Votre Princesse; Princesse Triste

“Do you believe?”
Questions, questions, always asking questions, but is there time for questions? Is there ever time for questions? Will there ever be time for questions? Or maybe there is time for questions, just not for answers. The answers are hidden deep inside the questions, forever to remain a mystery. You could spend a lifetime searching for answers but you will always return to the question. Questions create answers, which create more questions with completely different answers. Does it ever stop?
“I believe in a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
There it goes again. Questions in this meaningless, endless cycle. They call it ‘learning’. What is the point of learning anyway? You live, you die. What happens after death is a mystery, thus creating further questioning into the matter.
“Myself; I believe in myself.”
“Do you believe in God and religion?”
Another constantly asked question.
“I believe in individuality. I believe in my own religion.”

I am Cassiel Hammond. I am me. Don’t expect much more. I am a sadistic, antagonistic, pessimistic sixteen-year old female student. I tell it like it is. If you don't like it, I don't care. If you do like it, same goes. Get over it. A very wise friend of mine, Andy, once told me:
“Life sucks and then you die.”
Andy was right. Correction. Andy is right. You live and it sucks. Then you die, making your pathetic life completely pointless. Or you can spend your life making other peoples pathetic lives miserable. This makes your life more enjoyable but still pointless and pathetic. Aren’t I just a little ray of sunshine? Maybe if you listen to my story you will understand me more clearly. Why am I bitter and depressed?

I was born unto my loving parents, Jackson and Lily Hammond of number 4 Canter Road, London, on the 31st day of December, 1987 at 11.56 pm. Being over a month premature, I weighed little over 6 pounds. I didn’t cry. A scream, a cough and a splutter were the only sounds I uttered for the first few days of my life. This greatly worried the doctors, who were not able to understand that I was simply a quiet child. I became their living pincushion. I was kept in an incubator, perhaps they were waiting for my voice to hatch, and injected numerous times a day with hundreds of antibiotics. Well, maybe not hundreds but it would have seemed like it. My doting parents withstood all the pain and suffering I put them through until finally I was allowed to go home. Even my entrance to the world was a failure…

I didn’t actually remember any of that. In fact, I don't even remember my parents. Andrey, my legal guardian and surrogate sibling relayed snippets of that tale to me and I filled in the gaps. Talented, aren’t I?

Anyway, back to my story. Father: Jackson, Mother: Lily and Baby: Cassiel were a ‘happy family’ until the parents’ sixth anniversary. Baby Cassiel, me, was four and left in the care of Andrey, a close family friend and quite often babysitter for the small family. It was often stated that he was the only person I responded to. The Hammond’s were jealous of Andrey’s ability to make their usually placid, silent child animated and boisterous. We were the perfect couple. Friends until the end, no matter what, nothing could keep us apart. Not even the death of my parents.

The death of my parents came as quite a shock to most people. Not to Andrey though. They were weak and I had proven to be too much trouble, a hassle and uncontrollable. A letter was left in my bassinet explaining the purpose of their outing and that the love they shared would be forever sealed against the evil in this world.

Their bodies were found washed up on a beach somewhere; I never bothered to get the details of where exactly. Andrey became my legal guardian and their will stated that all of their possessions were left to me, as well as an immense sum of money in various accounts and funds. Andrey borrowed some of this and we set of for Australia, never to return to the doom and gloom of London again.

Our new life began on the 11th March 1992. It wasn’t much better than the last one. Undereducated and discriminated against because of his homosexuality, Andrey found it hard to get work. We lived off pensions and small sums of money from my accessible accounts. Life was hard. The small town of Rainbow in Victoria where we resided didn’t much care for the struggling, British outcasts. All we had was each other until the next year; when my schooling was due to commence.

