numbed by the excitement humming through her veins. California. She could feel the sweet taste of freedom already. “Upon reaching that destination, I gave a call to an older cousin of mine whom I was sure would leave me to my own devices while keeping an eye out for me. Javier Lionford may be crude, but he can be reliable. In the span of a week, he found me and took me in. He didn’t interrogate me endlessly. He didn’t question my motives. He only grinned, acted as if he expected as much from me, and before I knew it, he was a good enough guardian. “I adjusted pretty well to my new lifestyle, but more excitement was in store for me when he was to go on tour with his band. I needed him because I was still viewed as underage under the law, but after some discussion to decide what to do, he suggested that I go along on the tour with him. He stated that I could fill in a staff position for one of the bands, so I considered the idea and took up photography as a hobby. I had never given the job much thought before, but I supposed that it wouldn’t be a terrible idea because photography allowed for abstract interpretation. I picked up my first camera and began experimenting and soon found that I was falling in love with the task. Originally, I attempted to become the photographer for a band called Lips Like Morphine because the idea of a feminist-like band among a male-dominated genre of music appealed to me. Much to my chagrin, I lost the position to a different photographer and resorted to being the photographer for Wakefield because the concept of old school rock-and-roll was also rather fascinating. That’s not to say I was happy about not getting my first choice, but I’m not angry. Not anymore, at least. “Needless to say, I’m happy with my life now. I’m surrounded by fascinating people, and at age seventeen, I have a bright future in photography. I don’t regret running away, and I don’t wish I was anywhere else. I promised myself nearly one year ago that I would never look back. I still have not, and I never will.” PIXIE, SIXTEEN, PM/IM |
