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Stephanie had been born screaming. Loud and unapologetic, begging to take up space.
To be remembered, to be known. To be some anything more then the girl she was destined to be
Stephanie had been raised by an angry man. Learning being loud, screaming was the only way heard to be heard.
She was a girl born from pain and stubbornness.
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When Stephanie had turned three years old there had been a shortage of food.
her joints ached, and her skin thinned as the hunger pains grew unbearable. As an act of defiance Stephanie used every ounce her tiny, fragile body had left, and stood up to her father.
Had demanded she be fed, as begging had never ever worked. She had yelled at her father. Her little finger sticking in her father's face the same way he did. She was the reflection of her father.
Stephanie had in return been given a big purple bruise on her face, the size of her father's hand on her cheek.
Her father had tried and for a few years successed in silencing Stephanie. The anger build in her chest threating to lash out to demand her father love her.
Stephanie wasn't a girl who could be shaped or broken, she was to angry, to hateful, it flowed in her views intertwining with her blood, like thick sluggish posion, seeping into bone marrow.
She could only be silenced for so long.
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At seven years old, her mother sold her favourite doll for a pack of cigarettes. Off brand Lucky Strikes, that had the iconic red and white packaging but the design wasn't right. To off to be true.
The doll had inky black hair and weathered pale skin, she had found it in the trash. To Stephanie a doll so pretty didnt deserve to rot for being broken.
Stephanie had been so angry, so flabbergasted , her mom sold her dolly, her only thought, her only course of action was to sell the cigarettes.
Seven year old Stephanie had wondered the streets asked random people to buy the smokes, after a few hours she did. Stephanie didnt get her dolly back and she never would, but she got a blanket without nasty holes.
Stephanie had been beaten and thrown into the closet, it was her father's pack of smokes. She should have known.
As Stephanie grew, she began more aware. Which made her more angry, to see and understand how people like her were mistreated, began to understand why there were criminals.
She had understood the difference between villains and criminals.
Villains were mostly men. Men with more wealth then any normal Gothemite should. Men who kill, who hurt, who sell to pregnant women, to past addicts finally sober, and to kids who dont know the consequences.
Criminals were people, mostly kids or started as kids, with no money, kids who never knew when their next meal was, parents who needed to be able to get said meals. Impoverished people who's desperation was set into their very bones.
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When Stephanie was eight years old when her father's little jobs still weren't enough to keep up with bill, her mom's addiction, and her dad's want to be a supervillian.
Stephanie had matured much faster then other kids, mentally and physically.
Stephanie had to grow up fast, had to learn to hide, how to get food, who to talk to, who was dangerous.
Stephanie had gotten her period after one of her father's punishment. blood trickled down her thighs, Stephanie had thought she was dieing. Thought that her dad had kicked her too hard and she was bleeding inside.
But as the months went, she didn't die but the bleeding kept coming. She never told her mother, she was to high, or fighting with dad. Stephanie would just stuff toilet paper in her underwear. It wasn't like they had money for pads anyway.
Her body changed, her breasts grew and her body curved, Stephanie had hated it, hated the way men had looked at her like a peice of meat, something to be devoured. But Stephanie had learned her body was the key to getting free meals or a spare dollar.
Stephanie was eight and ¼ when she learned about street girls
Stephanie was eight and ½ when she became one.
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By the time Stephanie Marie Brown was Ten years old, she had become one of the most popular street girls.
Most men could forget she was a little girl, with her too tight dress that barely covered her ass and showed off her breasts. [Eww] . Stephanie was 5'4 at ten years old, the old heels helped make her look older, her hair in a messy blow out, old broken curlers from the trash helped her achieve that. Well, and stolen makeup caked onto her face.
Stephanie was know for her deep red lip stick, it wasnt a blood red, it had hints of brown but it was still red, a red as if all pink was stripped from it. Stephanie had been gifted it by her first "client". Shape R78 'Naught Girls go far'
Stephanie had her prices written on her thighs or if she was wearing a 2 peice, her stomach. She was cheap, pretty and as they say was "a bang for a buck."
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At thirteen years old she met a twenty- five year man, his name was Dean. He was one of the richer men in Gothem, a clean shaven man, wearing suits. He made Stephanie feel beautiful, like a princess. He was an amazing tipper too.
Every Thrusday, Wednesday, and Friday he would seek out Stephanie for a night and treated her like she was made in gods image. Stephanie didnt like the sex part of course, it always made her feel gross, dirty, her thighs sore, and her skin sticky.