Living in Australia had made it impossible for me to attend the expensive, British private school my parents had enrolled me in and set fee money aside for. Needing the extra money to live on, I was sent to Rainbow State Primary School. A public school where I was victimised because of my different accent, pale skin and gay guardian. For Andrey’s sake, at home I played the role of the happy schoolgirl. Me appearing to anticipate my education gave him new hope and he began to attend the local tafe. Finally, five years later, Andrey had received his art degree ad was a reasonably established artist.

Due to Andrey’s success in Rainbow, he decided that we should relocate to somewhere bigger. After several months of planning we carted ourselves and our few belongings to Brisbane in Queensland. Before long, it was arranged that I would attend The School of Saint Francis. A reasonably priced, middle class private school. That’s when the questions started. I was an eleven-year-old grade six student with no hopes, no dreams, no friends and not much cheering me on. Andrey, a now twenty-four year old gay artist, was the only friend who had ever loved me and who I had ever loved. Then I met Nitika.

My first day of grade six was a complete and utter disaster. I turned up wearing a faded navy school dress, which was several sizes too big and reached below my knees, even when I sat down. My stockings wrinkled down my skinny legs, gathering at my ankles and my belt was fastened tightly around my waist. I was proud of my appearance, the shiny new badges pinned perfectly to my clean collar; the brown ties on my dress firmly laced and tied in a bow under my chin. The straw hat with my new school’s emblem was perched on my immaculate braids. I was ready for anything. Anything, that is, with the exception of the day to come. I entered my homeroom to be greeted by silence. Every single pair of eyes watched as I shyly approached the teacher. Sniggers swept around the room as I handed her a note and subconsciously placed a braid in my mouth.
“That will be enough class.”
The teacher slyly smiled around the room, as if she really didn’t mean it.
“Miss Hammond, would you please introduce yourself. Now, thank you madam.”
I was mortified. Public speaking was certainly not one of my strong points. My hands shook and I found that I couldn’t open my mouth. I blushed a deep red before turning on my heel and running down the corridor. Bursting through a closed door into what appeared to be a janitor’s closet. I leaned, panting, against the door, my eyes tightly shut.
“Ahem. Morning madam, what have we here?”
I almost screamed at the shock of the old man’s voice. I opened my eyes quickly before collapsing in a heap on the ground. I had entered another classroom.

I awoke to the worried but kindly voice of the male teacher.
“Miss, miss! Come on, get up, miss! This is no time to be lying around. Come on, off the floor. Sit on this chair and tell me what is happening. It’s all going to be all right. What is going on?”
I sat slowly my head spinning.
“Sir, is she going to be okay?”
A disembodied young female voice echoed in my head.
“Yes, yes of course girl. Can you take care of her for me, Nitika?”
From that moment on, Mr Laint was my favourite teacher. I was moved to his homeroom class where he put me under the constant care of his prize student, Nitika Weldom.

Nitika was a pretty blonde girl with refined features and an amazing brain. Against her I felt inadequate. She took me under her wing, teaching me how to become loved, some might even say ‘popular’. I was amazed when her lessons paid off. She introduced me to Myra, already her best friend, and together they changed my life. I was accepted.

My first lesson was in my dress sense. My belt was tugged down to my hips, the hem on my dress pinned well above my knees. Black tape was used to tape my stockings to my thighs so they were smooth and the laces on my dress were untied and unlaced at the top, the ends left hanging loosely. My braids were fashioned into a loose, wavy ponytail and my hat safely locked in my desk. Finally satisfied that they had reached a satisfactory level of achievement on my appearance, they set about changing my personality. After several months, my new best friends’ pupil, eager to please them, started to come out of her shell. I had started to grow up.

By the beginning of my high school years, I had changed immensely. Appearance wise, my stick-like figure had grown more womanly, curving in all the right places. My once long wavy light brown hair was cropped short to my shoulders, the ends softly coiled at different lengths. My face had grown rounder, my cheeks rosy and nose almost unnoticeably turned up. Along with my appearance, my personality was altered too. Well, on the outside at least. I created myself to be carefree, amusing and friendly. My new personality was a mask that I was destined to wear for a lifetime. I didn’t trust anybody enough to let them see the real me. The me I was convinced would be hated. Life became just a struggle to remain popular. My main aim was to have friends. I got what I wanted.

