Prisoners of Prophecy

Chapter 9

**TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains images of drug use, child neglect, domestic violence, and child abuse**

"Are you okay, Mommy?" A girl no older than four asked.
She sat in the center of a filthy living room. The carpet had once been white; now it was barely visible under caked mud, old food, and trash. Bugs crawled around her and even on her, but she payed them no mind. Sores and bites covers her malnourished body, and she absently scratched at them with dirty, unkempt fingernails. Her hair, which had once been curly and a beautiful blond was now matted and lifeless.
The young girl knew nothing of how terrible her living condition was. Her large, deep blue eyes were bright with curiosity and childish content.
Her mother sat in an old, torn recliner in front of her. Her eyes were the same hue as her daughter's - the color of an ocean that stretched to unknowable depths - but they would often roll back until you could see nothing but white; the rest of the time they were cloudy and always threatening to close. She struggled to continue looking at the little girl at her feet as she tried to process the question she had asked. Every now and then, her gaze would soften and fill with love, but for the most part it was dazed and shadowed by deep depression. Her head would fall forward and then jerk back up an instant later as she struggled to stay conscious. She had stopped caring to cover the small pricks in her skin with bandaids a long time ago, so the bruises on her hands and in the creases of her elbows were clearly visible.
"I'm okay, Melany, just a little sleepy," she mumbled, forcing an odd half - smile. "Why don't you go play outside?" Her slurred words ran together, making it hard to understand them.
Melany's heart ached with a sadness a girl of her age should not know. There was something wrong with her mom; she wasn't young enough to be blissfully ignorant. She just wasn't sure what it was. The year before seemed so long ago. She had been so much happier then. When Melany's dad started staying out later, they started to get mad at each other more and more often. Her mom had played with her less and less, then stopped altogether. She had begun to lose weight, stopped taking care of herself and the house like she used to.
"It's dark outside," Melany responded simply, hiding her concern because part of her knew nothing good would come out of it.
"Oh... Right." She nodded off for a moment, her eyes closing and her head drooping slowly. But when the sound of rattling keys got rapidly close to the front door, she sat up, wide awake.
Fear forced its way brutally into the child's racing heart. Her father had become an angry man. He was so terrifying now that Melany had often met him in her nightmares. She stood up as quickly as she could on her suddenly weak legs.
It was too late for her to run. He burst through the door violently and slammed it behind him. Both Melany and her mother flinched away from the loud boom that echoed throughout the house. He stumbled to the recliner where his sickly - looking wife was sitting. He carried the smell that I now related to him - a mix of sweat, cigarettes, and alcohol. There was a beer in his hand - there always seemed to be one is his near vicinity now - and he slammed it down on the small table beside him.
Melany was frozen in terror. She felt the anger coming off of him in waves. She knew that tonight would end badly. There weren't many nights anymore that didn't. Any moment, they would begin screaming - one in rage and one in pain. Melany always felt bad for running off when the fighting started, even though she knew she could do nothing to stop her father when he was like this. She wanted to get away from the horrendous scene bound to play out before her, but her feet suddenly weighed tons. Would this ever end? Would her mother one day stand up for herself and leave with her? Or would her dad end up hurting her so bad she would never be able to escape?
"I work all. Damn. Day. And you can't even clean this pig sty? You sit here strung out in front of our daughter! Do you not have any morals?!" He was already screaming, his words often broken by one's he told her were "bad words" that she should never say "til I was grown up". They were words Melany didn't understand, but she recognized the anger in his tone when he said them, and that was all she needed to know.
Melany's mother only stared at him blankly. She had stopped responding to him, at least when he was like this.
His laughter was grating, like nails on a chalkboard. "You still have nothing to say?" After a short span of silence, he spoke again. "Well, get your ass up and do something about it!"