Stephanie would spend 30 minutes sobbing in the bath tub curled up, smelling like sex, sweat, and old men. It made Stephanie sick.
After long nights, nights were the men were a bit handy or too rough, made her feel too gross, too wrong, she would throw up, any food she had eaten in the toilet mixed with bodily fluids she wad forced to take.
Her mother would offer her a joint, even though Stephanie knew the risks, she would take it.
Stephanie began to realize why her mother was an addict.
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At thirteen years old Stephanie had became a druggie just like her mother.
She had understood why her mother took drugs.
It helped Stephanie when working nights became to much.
A needle here, powder there, and pills in her bra.
Stephanie had become her mother.
Stephanie had repeated the cycle.
Stephanie should have known, in gothem cycles always repeat.
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Stephanie was thirteenth ½ years old, the first time the test said positive.
She was thirteenth first time she went to a back alley abortion clinic. The walls sticky with pain with masked terror as little girls- survivors waited in hard plastic chairs to get a parasite expelled from their body.
Stephanie hadden ever regretted getting that abortion. But she understood why her mother haddent gotten an abortion. It weighted on her shoulders but she knew it was the right choice.
the only choice.
When dean had learned of what Stephanie had done, where she had gone to, he had beaten her for the first time ever. He had apologized profusely after, wrapped her up in his arms and had too tightly held a shell shocked Stephanie.
By they time she was fourteenth years old Stephanie had, had been back to that sketchy clinic 3 times. She had been beaten each time, falling for the greasey mans touch and his bile producing words.
Stephanie wasn't ready to be a mother she would never be.
Stephanie had began to live with him after the 11th time her father went to jail. Her mother was far to drunk to function, she had went crying to dean, and had been pressured to move in.
Dean had said it was to protect her. He was 26, she was 14.
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Stephanie Brown was fifteen years old when she had became pregnant. The realization flooed in a wave of hopelessness. She knew there was no longer the option of giving the child up. Dean had payed the clinic to no longer let her get abortions.
Stephanie haddent wanted her baby to continue the cycle that plagued her blood line.
She had picked up her cloths, spare money, her phone and charger. All her belongings had thankfully fit in a small bag.
Stephanie had ran, ran back to her momma, her momma who was drunk on the couch. But has she layed in her mommas bed for the first time in far to long, no longer her mommas little girl. The grime that had settle on her skin from deans touch had began to fade.
When her momma had finally passed out in her bed, Stephanie had climbed in the empty space by her mom and curled into her arms finally no longer plagued with nightmares.
even if it was just for that night.
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Stephanie Marie Brown had given birth at 7:05 am on a cold Tuesday morning, she had been drained dry of any emotion after the 10 hours of non stop pushing.
She hadden even looked at her daughter before she demanded they take her way.
Stephanie brown had felt no connection to this little girl, she haddent named her. It wasn't truly her child anyways, but she had still hoped her a good life.
Stephanie knew the only way that this little girl would have a good life was away from her.
Away from fuck up Stephanie.
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Stephanie was twelve years old when she took up the mask of Spoiler, she flew for the first time.
The wind whipped her hair and threatened to drag her back, but she prevailed, her lungs empty in awe, as the buildings speed past her feet.
She had creeped around her father's "missions", planting notes, notes explaining who he worked with, why he worked with them,detailed reports, and if she was lucky maps.
The first time Batman had shown his hate towards the younger girl. Stephanie Brown was the first robin Batman hated and she was the last robin Batman would hate so entirely.
But haddent know that yet.
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Stephanie Brown was thirteen years old, when she had taken up robins wings, when she had flied with Batman despite his hate towards the little girl.
(Stephanie) Robin was know for her deep red lip stick, it wasnt a blood red, it had hints of brown but it was still red, a red as if all pink was stripped from it.
It was a source of strength for many other girls. Little girls to had needed a hero just like them.
Stephanie Brown- No Robin had become a lesson to the next Robin. To never fly to close to the sun. To always follow orders.
Stephanie had become Icarus just like the other robin that had flown to close to the sun.
Only she was the one still breathing.
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Stephanie brown had ended the cycle, as she knew she would as the power drill began to drill white hot pain into her brain.
As the blood began to pool too thick. As the injuries pulled on her heart.
Stephanie Marie Brown daughter of Crystal Brown and Aurther Brown had died at 16 years old.
Becoming another statistic in Gotham's book.
But her death had prevented Her from become other statistics. Statistics she didn't want to become.
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