High school wasn’t that different from primary school. I went on doing my lessons and aspiring to beat Nitika. Raging hormones and the competition that sprung between us endangered our relationship. Anything we did, the other had to do better. Strangely enough, this had the opposite affect than would be expected. Nitika and I were strong friends and, despite a few minor hiccups, were destined to stay that way. Myra was the sweetest girl I will ever meet. If Myra doesn’t like you, you life just wouldn’t be worth living. Not that mine is, but my friends still give me the little strength that I need. Not that my mask shows that I need it.

Half way through my grade eight year, when I was twelve, the dating game began. My first ever boyfriend was a plain boy by the name of Tommy. We were shy of each other, barely pausing to nod an acknowledgement each passing day. After about two months of no communication at all, we broke up. It was not a sad event, nor a happy one; it just marked a point in my life. Several boys passed through my life, most quite briefly, lasting only a few weeks. Jordan was my first ‘steady’ boyfriend. For six months we dated. It ended at the beginning of last year. I cheated on him on camp. Theo, the hottest guy in grade ten was on my camp and we spent the whole nine days constantly at each other’s side. It climaxed on the last night, when we stayed awake talking and ended up making out. I was blamed entirely and Jordan ended it, falling for another girl instead. Every time I recovered. That was before Asher walked into my life.

Andrey had decided to celebrate his recent success in an art exhibition by taking my two best friends and I on a holiday. We decided that we wanted to go camping, even though Andrey despised it. We convinced him somehow that he would have the time of his life and, after constant nagging and pleading; he grudgingly agreed to take us. We packed our necessities and boarded the barge to Stradbroke Island, our chosen destination.

Andrey started the engine of Mr Neilson’s land cruiser. We borrowed Myra’s father’s four-wheel-drive, as it was the only way we had a chance of finding a campsite. We drove across beaches and through bush, watching the scenery pass in wonder. We drove over a particularly bumpy patch of ‘road’ surrounded by thick bush when the environment suddenly changed. A creek trickled through an open area, lush green forest walled in the breathtaking campsite. No words were needed to decide that we had found our home for the next two weeks.

Nitika, Myra and I had only just finished constructing Mr Neilson’s massive eight-man tent when we heard male voices. They noticed us and smiled before introducing themselves to Andrey.
“G’day, I’m Aleron.”
He winked at Myra. Respectively, they shook hands with Andrey.
“Cammy, Cameron if you want.”
“Martin but call me Marty.”
“Nathaniel,”
The boy had a childish grin.
“Call me whatever you want though.”
The last boy missed his cue as he was trying to attract Myra’s attention. It took him a moment to realise Myra’s attention. It took him a moment to realise that everyone was watching him.
“Oh, me? I’m Asher, sorry about barging through campsite like this, we’re just over the river: there.”
He pointed in the general direction of several tarps. There were no tents in sight.
“It’s all good. Feel free to drop by anytime.”
Noticing my dreamy gaze at Asher, Andrey added,
“In fact, stay for dinner, it should be ready soon.”
The boys nodded and set about efficiently building a fire while us girls flitted about, trying to help. Andrey amazed the boys by cooking us all burritos for dinner. Two-minute-noodles were all they had packed for their holiday.

It came as quite a surprise to us when Myra whispered that she knew them.
“Asher and Marty are in grade eleven and Cammy is in grade twelve at Saint Fra’s. I’ve met Nath at parties and Aleron is one of my best buds!”
You learn something new every day.

As time passed, Nitika and I learned that Asher and Aleron knew Myra well and visited her regularly. We cheerfully chatted to our new friends all night, playing cards and listening to music. Early on, Andrey, not feeling welcome in our group, had happily set up a spotlight and his easel. He painted for most of the night.

