Anonymous Sat 20 Jul 2024 18:20:30 No.67555426 Report

Quoted By: >>67555449 >>67555454 >>67555892

>>67555256
the inner mind is capable, but the motor functions suffer :,v
over time, the lack of coordination between the two, and inner stress, could cause stress that would be directed outwards as tard rage, or depression v,:

Anonymous Sat 20 Jul 2024 18:40:12 No.67555892 Report

Quoted By: >>67555980 >>67556397

>>67555426
>Olivia, realizing her cognitive and functional situation, just refuses to ever speak again.
>Through her efforts, she re-gains proper motorol control of her hands and arms, able to paint again.
>She refuses to smile, refuses to speak, and trains herself to keep her facial features in check so that she may appear as normal as she can.
>By herself, though, she tries to improve.
>Sitting in front of a mirror, she glares at herself as she tries to speak.
>Her lips flex and she keeps her neck still.
>"Ah-I ah-hm Oh-oul..." she tries, but it's too breathy.
>The tone is what she remembered, but the inflection...
>Retarded.
>She must try again, she tells herself now, as she told herself before.
>Baby steps.
>And so she does, repeatedly, for days, among weeks, among months.
>She will be normal, again, she tells herself.
>Staring back at her reflection, she tries again.
>"Ah. I ahm Oh..."
>Looking at her lips, she repeats.
>"I ahm Oh-ohlifia..."
>And again.
>"Oh-ohli-vvveeeaaaa,"
>And again...
>"Oh-liv-eeah,"
>"Oh-liv-eyah,"
>"I ah-am Oliv-eyah,"
>And then she smiles.
>And while she smiles, she looks at her face.
>No twitching muscles, no exaggerating features, just a normal-person smile.
>Sharp teeth barely poking past her lips, muscles taut just right, eyelids smooshing just enough to show actual happiness.
>Taking a breath, she tries again.
>"Ah-I am Olivi-yah,"
>She licks her lips, lightly, and stares at her reflection's mouth.
>'Oh. Oo. Uh,' she mouthes, watching her lips and tongue, trying to keep herself focused on just the muscle memory that isn't there anymore.
>"Oh. Oooo. Ooh! Uh!" she says outloud, glaring at herself for sounding like some mentally gimped chimp.
>Hate was a word that floated around her mind as she stared at her own glaring reflection.
>She will fix herself.
>She will become normal.

Anonymous Sat 20 Jul 2024 19:01:48 No.67556397 Report

Quoted By: >>67556747

>>67555892
>She woke, and Damien was there to guide her through her daily activities.
>Guide.
>Neither force her, nor tell her.
>He spoke to her frequently, and her eyes followed his face as he spoke.
>She said nothing, though, and she could see his emotions as their eyes met.
>He seemed happy as she seemed happy when she could paint, and her works were good.
>Sometimes she imagined him thinking she were some sort artistic, retarded savant; she understood, could realize, that it was projection from her.
>But she needed the hate and dispair to fuel herself, she decided, and so she did.
>As the day neared its end, she wanted privacy, and Damien seemed to realize this.
>So she was in her room, again, in front of her mirror, glaring at her reflection.
>"I ah-am Olivia," she spoke through a sneer.
>Rasping, she continued, "He-hhh..."
>Tensing her eyes, she bared her teeth, and uttered, "Ha-ate, hh-hate,"
>Claws gripping the armrests of her wheelchair nearly to the point of breaking it, she continued to glare at herself.
>And gradually, she let out a breath, and forced herself to relax.
>But her eyes, continued to glare.
>"I h-ha-ate you Oh-olivia," she said to her reflection.
>Letting out a huff, she spoke again, clearly, "I hate you, Olivia,"
>And she watched herself smile, and almost cruel smile.
>It was progress.
>And progress was good.

