Post by Freddie Eloise Garroway on Apr 14, 2018 1:07:07 GMT
ANCIENT SCANDALS IN CHERRY GROVE
WYNIFRED ELOISE GARROWAY
age TWENTY-FIVE | gender FEMALE | GRADE N/A |
BIRTHDATE 03/03 | SEXUALITY BISEXUAL | Profession LOUNGE PIANIST |
PERSONALITY,
All you really need to know about Freddie’s personality is that she’s a strong individual. She’s fiery, she’s sassy, she’s a bit of a b****, but most of all, she’s not someone to be messed with. She is smart, street and book, and one tough woman. Her nickname from her foster brother used to Nails, as in ‘tough as nails’. She’s a very private person, she doesn’t really divulge much, if anything, about herself. She doesn’t beat around any kind of bushes, she will tell you like it is, whether or not you want to hear the God’s honest truth. She isn’t exactly what you’d call friendly, or even warm, but she’s determined to figure out who she is.
HISTORY,
March 03 2005, a man was driving along a dirt road, on his way from Florida to Georgia, he stumbled upon a God awful sight. A car sat in the middle of the road, bent all out of shape, windows all smashed, like it had been bulldozed over by a tank. Inside the car, the driver was bleding out. But on the road behind him, an awful and frightening sight awaited him. A little body was laid on the road, not moving, beaten and broken, with glass sticking out everywhere. It was the body of a little girl.
That little girl was Freddie. She was twelve then, so they believed. She was taken to hospital, where they were able to save her life, but, sadly, they weren’t able to save her memories. She woke up three months after being discovered, in June, and had no idea what had happened to her. And worse, had no idea who she was. The driver of the car found in the middle of the road made it but he couldn’t give anyone any information on who the girl was or who he’d run into. It seemed, the car he’d crashed into fled without a trace, leaving the little girl, who’d been ejected from the passenger’s seat, to bleed out on the road.
Freddie was placed into the foster system in Georgia and was carted around from home to home, with no memory of who was or where she was coming from. The only thing she had was a scarf with the name ‘Freddie’ embroidered onto it. With no way of knowing if it was or wasn’t her name, social work just named her that. She was in the papers and on the local news, but it was never picked up nationwide.
For years, Freddie moved from home to home, with deadbeat parents, abusive fathers and drunkard mothers. The other kids were another story entirely. She was the problem and their abuse toward her, for so many years, wore the girl down and made her put up walls. She gave up hoping that she’d fall into a home where things would be nice, where the people would actually greet her when they met her. She ran away, time and time again, but was brought back every time, and then shipped off to a worse home than the last.
But when she was fifteen, she was fostered into a nice family. Freddie didn’t think it would happen. But she did. She was fostered by the Garroways, a nice family who already had a foster child, but he was nothing like the others. Long story short, she was adopted by them and took on their name, ditching Doe for good.
Freddie first discovered she could play the piano by chance as her ‘brother’ showed her the little piano that the family owned. She sat there, trying to impress them, and like muscle memory, without knowing how, she played a pretty but simple piece of music that she had heard somewhere… but she didn’t know where.
Playing the piano became a therapeutic things for her. She would play and play, at home and at school. And when it came time to go to college or university, her new family footed the bill for her to go to a prestige school in New York City. Freddie was at home at the piano, she felt like she was remembering a little bit about herself every time she played.
She graduated at the top of her class, went on to play for an orchestra, but quit when she was twenty-four. Her mother was seriously ill and she didn’t want to be away from home. She went home, thinking she was going to die, but miraculously, she was fine. However, while on her ‘death-bed’, Freddie’s mother told her something that Freddie had been longing to hear. “Go to Cherry Grove, Vermont. Someone there knows who you really are.” she was told, which of course, excited Freddie. Once her mother was fine, Freddie went to Vermont.
However, it’s been months and this person who supposedly knew who she was has disappeared. Freddie can’t find hide nor hair of them. But there’s something about the town that feels very familiar to Freddie, she just can’t place it.
That little girl was Freddie. She was twelve then, so they believed. She was taken to hospital, where they were able to save her life, but, sadly, they weren’t able to save her memories. She woke up three months after being discovered, in June, and had no idea what had happened to her. And worse, had no idea who she was. The driver of the car found in the middle of the road made it but he couldn’t give anyone any information on who the girl was or who he’d run into. It seemed, the car he’d crashed into fled without a trace, leaving the little girl, who’d been ejected from the passenger’s seat, to bleed out on the road.
Freddie was placed into the foster system in Georgia and was carted around from home to home, with no memory of who was or where she was coming from. The only thing she had was a scarf with the name ‘Freddie’ embroidered onto it. With no way of knowing if it was or wasn’t her name, social work just named her that. She was in the papers and on the local news, but it was never picked up nationwide.
For years, Freddie moved from home to home, with deadbeat parents, abusive fathers and drunkard mothers. The other kids were another story entirely. She was the problem and their abuse toward her, for so many years, wore the girl down and made her put up walls. She gave up hoping that she’d fall into a home where things would be nice, where the people would actually greet her when they met her. She ran away, time and time again, but was brought back every time, and then shipped off to a worse home than the last.
But when she was fifteen, she was fostered into a nice family. Freddie didn’t think it would happen. But she did. She was fostered by the Garroways, a nice family who already had a foster child, but he was nothing like the others. Long story short, she was adopted by them and took on their name, ditching Doe for good.
Freddie first discovered she could play the piano by chance as her ‘brother’ showed her the little piano that the family owned. She sat there, trying to impress them, and like muscle memory, without knowing how, she played a pretty but simple piece of music that she had heard somewhere… but she didn’t know where.
Playing the piano became a therapeutic things for her. She would play and play, at home and at school. And when it came time to go to college or university, her new family footed the bill for her to go to a prestige school in New York City. Freddie was at home at the piano, she felt like she was remembering a little bit about herself every time she played.
She graduated at the top of her class, went on to play for an orchestra, but quit when she was twenty-four. Her mother was seriously ill and she didn’t want to be away from home. She went home, thinking she was going to die, but miraculously, she was fine. However, while on her ‘death-bed’, Freddie’s mother told her something that Freddie had been longing to hear. “Go to Cherry Grove, Vermont. Someone there knows who you really are.” she was told, which of course, excited Freddie. Once her mother was fine, Freddie went to Vermont.
However, it’s been months and this person who supposedly knew who she was has disappeared. Freddie can’t find hide nor hair of them. But there’s something about the town that feels very familiar to Freddie, she just can’t place it.
FACE CLAIM
WYNIFRED ELOISE GARROWAY :: OLIVIA WILDE
CHERRY GROVE, © PARKER
TEMPLATE MADE BY SIFR © 2014
TEMPLATE MADE BY SIFR © 2014