Our entire holiday was spent with the boys. We were inseparable. By the end of the two weeks we were all best mates and they had even moved into our campsite. Nitika had developed a crush on Marty, who, unfortunately for her, already had a girlfriend. Myra and Aleron were like brother and sister, sharing a strange love for one another. The never left one another’s side. I was in love with Asher.

Asher and I harmlessly flirted but nothing more was to come of it, much to my disappointment. He was so perfect in every way; I would have done anything to please him. I wanted to spend every moment of every day with the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. Sadly, when our holiday ended, the time we spent together was reduced considerably but my love for him remained.

On the 1st of November 2002, several months later, we spent the night sending each other messages on our mobiles. I received a message reading:
‘At the risk of sounding totally stupid and geeky, will you go out with me sometime?’
I was overjoyed. The boy of my dreams was finally a reality.

Now, a year and two months later, we are still together. I worship him, he is my god and I am his angel. I still believe that he is absolutely perfect in every single way. He is all I want and all I need. My life revolves around him, the centre of my universe. Asher Talher. Mon dieu à jamais.

That brings me to today. Now you know my story, diary, now do you understand? I managed to end that on a happy note. Aren’t you proud of me? Ah well, that’s what writing will do to a girl. Spilling your thoughts, feelings, past, present, future onto paper is good. It clears your mind. Now I must sleep. I will write more soon, I promise, although I will have to start on my present and future because now you know my whole past.

Thank you and goodnight,
Cassiel Hammond
xoxox
(Happy Birthday to me) 31-12-2003


* * * * *


Another day, another year, it’s all the same, time passes so quickly. Yet so slowly. Have you ever noticed that? There I go with the questions again. Questions infuriate me. I can never find the answers. The full, complete answers that will never leave you wondering. I don't think it is possible to find them: I give up. Even though I know that I won't actually give up. It’s all very confusing.

What shall today bring? Today shall bring newness. Refreshing my being and yours. Today is a day for cleanness. Tidy your place: your secret place. Your life shall become uncluttered. Become alive again.

I awoke before dawn on this morning. A tidal feeling of happiness swept over my body. I was asleep before the New Year came. Now it begins, once more. The fifteenth New Year in my life. It creates a feeling of accomplishment for me to feel this way. My parents were young, too young; I cannot help but feel that their fate awaits me.





* * * * *



Mon Dieu à Jamais,

One year ago was the first time, now this is the last time. This is it. I have finally reached a conclusion. The answer to all of my questions. My journey is now complete and the end breathes near. The answers I thought I would never find. The search that I inferred I would leave incomplete. There is no use for this anymore. Plans have been made. It is hard to think that something so simple can create the complexities of life. I may not utter what it is. You must answer your own questions; I cannot do it for you. I can say that life is beautiful. I sit and know that life is beautiful. So precious and unspoilt. Unspoilt by answers. Do not search. You will find the truth by chance.

Perfection.

I have finally found it. Now I must leave and one day, you shall join me. I shall be waiting, my dearest Asher. I shall be waiting for you. Only you.

When you find me I will be the same. I will not have changed from this day. My darling, time grows shorter. When you find me I shall be here, watching you, but you will not see me. Or maybe you will. Do not take any heed to my shell; it is but decoration.

Now I must leave for my breath is fading. My fair Asher, I will always be with you. I love you. Goodnight, my gentleman, I am leaving you a kiss. All I ask is that you never forget me. Always remember the times we shared.

Goodnight, my love, I shall see you in the morning. Though you may not see me. I will take care of you and let no harm pass your way.

Cassiel Hammond
xoxox
(Happy Birthday to me) 31-12-2004


* * * * *

My dearest Cassiel,

This is much later than it should be but I have not had the will power to complete the task that I know I must. Several months have passed and I have not moved. I have been placed in the mental asylum although I am not mad. Some things are easier than the truth. It is hard for me to admit the truth to myself but I know that if I do, I too will have found all of my answers. Being locked away has simplified my life. Thinking was not an option and my stress was relieved and my grief forgotten.