Anonymous Sat 20 Jul 2024 19:18:01 No.67556747 Report

Quoted By:

>>67556397
>The next morning was with Vinny.
>Oh, the adorable little thing had grown over the last few years.
>She didn't have the heart to every say it out loud, or give too much thought to it, but he looked like a fuck-boy.
>She didn't smile at the thought, and didn't laugh.
>That'd be mean.
>And 'retarded.'
>He talked her metaphorical ears off, though, and seemed genuinely happy.
>It was during her art session that he'd really tried to get her to speak.
>Her choice on colour pallete, and contrasts of shades from lighting?
>The dark features around and in the heads?
>How did she make the eyes always stare at him?
>While he looked away, she grabbed another canvas, and quickly painted Vinny's smiling face, open mouth, eyes looking up with wonder.
>'Moment of wonder,' she muttered aloud.
>And Vinny's head turned to her in the corner of her eye.
>He stared, wide-eyed at her.
>Then at the painting.
>For a moment, her eyes widened, and she'd thought he'd heard her.
>"Oooh! Wow, look at that handsome face!" he'd said, his attention grabbed.
>She stared at him, then back at her painting.
>Quickly painting a hamburger, with sesame seeds on the bun, as he laughed.
>"Wani get something to eat, Olivia?" he'd asked, smiling, and she nodded.
>And so they went out to eat.
>Out among the people.
>And so her eyes flitted quickly at everything, and everyone.
>Watching them, incase they watch her.
>Making sure she acted normal.
>Not like a retard.
>Not like a mentally crippled adult.
>Keeping her movements in check, chewing food, swalling it, reaching for things that she needed.
>She felt, from no looks her way, that she'd managed to achieve...
>Normalcy.
>If only it weren't for her wheelchair, though.
>She smiled.
>Vinny looked at her, and smiled too.
>"You look amazing when you smile, Olivia," he'd said, with his glittering eyes and fuck-boy smile.
>'Oh, he'd be a heartbreaker when he decided to get out and get some girls,' she thought.

Anonymous Sat 20 Jul 2024 19:35:02 No.67557111 Report

Quoted By: >>67557478

>>67556747
>And so it continued, day after day, step by step, she'd made progress with her exterior image.
>She'd learned to speak properly again, not as if she were some child.
>She'd regained her muscle memory, the most basic things that everyone too advantage of; she could smile, move, and paint without issue.
>She'd felt good, and would finally open herself back up to those closest to her.
>When Damien entered her room, with a semi-fake smile on his face, she looked into his eyes and reached a claw forward, taking his as he helped her into her wheelchair.
>"Thank you, Damien," she'd said, shuffling into her seat, looking him in the eyes.
>Apparently she'd caught him surprised, as his eyes widened in shock and he fell back, ass-first onto the floor, with his tail thrashing out.
>A moment later, he'd cried out, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, nearly crushing her against her wheelchair.
>"You can talk! You ca- were you fucking faking it-!" he'd yelled out right beside her head as he squeezed her close.
>She'd wrapped arms around him and snorted out a laugh, "No, you dildo,"
>Separating, he looked, almost glared, at her.
>Taking a few breathes, she continued, "It's taken me months t-to to- fucking," and groaned out loud.
>His look softened as she corrected herself, "TO! Learn how to be normal- speak,"
>Leaning back in, he pressed his face against hers and let out a sniffle, "Oli, you are-"
>But she quickly interrupted him, bitingly, "No, don't you dare," and gripped his shoulders hard.
>He let out a squeak.
>Apparently she still had retard strength.
>Calming herself, she told him, "I'm normal, ish, now, Damien," and she let him go.
>Eyes filled with happiness and questions, he asked her, "How long have you been, uh..." and dropped a question without actually asking anything.
>Letting out a sigh, she slumped back into her chair, and wheeled herself towards the door, "Months, man. Every night, every time I was alone," and she regailed him with her struggles.

