Sonata

I - IV

The sun sets outside through the window, barely lighting the hall I stand still at, I rest my head against the door in front of me, my nails slowly scrape through the carvings of the  memories I hold of not being scared of  the other side of it, when we were child, we would play hide and seek often inside this room, Eleanor, my sister and I, we would play pretend as if we belonged inside of the books on the shelfs they said we couldn't reach for but we always did, somehow we tried beyond what we were told and far from everyone's sight, we succeeded, as we grow older the absence of worthiness for one good memory is what fades a smile away and ours fade as we parted ways, each own came to age of being responsible for a place in this house, Eleanor at the age of twelve had given up her smile for a pair of hands that have known nothing but burns and open cuts from scrubbing perfection to it's core as her waist tightens up to the apron she was assigned since birth, my sister was taken away of her freedom at the age of twenty one because she had fallen in love and in despair of burring her feelings  her body was the one to be buried first and I? I was hiding until now in black and white tiles kept in sight only when music was requested and a mother needed a compliment, held captive as the shadow my sister needed in order to be admired, raised as the step to a pedestal. These memories talk, scream and sing miseries that echoes from my head to my heart and I dance at the very tip of anxiety, tip toeing around the edge, breathing in-between gasps of living nightmares, wondering if jumping is safer than balancing or if living will ever feel better than dreaming of dying. I sink my nails onto the door, almost as begging for a moment of silence as peace is a privilege those who hate themselves will never be given to, the voices soften their tone but they insist of murmuring  as if they are to act, think and talk in my place, how dangerous would that be? If I am to present to my father like this will he say I'm not sane enough to go? Pushing the door open it creaks loudly.

If my voices are  for once to speak louder, will he tell me I'm sick and to be locked away? Shall I beg to be hidden? I step inside the library as I drag my feet towards my father who has his back in my direction, will he say it was a mistake, that fortune isn't needed? That his daughters place is - In your imagination. - His voice echoes.  

I stop centimeters away of him, lighting the last candle of the room he turns to me blowing the match, the smoke rises upon my face. - You used to live here, in your imagination mostly. - Father says. - Being hidden was a responsibility mother asked of me. Only to exist  when told so. - I say, my father agrees nodding, his hands lock each other behind his back and the steps he takes echoes in direction of the desk he usually works at. - You did great in remembering such. - Father smiles towards me. -  But failed when you though you had a life of your own. -  My body tenses upon his words. What hope of being understood had I when I crossed that door?  Father and mother are a reflection of selfishness itself.  

He rounds his desk before leaning on top of it. - This was my mistake. - Father opens his arms embracing the library around us.  - I have allowed you  - Slowly points his finger towards me. - Too much freedom all these years. - He grabs one book at the table. - Too much space for curiosity. - When I lay my eyes upon the book was as if his hands were now around my neck, pressuring me breathless as I restrain from showing emotions. - My mistake was believing - He opens the book, walking near the fireplace, a hair clip falls from the pages and begins to tear page by page. - Father please. - I beg. - I should've left you locked has your mother advised. - He spits. That book, the one I have left to reach Eleanora's hands is now being ripped apart and thrown into the fire as mere useless fuel - You weren't useless we though you were. - He continuous to tear the book angrier by the page.  One tear, falls down this face of mine but not one muscle moves. He stops, he turns to me laughing. My spine shivers at the presence of a breath reaching from the shadows towards my neck. The book falls on the floor and father walks towards my direction.

- Do you feel seen now?  - Mother grins behind my ear as her hand now holds a place on my shoulder. - My lonely little doll. - Pities me in irony and when father measures up to my face he whispers in my other ear. - Marrying is a façade. - Father says softly. He take a step back and with both his hands he grabs my face tightly -  You are being sold. - They laugh.