Today I am free. I know that you are with me constantly but I eagerly anticipate when we shall reunite. I shall retell the story, as well as I can, for that is what you filled this book with: stories.

We met on the tenth day of July 2002 on Stradbroke Island by chance during a camping trip. Luck had it that Cassiel, Myra, Nitika and Andrey decided to set up camp opposite where Marty, Aleron, Cammy, Nath and myself were staying. On their first night, we barged rudely but unintentionally through their encampment. This created great opportunity to introduce ourselves to the attractive young ladies, so we did. We realised that it was Myra, a good friend of Asher and myself, and her alluring friends. Two blissful weeks of our lives were constantly spent at their sides.

My affection grew for the smallest of the three girls and the only brunette. We were reticent in each other’s company, timidly flirting and secretly wishing to know the others’ thoughts. After two weeks, both companies were adamant to depart, but the time must come for all things to end. We bade promises of friendship and constant togetherness but each of us knew in our hearts that it would never be the same. I can honestly say that the two weeks I spent getting to know Cassiel, were the best two weeks of my life.

We spent several months together as ‘best friends’. I grew quite anxious around her, trying to say and do the right things and praying that she would not learn of my love. My friends spitefully teased me, saying that I should move on from her and find someone else. My heart was set on Cassiel, though, and nothing would change that. Upon learning this, my friends started badgering me to ask her on a date, to kiss her, to fulfil my fantasies with her. I was greatly annoyed by this, secretly wishing that I were not as shy so that I could.

Cassiel gave me the courage that I needed on the 1st day of November 2002. All night we spent text messaging each other, but the mildly flirtatious messages grew more obvious by the hour. Her suggesting that she liked me in a way more than ‘just friends’. I prepared my self for rejection as I sent a message asking her out. The wait for her reply seemed like an eternity, then I realised that it was an eternity. Half an hour slowly passed as I gave in to her rejection. Finally came the seemingly fatal message:
“Yes! Of course I will! I have wanted this for so long! I am so happy and I love you so much!”
I was elated! I turned back to the computer in front of me at the Intermax and went on a killing spree. My beautiful best friend had become my girlfriend.

We were perfect together, if I may say so myself. We were together through it all. Remembering her makes me so happy but still I cry. I love her with all of my heart and soul. My dearest Cassiel, I am coming.


* * * * *

Cassiel watched Asher intently, dreading his next step. He closed the book: her book and sat down on her bed. Openly, he cried. It was the first time in seven months that he had cried. She was happy, for he had remembered her and their love. She smiled and sat down next to him, placing her arm around his waist and holding him close. He could not feel her, he did not know, but she still found comfort in his warm arms.
“I have found my answer, dearest Cassiel. It is you.”

The room went dark around her and she could see clearly the anguish and the pain that was to happen. Screaming out his name through her tears she only wanted to stop him. Then, Cassiel remembered that day.


* * * * *

She had written in the book: her book. Written for the last time. He was her answer, or so she thought. Love had driven her to death with its imprisoning power.

She sat on the bed, where he was sitting now, and pulled the pills out from underneath her pillow. She took one, then another, slowly and ritualistically swallowing them rhythmically. Finally, she reached for another but there was none. In a short fit of spite, she threw the bottle to the ground, smashing in into a thousand pieces. Once more, she reached underneath the pillow, it was all happening too slow and she was anxious. She pulled out the knife, the knife that had shallowly scored her wrists many times before she had met Asher. Shaking, Cassiel lifted it over her now laying body, above her breast. Quickly she brought it down, feeling it pierce the tender flesh and not quite reaching her heart. Twice more she tried, feeling clumsier and weaker each time. Finally, spent from the blood loss and giddy from the pills she moved herself with her last drops of energy.

All Cassiel could see before her was her body and the blood. Everything was stained a violent red. Then she heard the voices, the voices that were to haunt her for all of eternity.