Anonymous Sat 20 Jul 2024 19:51:07 No.67557478 Report

Quoted By: >>67557855

>>67557111
>MRI and CT scans showed 'norma' activity among her motor cortexes, constant therapist and doctors visits, along with licensed physical therapy all helped her finally, metaphorically, stand up on her own two legs and face the outside world again.
>She was Olivia, and now she'd find Inco and fuck him up.
>Now, where could he possibly be.
>'It'd only been, what? Four years?' she thought to herself, and grabbed her old, dated phone.
>The thing hadn't been powered on, or charged, in years.
>And so, she plugged it in, and blam.
>To her not-surprise, the thing powered on, but didn't hold a charge.
>Maybe the back wasn't suppose to look like a bulging pillow?
>Oh well, she'd have Vinny look at it later.
>As it powered on, she was assaulted by notifications.
>Hundreds and hundreds of notifications.
>Her phone shut itself off, and felt warm to the tough.
>"Vinny!" she yelled out, "Help! My phone's gonna blow up!"
>Out from behind a corner, his fuck-boy head popped into view, stared at her in confusion, then hyper-focused on her phone.
>He lept at her, snatched it, popped the back off, then gently yoinked the pillow-like battery from it.
>Yelling, he ran away from her, and with the opening and slamming of a door, returned.
>"So, it was dangerous?" she finally asked, as there was a hiss and popping sound from outside.
>He just smiled and nodded his head, "Yup," and looked back at her phone.
>Plugging it back into its charger, powering it without much other purpose, he handed it back to her.
>"Get that brick upgraded, gurl," he'd said as it powered back on.
>She just shrugged as it went back to explosions of notifications.
>Leaning beside her, watching, she gave him a quick glare.
>"What, wanna see some skinnie dickpics or something?" she asked, turning the screen towards him, and he fake-gagged.
>"No, no homo, just wanna see if it actually works," he'd told her, and then stepped back and looked away.
>So many messages appeared.
>And it took its time.

Anonymous Sat 20 Jul 2024 20:09:41 No.67557855 Report

Quoted By:

>>67557478
>It was five years worth of texts, images, and events.
>Initially from school acquaintances, friends, family.
>Then, later, from Inco, and eventually Mia and the bitches.
>And even recently... From Inco.
>As recently as a few weeks ago.
>Apologies, beggings, life updates, pictures of him living.
>Alone.
>No dick pics from Inco, though.
>A few full-body shots from Mia, of herself, drunk, though.
>'Nice.'
>Apparently Inco had recently finished his bachelor's in photography and had been picked up by Natural Geographic.
>But he'd kept in touch with her, one-sided, for years.
>It kinda brought tears to her eyes.
>She wouldn't hurt him, she decided. That'd be unhealthy for her 'normalcy.'
>She'd reach out to him.
>Get to know the Inco that'd grown over the years.
>Do some more growing for herself.
>Use those scholarships she'd earned for the... mentally handicapped.
>She'd earned those things, with her struggles to improve, she decided.
>They were hers.
>Picking up her broken phone, she called his number.
>After months, she'd finally heard his voice, as he asked in an unsure tone, "Olivia? Is that you?"
>And she answered in a grinning smile, "Yes, Inco. It's me,"
>And as he began spilling out apologies, she hissed through her phone, "Shh. Shut up,"
>He stopped, and she could hear his breathing.
>He was nervous.
>So she brought sound to the silence, and let out a breathy sigh. "I'm okay, now," she told him.
>And they talked.
>Mostly him asking questions, some like those Damien had asked.
>She was 'normal,' improving, and a painter again.
>He was a loner photographer for a well-known television network.
>She'd been healed through struggle.
>He'd been guilt-ridden and volunteered to places for those in-need.
>They'd both grown as persons; him with compassion and guilt, and her with...
>'Determination? It's a better word than hate,' she'd decided.
>He said he was single, and she'd blurted out, 'and ready to mingle?'
>He said it's a date if she's willing.
>"Sure."