Falling

eleven

Baleful:  [ˈbālfəl]
a sinful aura of menace; evil

*****

I thought they hadn't noticed my absence when I had finally twisted the doorknob separating me from hell, open.

Dim lighting from the dingy light bulb hanging from the entrance had immediately hitched my breath.

Something was wrong, this light has never been turned on, unless someone was awake at night.

The tiny hairs on my neck stood up, and goosebumps dotted my arms. Almost collapsing from the intense, sudden fear, I crawled towards the basement opening that led to my corner. A dirty, ripped mat was the bed. A passer-by might have mistake it as a rag fished from the sewers. The once white mat was now stained with patches of red and other substances. But, I felt no contempt towards it. After all, it was the only thing I could call my own, the only thing that was purely mine.

Instant relief flooded my weary limbs as I finally reached the opening. But before I could fully open the door, it was slammed, catching my fingers in the hinges.

I screamed.

Not from the pain, but because of them.

They were awake and they were waiting.

A bottle slammed against my cheek, effectively shutting me up.

The smell of alcohol filled my nostrils and yet, it could not triumph the smell of fear.

"So, our little slut is trying to fly now?"

She whispered the words softly, but it wasn't enough to mask the malice and hatred behind.

My head automatically shook wildly, side to side.

Immediately, I was greeted by a shower of boiling hot water. A volcano of inferno flames cascaded down my back, forcing out a gasp of pure agony.

They said it was to cleanse myself with, as they refused to touch something as filthy as me, lest I contaminated them.

By now, the 3 fingers jammed into the hinges were numb, and I was grateful for that when they forcefully yanked it out. The damaged parts were in odd shades of color and didn't resemble fingers at all.

A powerful jab of his foot sent me tumbling down the concrete steps. My right leg emitted a loud crack, temporarily drowning out their sadistic cackles.

My lifeless eyes stared blankly at the distorted limb. I've learned over the years that the quieter I am, the quicker the paint job goes.

The woman came down first, her hands causally holding a knife that glinted slightly, as if mocking my pathetic state. She was taking her time, basking in my immobile figure. She crouched in front of me, and I flinched, every cell in my body screaming for help. The blade of the knife lifted upwards and she darted out her tongue, licking it from the tip downwards. Quicker than my eyes could follow, the knife flashes through my skin, leaving a long thin trail of blood red across my upper thigh. A copper taste materialized and overwhelmed my taste buds. Unknowingly, I had bit my lips so hard to prevent the emerging scream, my teeth broke the fragile skin of my lips.

She's laughing manically now, her face contorted into a twisted smile and a single blood droplet smeared underneath her right eye, giving the impression that she's crying blood. The knife attacked again, this time slowly. As if in slow motion, she drew on my thigh, causing waves of unexplainable agony pulsating again and again throughout my body.

This is just a nightmare.

I'll have a real family when I wake up, that'll hold me when I'm scared and tell me they love me.

And they'll end my misery.

I want to die.

I wanted her to slip, to impale the knife fatally in my waiting body. Yet, the world was against me and denied my only wish.

"Look, mommy tattooed liar onto your thighs. Now it matches the slut on your other thigh!"

She was clapping her hands in delight, as if she did me a favor. I could only let my tears cloud my vision, blocking the horrid sight as a temporary reprieve.

Then the man walked down.

My entire body froze, and my throat choked up. A decoration of cold sweat dotted my feverish head with bile suddenly building in my mouth.

Not this.

Anything, but this.

Please, someone help me.

The sound of a belt unbuckling resounded throughout the basement.