Pain of the Whispers

Chapter one.

I woke up to Mother screaming my name.

 I sighed as I sat up in my bed.

 Every morning started just like this. 

The voices' would make themselves sound like my Mother. I got up from the floor and stretched my limbs. 

Most would say the few hay strings weren't a bed, but to me it was all I needed. It was all I was allowed anyway. Every month Mother gave me a couple new hay strings, I was so grateful for it every time.

 The random chatter of voices was a daily thing, in the morning they were really talkative.

 My bare feet were freezing, they particularly felt like ice cubes. My whole body was a Popsicle, it didn't last long before the heat settled in. Mother always said I was a furnace that she could never turn off. She once said that was why she put my head under water sometimes, I never ask why. Mother only does it more if I ask why, though she does it no matter what I do or say. I hate displeasing Mother, but no matter how hard I try to please her, she hates me. 

I sighed and wished I could please her better. A voice that sounded like Mother's screamed loudly right in my ear drum. "You stupid brat! Get downstairs and cook me a decent breakfast." I scratched my ear and whispered to myself. "A little too early for such loudness." The voice screamed my name loudly and I flinched at it. 

I scurried out the attic and nearly fell down the hatch below. I was quick to launch back from it, Mother warned me if I fell down it one more time that she would make me sleep outside once again. Mother hated loud noises unless we were in training. But weirdly she always made noises that were loud enough to hear across the castle when she was in her bedroom with the people that helped with her business. I shook my head and pinched my wrist hard enough that a little nail mark was indented into it. I knew better than to question Mother, she would be so disappointed in me if she knew I questioned her authority. 

I put two firm hands on the attic's hatch and slowly lowered myself down. My little arms shook but kept strong as my warm bare feet touched the ground. The warm wooden Brazilian Cherry floor beneath my feet made me wince a bit, Mother dragged me once by the hair on this floor. I sheepishly touched my scalp, it always burned or was inflamed. When I didn't do something right, Mother usually grabbed my hair. Mother knew it hurt from all the times she grabbed it, I think that's why she grabs it more regularly now.

 I walked in a pattern across the corridor floor, some floor boards made noise while others didn't. It was a game me and Mother played every morning. Mother said I have to walk so quiet that not even the mice could hear me. I once asked her why, she replied with. "Because I said so, you don't want the bathroom again, do you?" I shivered at the thought of the bathroom, it was a punishment every time I did something bad. The voice in my right ear hissed. "Better move quicker, it's almost seven a clock." I quickly moved faster than before, careful of where my feet went. 

I got down the corridor. 

At the end of the long corridor was a flight of stairs. Some people say that our home was built like some mad asylum man designed it. But it seemed perfectly normal to me. The flight of stairs was built as a trap, when you looked down at them, it looked like the wood was falling in. But the reason the stairs were like that was because you were supposed to go down them by instinct. 

The first day I was able to walk, Mother made sure I could walk up and down the stairs without looking at them. It was lovely of Mother to teach me that, it's such a blessing for Mother to teach me new things. But she only taught me it once. After that, it took me 25 times of falling down each painful step of a 54 flight staircase to learn how to walk up and down them at age two. Mother taught me the gift of walking up the stairs for me to bring her breakfast every morning. I'm so blessed to be able to cook for Mother every morning.

 I kept my head high as I sped down the stairs, trusting my pattern of footing to make sure I didn't make a peep. Once I got down the stairs all the way, I raced to the kitchen. I boastfully grabbed a kitchen chair and dragged it to the stove. I open the fridge and grab two eggs, smoked apple bacon, pancake mix, with a side of Greek Yogurt only Mother gets to eat. I put the eggs and bacon cooking while I mixed the pancake mix. I rushed to cook and plate it all within 20 minutes. I paced across the kitchen floor holding a tray of food, balancing the tray on one hand while my other hand held a glass of red wine. Mother always drinks at least one glass of red wine every morning; she says it keeps her young and gets her through the day. The tray was only big enough for the plate, that was the purpose of it. Mother made me learn how to cook many types of food at age four. She once made me cook for seven days without stopping, no sleep was allowed. Mother said on the fourth day of cooking when she caught me asleep by the stove top. "How will you ever be a good girl Rice, if you're sleeping! Such a brat, can't even show me respect by learning how to cook for me." That day I earned my first scar, by falling asleep the punishment was putting my wrist on the burning stove top I left on as I was sleeping. 

I went up every step with confidence that this will be the morning, where everything tastes marvelous and she compliments the food.

 I dashed up the stairs in a hurry, I scrabbled in the pattern of footing with a bright smile on my face. 

The corridor felt longer this time around, it was probably because I was so excited to see her response towards the food. When I came to her bedroom door, I gave a brisk knock to it. It didn't take any time for her to come to the door, but her response wasn't what I was expecting. Mother wisps the door open so fast, I nearly almost dropped the glass of wine for her, but I gripped it tighter to make sure it wouldn't happen again. Her expression was beyond mad, she inquired to me. "It's six in the morning! You foolish brat." Mother didn't punish me for the mistake but slammed the door right in my face. The tray got springed back towards me by the impact of the door hitting it. The food and drink spilled all over me, and to make it worse the tray hit me right square in the jaw. A bruise was left on my jawline as I rushed downstairs to get a towel before Mother got even angrier at me. 

Laughter ringed in my ear as all the voices were laughing at my mistake. The voice of an irritating older girl cried in laughter. "You fool, always listening to us like we ever do anything good for you, such an idiot. No wonder why Mother hates you, you'll never be loved. Deal with it." I whispered to myself in a harsh voice. "Be quiet." The voice crackled with laughter no matter what I did.

 I sighed as I rushed upstairs to clean the mess, a noise wasn't heard. Only the voices were the loudest thing in the entire house. I don't know how the voices didn't bother Mother, she says she hates loud noises, but the voices are so loud. Doesn't she hear them? 

After I cleaned the mess, I quickly went downstairs to remake the food. It took the same amount of time as before. Once again, I went upstairs right at seven o' clock. I double checked this time to make sure it was seven. I wore my brightest smile as I gave a knock to her door again. Mother swung open the door with a still angry face. Mother snatched the tray from me and said with a disgusted face on. "Go clean yourself up, you filthy child." I bowed my head in respect as I said sweetly. "Thank you Mother for blessing me with the chance of a bath, thank you." Mother growled. "You're a ungrateful brat, you will always be one, no matter what I give you. You selfish child." My smile faded as I hung my head in shame. "I'm sorry Mother. I hope one day you will know how grateful I am for everything you do for me." Mother slammed the door without another word.

 I walked down the corridor to the bathroom in shame. 

Why could I never please Mother? I was a selfish child, why did I have to be this way? I went to the bathroom and undressed. I turned the ice cold water on and let the tub fill with it. As I waited I sighed in sadness. 

This was only the beginning of the day.