As The Clock Chimes

Chapter 5: My little sunshine

She saw what could be called white—pure snow white. Just like the old Disney movie she saw not long ago. She didn't feel heavy; she didn't feel light. She didn't feel any fear, any remorse, or any happiness. She felt nothing, like a non-sensory tank.

She was calm—to calm for it to be a normal reaction. She was looking down; she saw white not long ago. Why is it so dark now?

Then it hit. She was cold; she was so, so cold. Why was it cold? Why do I not feel my fingertips? Why can't I breathe? The small girl wailed under the thick ice. The ice was as tickly as her forearm. How did she fall through that ice, then?

It didn't make any sense. How could she see white and sudden darkness? she pondered. She wailed and punched the ice, as the only thought that went through her small mind was, Is this how I end up making that monster happy? Is this freedom? Why can't I breathe?

She stopped moving; she felt heavy, and she could feel herself falling to the bottom of the pool. She decided to turn around. She could only watch, as her body wasn't going to answer any of her pleas. She saw the ice glowing white atop the water because of the light. She found that very spectacle pretty. She liked the way the light made the ice look like clouds.

...

Wait a moment...

What is this?

This hurts so much...

Why do her lungs feel on fire? Why is she feeling her body contract as if she couldn't breathe?

She didn't remember why; she was only looking at clouds—yes, those beautiful clouds. Look how they are unmoving. How mesmerizing they look! She felt her back hit something solid. She was hurting so much. So much pain, yet so much freedom—was it freedom? Or was it peace? She didn't know anymore.

She started to fade out; her little pure soul was starting to fade into nothingness as she drowned. However, she didn't know she was drowning.

She was fighting with her body to stay awake, her body knowing that she was dying, but her mind at peace. Her vision faded to black.

She saw a light—a strange light—in the tunnel; she walked to it, or at least tried. She was stopped by an invisible wall, as she didn't know. She did, however, get dangerously close to the light. Something that was blocking the way had somehow vanished. She went into the light, feeling even more free than before.

...

Only to throw up gallons of water, how did she get out of the water? She looked around her mind, a mess, and her vision, only colorful blobs of white.

No one was there.

Somehow, while dying, she brought herself out of the water. She saved herself somehow. She was alive somehow. An answer has yet to be found in her mind. Even today, this action, this survival, is a mystery.

Over time, she finally exhaled all the contaminants that were burning her small lungs. Once every drop of the foul liquid left her lungs, as the burning sensation was still vivid, she tried to get up from her position.

She fell face-first into the snow. She was now also hurting in her nose, but she didn't bleed. Maybe she was too cold for her blood to flow down like a small river. She tried to get up, only to fail again, but this time she tried to stop her fall by using her arms. She slid onto the snow, which was slowly turning to ice, as she fell again on her face.

She tried to get up, to no avail. She tried again, and again, and again. Only this time, she held onto the small wood door, and she was able to get up this time.

She was hit with a wave of cold as it seeped into her clothes and into her small and frail body. It started with feeling the coat heavier than it should be. Then, it became a small cold that was felt on her skin. How could she feel this cold when her coat was supposed to protect her? She didn't fathom the fact that she was experiencing the cold, slow death known as hypothermia. She held onto the door, slid and stepped, stepped again, and was now on the other side of the door.

She needed to get inside. She started to get down the stairs, only to slide down them. She didn't care; her legs hurt after that. She needed to get inside. She went to the door—the patio door. That door is the only thing she remembers from her old house.

It was white; it was mainly a glass panel; the inside had small square bars that were flat. The bars were thin, and they had what seemed to be other smaller bars that were seen upon them, also white. It was a double door where only one side was functional.

The glass panels were very, very dirty, a clear sign that fingerprints could be seen. but you could still clearly see what was on the other side. She tried to open the door, only to find it locked. She fought with the locked door as she saw herself shivering in her reflection.

She saw a corpse, or what looked like one. She saw a small child with a small hat covering her ears, which was purple with pink and white lines. There was also a pompom atop the small winter hat. Her skin—at least the skin visible on her face—was blue, a strange yet enticing shade of grey blue. Her lips, in a heart shape, were purple, as if she wore makeup; however, she is allergic to makeup.

Her eyes looked dead. She looked a little more down; she saw her coat, dripping from how soaked she was, was purple and had a checkered pattern of sideways squares; they were pink and purple. Once she looked at her legs, she could see the rest of the winter suit; the pants were purple. And her small boots were black, with the side of the bottom purple.

Once she stopped trying to open the door, she looked inside, at least focusing on what was going on inside the house. The sight was... sad.

Her little sunshine was held back by the monster. Her little brother was holding a hot cocoa drink, known as hot chocolate. The monster held herself up. She was wearing black. Black pants that molded her fat legs. A black shirt that showed off how big she was. With all that, she wore a small, useless summer vest that was gray. She was looking into the eyes of the kid outside. She had a small, but vicious, smile.

That monster was holding a wine glass, filled with the potent white liquid that fed her rage. She was also holding, in the same hand that held the wine glass, a strange black bottle with the top red.

They held their stare for very long. The child saw that her features were fully blue, sky blue, and her lips were a strong, deep violet. The child doesn't know how long they held that stare for; it could have been hours or days for all she knew.

But the nightmare ended when her father entered the door—the front door, to be exact. It was only then that the monster looked scared and looked at her with fake love and care. She unlocked the door and brought her thing inside. She faked concern for the life of her punching bag, making the father panic.

Once she had a warm bath, she was kept awake for hours, only to fall asleep, even though she was told not to by her father, but yes, by that monster.

The next day, she woke up shivering, cold, and traumatized.

A/N

The session took much longer than expected, as she was detailing what happened a little too much. I was forced to strip it down a lot. It's scary to know that a brain can remember the tiniest details once traumatized.

Remember that from now on, the chapters will not be pretty and show a lot of details that many wouldn't want. This is the last warning, as this chapter is a small taste of what is yet to come.

We thank you again for reading this story, or even just giving it a glance. If you can, spread it so that those who are suffering may find the help they truly need.

Remember, if you are experiencing or have lived through any of what was described in this book, seek help. If you suspect someone is receiving this treatment, please report it. This should not be carried on; this should finally be stopped once and for all.

And once again, thank you, reader, for reading this.