Then the image changed. Asher and Aleron were persistently knocking at the door.
“I know she’s home, I just talked to Andrey.”
Asher’s voice was concerned and hinting hysteria as he reached into the electricity box and removed the hidden spare key. He let himself and Aleron inside and locked the door behind him.
“Cassiel? Darling?”
He yelled as they separated to search the house, Asher downstairs and Aleron upstairs. She watched Aleron, knocking and peeking through doors.
“I don’t think she’s here, man, maybe she went out.”
He called out to Asher as he knocked on the door of her bedroom. He opened the door a fraction and gasped before slamming the door open. He ran across the glass-covered floor, his blood mixing with hers, and slumped down beside Cassiel.

He lifted her into his strong arms and cradled her like a small child while silently weeping and mourning his friend.
“I loved you, Cassiel. Why did you leave me?”
Through his tears he whispered into her cheek as Asher appeared at the door.
“Oh my God, mother fucking Jesus! Cassiel!”
Asher’s scream could be heard from down the street as the image faded from her mind.

Suddenly, the present because clear to her once more and she watched Asher pick the rope up off the table. She screamed as he tied the knot, seeing the blood and glass from her own death filling the room. Only then did she notice the hook still fixed in her roof. The hook that she herself had put there. She felt sick to watch her beautiful boy destroy himself so painfully.

As his face turned from white to purple, she screamed at him not to leave but he couldn’t hear her. She saw his tongue grow and hang limply from his mouth as unconsciousness passed over him and he began to climb the grey rungs between white- life, and black- death. She walked towards him, knowing what he would be experiencing. The tunnel vision from his eyesight shutting down, the flood of memories from the blockage of oxygen to the receptors in his brain. She knew that he would see her soon and she knew what she had to tell him.

* * * * *

A white dot appeared in front of Asher’s brilliant blue eyes and he felt as if he were floating down the tunnel. Then he saw her, the girl from his dreams, Cassiel. Through his mind images of her danced in front of him, as if projected onto a screen. He watched her laughing and loving, her sweet smile and big brown eyes. He could see her, the girl that he loved so dearly, so close yet unreachable. He watched their first time, his clumsiness and her guidance and reassurance. He watched her dancing in the park behind the cemetery, twirling like a ballerina amongst a sea of flowers. Then the images darkened and flowed hauntingly quickly, as if in fast-forward. He saw her crying, and then her body, once so beautiful, lying destroyed upon her bed.

Cassiel stepped towards Asher and placed her hand gently upon his forehead. His eyes opened as he took in the image before him. She was there, touching him but crying, not with happiness but sorrow. He looked at her and she was what she had been, naked, her flesh torn and her eyes hollow from the drugs. The deep wounds etched into her firm breasts bled unceasingly. Mesmerised, he did not want to watch but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Once so beautiful, his Cassiel had been ruined by answers and death.
“Go back, Asher, live lovingly and do not inflict pain of yourself anymore. I am with you always but if you die, we shall be separated forever. Stay so that I may watch you grow and have a family. Do all the things that we dreamed of doing together when we grew up. I love you.”
“No! Cassiel, no! Don’t leave me! I want to stay with you! Don’t make me go back. I LOVE YOU!”
“Goodbye, mon dieu à jamais. Please, do it for me.”
Inky blackness filled his head as she faded from him, he angelic voice ringing in his ears.
“Do it for me, Asher. Please, do it for me.”
The blackness turned brightly white and the electricity of life filled his limp body. He heard the paramedics around him.
“He’s back! I thought he was a definite goner, four hours is unbelievable! And some people don’t believe in miracles. Phew, well that was really close. Get him out of here and to the hospital, he needs some rest now, stupid boy.”
Asher thought at what Cassiel had done for him, she had given him another chance. She was there with him, she would look after him. He whispered into his mind, hoping that she would hear him.
“Mon princesse, I would do anything for you.”