Her eyes flicked to Melany's, and they were glowing with a scary combination of emotions - love, hate, horror, pain - and wide with pleading. Then, she stood up, and when her gaze found her husband's again, they were just as numb as before. Her small, bony frame was tense, her forehead crinkled in determination.
He mercilessly swung his arm in a wide arc and slapped her across the face with all of his strength. The sound was like a thunderclap, but the silence that followed it was deafening. She collapsed into the chair, her eyes watering and her cheek already beginning to swell.
He raised his hand again. She winced, but made no effort to protect herself.
"No!" Melany screamed.
Two pairs of eyes landed on her and she instantly regretted speaking at all. Her mom's wide, blue gaze looked livelier than ever, and she was vehemently shaking her head.
Her father wasn't her father any longer. There was a monster standing in front of her now, boiling with rage, face red and contorted.
He grabbed his beer bottle and slung it at her with murderous force, and it flew at her with a speed that seemed impossible. Melany blinked and then it was shattering against her small chest. She screamed in agony, the tears running down her cheeks mingling with the blood that was beginning to trickle from many new scratches on her face.
Her mom gained an unnatural strength then. She flew from her chair and landed on the beast that had once been the love of her life. They tumbled to the floor in a flurry of arms and legs. There was fury in her eyes as she threw her fists in any direction that she could. Each hit that landed echoed loudly and mingled with her animal-like war cries.
"Go to your room and lock the door!" Her mother gasped. "Everything will be fine in the morning!" When her eyes found Melany's, and she saw the fresh wounds on her body, she groaned and went limp. "Clean up as best as you can. I'll come help in a minute."
Her voice was cut off and turned into a terrible gargling sound when large and dirty hands wrapped around her throat.
Melany turned and ran, the sting of all the small gouges in her skin momentarily forgotten in her haste to leave the awful image in front of her. She locked her bedroom door like her mother had taught her, and slid under the bed with her favorite pillow.
The darkness comforted her. It enveloped her in blissful silence, refreshing coolness. It slowly got easier to breathe, and the tears tried on her cheeks. Her pain subsided. The screams of her parents were muffled under here. She listened to them quiet until they vanished altogether.
When an unknown voice spoke, softly and full of concern, Melany was not afraid. She was protected in these shadows. She had faith in that. She had to, she had to have faith in something. "You're bleeding," the stranger whispered.
Only then did she notice the sensation of the streaks of sticky blood drying on her arms and face. It ran in a slow but steady stream from a particularly deep gash, soaking the collar of her shirt. When she licked her lips, she could taste it. The coppery smell filled her nose.
"Daddy threw a bottle at me," Melany stated simply, not old enough to comprehend the atrocity of such an act.
Floating in the dark beside the little girl was a pair of eyes that faintly glowed red, enough to shine a dim light on the form of a small, round nose below. That was all that was visible. She was instantly drawn to them, feeling like she was falling further and further into them. Despite the fact that there was a person she did not know locked in her room with her, she felt no fear. Only curiosity.
"How can you see me?" Melany asked when the stranger said nothing more. "Is it because of those flashlights in your eyes?"
The stranger gasped softly. "I'm not sure," she murmured in a soothing tone. "Why don't you come out from under here with me, so we can see each other?"
Melany could not help but oblige to those alluring red eyes. She took a deep breath, taking in as much of the darkness around her that she could, hoping it would bring her courage. Then, she crawled out of that comforting gloom, sliding across the grimy carpet on her stomach. Immediately, the pain of all those lacerations on her body crashed down on her at once. She winced as she opened up her new wounds again. Fresh blood trickled down her dirty skin.
The stranger glided up to her, as graceful as the shadows that Melany loved so much. She was studying herself with narrowed eyes, and running her hands over her face. They came away stained red. Though her features would have surely horrified even a grown adult, they comforted her.
She was Melany's age, standing a few inches taller than her. Her black hair framed her young face. Her skin was as pale as marble. Two gashes split her cheeks from the corners of her lips almost to her ears. Blood poured from the gruesome injury, but she appeared not to be in pain at all. Only shocked.
