A small battered girl swiped her hand across the cold back of a book, her lips slipping out every word on the spine. She shielded the book from the rain, using her hand as an umbrella. She read aloud, "A No-Man's Dream: a Story of Man and Moon."
She gripped the literature in her soft, pale hands and flipped to the first page, reading away.
"A blossom will always bloom until the night settles and the crisp, cold breeze sets upon its petals. In order to grow, the pitiful flower depends on warmth. On others. But now it's stranded, all alone with nothing to depend on. Don't be like the flower."
This book wasn't what she expected... Its words weren't painting a story, they were words of wisdom. Advice. Not a "No-Man's Dream" or a "Story of Man and Moon."
Still, the girl continued, her eyes drifting along the words printed on the page.
"Pray to–"
"AMARIS!" howled an unknown voice with a hint of fury. The girl had been kneeling on the splintered wood of the porch attached to her family's house. She flipped her head around in panic, shoving the book down on the cold floor of the wood. The voice howled once again, but it sounded familiar. The bitter sound was the voice of her mother. The small girl trembled as she flung the front door open and sprinted inside. Hot tears trickled down her face, but why? It'd just been her mother?
She stepped into the kitchen, her feet squeaking on the tiles. Cold water dripped from her bruised hands, dried blood washing onto the kitchen floor.
Her mother snickered, taking her hand and guiding her through her own house. The woman abruptly halted at the sight of the cleaning closet, which was ironic, because mice and grimy insects inhabited the filthy space.
The young but mature girl looked into the haunting abyss of the closet and felt her heart sink into her tender spine, and her innards felt as if maggots were tearing through the tissue.
"The monster ate the late," the mother continued, "The crow protected the pearly early." The child looked up into her mother's vast dark eyes, wishing for whatever bloody god exists to smite her, tear her from limb to limb, snicker in her face as she had done to her, and teach her the lesson of karma. But for now, the burdened youth would play the game of her mother's sick twisted dreams. "Conquer your fears," the woman taunted, shoving her very own child into the infested and dark space.
A weak, fearful, skittish child forced to live her fears: to live in the dark and in an infestation, to live in such a tight space it felt like you couldn't breathe.
All of this is because of the hands of her very own mother: her "caretaker."
She only had literature to read to distract herself from such daunting surroundings.
This was the life of Amaris.
YOU ARE READING
dear amaris.
Short Story"Pray to the moon, it'll grant you your revenge on a golden platter." Amaris, a young and skittish girl was forced to live her fears all because of her very mother. Dried blood swished in the river. Was this revenge? "It's justice, Amaris." ...
