The Darker Universes

sick day

((still on the 1 hr a day schedule so heres a short one. been sick lately n reminded me of bad times. they dont coddle u here. its nice to be coddled. i really miss my family ig
tw's for physical and sxl child abuse))

"Get your lazy ass up, child."

It really didn't want to, but it knew better than to ignore the man. It rolled over on its cot and tried to blink away the exhaustion. Its surroundings didn't look familiar despite it being its room for the last eight years. It usually awoke in the cabin, far away from civilization. Should it have been relieved to not be back in that place?

But still, the man was there. And he wasn't happy today.

"Did you hear me? I said, get up."

He grabbed onto the child's upper arm and tugged it into a sitting position. It cried out in pain. That arm was still sensitive, even after months of physical therapy. It tried to pull away, but that only caused more pain. It was red hot like it was being ripped off all over again.

It wasn't though. It was just a memory of pain. The man finally let go when it stood from the bed, and that helped a little. It ran its fingers down its stump carefully. When the accident first happened, it liked to rip apart the stitches that had kept the wound closed. At least then, the pain made sense. It couldn't fathom how someone could feel pain through a memory. It also couldn't fathom why some days, it felt like its arm was still there and could even flex its imaginary fingers. It hated those days.

The man wanted it to follow. It did so without question. It didn't understand why, but it didn't feel well; its body was shaky, and it felt way too hot and way too cold all at once. Was that why it was awake? It only ever seemed to be awake when there was pain to process. Or maybe its existence was only pain. Was there really much of a difference?

Apparently, it wasn't walking fast enough. The man yanked its arm again, always up high so the bruises could be easily hidden. It doubted its mother actually cared for it, but if she saw the bruises, she would do something. Probably. It liked to think so, anyways, but it was fearful of what he might do if it ever showed anyone. He liked to threaten its big sister's wellbeing constantly. It was okay. Not like anyone would believe it anyways. It wasn't a liar, but it was always treated like one.

He dragged it to the kitchen. It was well past breakfast time, according to the sun outside the window. Its mother was at work, and its sister probably at school. It had the vaguest memory of tender touches from the previous night and some icky medicine. It had stayed home sick. That's why it wasn't at school.

The man gestured toward the kitchen sink. "Nettoie la vaisselle. You fooled your maman, but you're not fooling me. Do your chores."

It repeated the words back to itself, quietly. Not quietly enough apparently. He popped the side of its head. "Arrête ça. You know I hate it when you mumble like that. Bien sûr, je reste coincé avec cet enfant stupide."

It ducked its head so it could mouth the words instead without him seeing. That seemed to please him enough to leave it alone. Every morning, it was expected to do the dishes. At least, that was what the man and anne always said. It couldn't actually remember most mornings. Or most of any given day. She had once said it was good for it to learn to do normal things with one hand. That didn't make it any less painful.

Dishes always took the longest. The man was probably in the office where he typed away at a computer whenever he worked from home. That meant it could hum or talk without fear of being hit, so it did exactly that. It liked to spend its quiet time repeating back stories it had read or heard before. On the better days, after a few fairy tales, the dishes were usually done.