She thought nothing of the girl's gory appearance. She had a friend now, she knew - born from the murkiness beneath her bed. Her childish mind accepted this kid's existence here without question, but hope.
"Thank you for coming to help me," Melany sighed, overwhelmed with sudden gratitude. Going through nights like these alone was never easy.
She smiled, and the slashes in her cheeks made it look oddly wide. "Of course."
"Are you okay?" Melany asked, pointing at her bloody face. "That doesn't hurt?"
She shook her head. "No, it doesn't hurt. This is just what your mind thinks I should look like. I'm like your own imaginary friend. Do you know what an imaginary friend is?"
"Sure I do!" Melany exclaimed. "Mom told me about them. I've been looking for mine since, and here you are!" She squealed in excitement and clapped her hands before growing serious. "Have you met Mom's imaginary friend? His name is Barry. Mom said he had purple hair and blue skin and - "
"We'll talk about that in a minute," she interrupted. "I need to get some stuff to help clean you up ."
"I wouldn't. My dad's angry. I don't want him to throw a bottle at you, too."
Her smile fell and her expression grew sad. "He won't hurt me. I promise. Sit down. I'll be right back."
Melany listened, her face creased in thought.
The girl came back with her hands full, shutting the door quietly behind her and locking it back. She had brought a bowl full of warm water, a rag, peroxide, and a box of bandaids; just as her mom would when she would take a spill and hurt herself. "Try and stay still," the girl cooed. "This might sting a little."
"I can do it! I've scraped my knees so many times!" Melany stated proudly.
"Why don't you let me? You can tell me about Barry while I do."
Melany tapped her chin thoughtfully for a few moments before her blue eyes widened and she jumped to her feet. "I know!"
"Hey, sit down!" the stranger commanded while still keeping her tone low and soothing.
She sat back down, still grinning madly. "I'm sorry. But I know what your name should be!"
"What's that?" she asked as she rung out the soaked rag and started wiping gently at the scratches all over her arms, face, and chest.
"Melody! My mom calls me that on accident sometimes, because it sounds the same. Melany, Melody. Mom says melodies are like songs. And music is pretty, just like you! It's perfect!"
She smiled. "That's a wonderful choice."
The newly named Melody continued to clean the blood off of her as well as a layer of grime that had built up from the last time she had had a bath. Melody wondered with a pang of sadness how long that that had been. Melany often winced, but even when the peroxide was bubbling up in her fresh wounds, she didn't move in the slightest. She seemed to hardly notice when the girl she had just met pulled slivers of glass out of her skin. She was infatuated with her friend's eyes, which still had a faint glow to them even out of the lovely dark that lingered beneath her bed. She got lost in them the more that she studied them.
Melody had fallen into her own sort of trance as if she had done this many times before. There was a stunned expression which was almost comical on her face. Countless questions popped up in her thoughts all at once. Where am I? How did I get here? Who is this girl? Who am I? But none of them were questions she could answer, and dwelling on them drove a dagger of terror deep into her heart. So, with the pure faith of a child yet bravery beyond her years, she told herself that she was supposed to be here, and that the rest of the answers would come in time.
Melany had changed into clothes that weren't very clean but better than the ones that had been stained with her blood, throwing them into the overflowing laundry basket at the same time Melody came back from putting away the things that she had borrowed from the bathroom. She wondered how her parents didn't notice her, wondered if her mom was okay. But only briefly, for the mere sight of her new friend both intrigued her and put her at ease, and those worries drifted away.
Melody regarded Melany with a concerned look in her eyes, smiling. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
Melany grinned back at her, apparently unfazed by the terrible things she had witnessed earlier, leaping onto her bed. "I'm great! You should stay! We could be up all night!"
"Why not?" Melody said, shrugging. She tried to keep the fear out of her voice.
Because where else would she go?