Melany Fellington is a young girl who lives in poverty in a changed world. She doesn't have what others have the room to have, but family made what she has more than enough. During substandard times of oppression, a fatal interference threatens her...
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(Friday night, August 17th)
At Mr. Calloway's yelling for the servants to leave our bedrooms once again, I immediately left my room with my sleepwear on.
I stood outside of my door, just as the other servants were, but I backed up until I was flush to my door when Mr. Calloway walked by me.
He hardened his gaze at me, then he looked at Carter from across the hall, opposite me. Carter had sweat surfacing on his forehead while he anxiously eyed me a bit.
Then Mr. Calloway started addressing everyone, "Earlier, in a guest bedroom, a vase was broken, a vase that belonged to my mother before she died, and I am saddened by this because this vase was a family heirloom."
My heart immediately started beating faster in anxiety, apprehension, and unease, a mix that did not help me to maintain neutrality on my face, a poker face that I've always struggled to develop.
"Now this can be quick, and one of you can either confess to me, and tell me who did it, or in result, the punishment that's meant for one person will only get worse," He added stridently.
He then squinted his eyes as he looked at every servant, then he looked at me, and my heart only beat faster, but by the way that he was smirking, I knew then that my heart was beating faster than every single servant in this hallway.
He continued smirking. "It was you," He then said in a wicked tone and enjoyment flashed across his eyes like he enjoyed making me feel unsettled, and the man undeniably did.
I shook my head rapidly, knowing that it was useless, but his smirk only grew. He grabbed me by my hair, and my vision immediately became blurry with tears from the pain as I held in my screams, every noise that I felt rising, I did not allow to leave my lips.
If it was one thing that I remained stubborn to give, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction ofhearing any soundfrom me.
This was one thing that I could do, what I wouldalways do to keep my dignity that I felt thinning by its thread with every hardship and loss that I faced.
He then threw me back against my bedroom door at full force, and I never let a single scream, nor cry leave my lips as I fell to the floor.
But I hated when I felt pity in all of the servants eyes as they watched and I saw Carter panicking across from me, making me hate it all even more.
I hated being abused in front of others, but I became used to it, benumbed to the abuse as it was something that constantly happened in my years that I served in confinement, remembered abuse that I so desperately wanted to forget.
He kicked me in the stomach multiple times and tears only continued to surface in my eyes as I tried to stop the memories from pricking at my mind, the abusive memories and the laughter after being unconscious in prison.
