The Sacred Flame

Chapter 1

        “No,” I whisper, staring around me in horror. “Oh no! No, no, no! This can’t be happening! Why are you doing this to me! Who are you,” I say, ending on a shriek before crumpling to the ground, my head in my hands. I have to wake up now, before IT comes. Wake up, wake up, wake up, I chant in my head rocking slightly. A shadow falls over me and I stiffen. Slowly I look up, eyes going wide as I let out a blood curdling scream.

                I wake with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed, mouth open in a silent scream, my hands balled in the comforter. My eyes wildly look around before I realize I’m in my room. I slowly let my death grip on the comforter go as I take a deep breath before firmly clamping my mouth shut. I take another deep breath and feel something wet fall on my left hand. I frown down at my hand as I reach my other one up and touch my face, feeling moisture. I blink in surprise realizing that I had been crying, probably the whole time. I swipe a hand under my eyes as I flop back on my pillow. “I’m so sick of having that dream every night,” I groan squeezing my eyes shut against the few rays of sunshine slipping through my blinds. “BRIDGETTE CALLIDA MARIE LE FAYE YOU BETTER BE AWAKE,” I hear my Mother’s shrill voice bark as she pounds on the door, jiggling the locked door knob. “I’m up, I’m up,” I bark back gritting my teeth in frustration. “Can’t get a moments peace in this goddamn house,” I grumble getting up and stripping out of my pjs and pulling on my outfit for the day. I glance in the mirror and grimace before pulling my hair into a high pony and quickly putting on some basic make-up. I step back from the mirror and tilt my head to the side. “It will have to do,” I sigh, shrugging and grabbing my backpack before walking out of my room.

                “Ugh, I wish you wouldn’t show off those horrible things. Your hair is bad enough, it’s just disgraceful,” My mother snaps, her lips twisting into her ever present grimace. I swear that’s her favorite expression, at least when dealing with me that is. I roll my eyes and start to prepare my coffee. “Do you really have to complain about everything? And for your information this is the most “decent” thing I’ve worn in weeks. And you know what why don’t you just leave me hair, piercings and clothing the hell alone. You don’t see me bitching about your apparent lack of a fashion sense, do you?” I keep my eyes locked on my coffee cup knowing if I look at her I’m going to blow-up like I always do. “I’m your Mother so of course I’m going to bitch, as you so eloquently put it, about what I feel you’re doing wrong,” she haughtily sniffs. I grind my teeth together and grip the counter so hard my knuckles turn white. I hate it when she tries to act like a Mother to me. She may have given birth to me but that’s about all she has ever given me. I can do no right in her eyes; I learned that a long time ago. And how she figures it’s my fault for the way my hair and body looks, I will never know. I can’t help it if she feels that I resemble my Father too much.

                I don’t even remember him very much and she doesn’t have any pictures of him up. All I remember is that he was a very tall, kind and gentle man. Always smiling and with shockingly light hair like my own. Most people think I have dyed hair but nope it’s natural. I have unnaturally light platinum blonde hair. In the direct sun it’s a sharp-edged white and when I’m indoors it’s the palest of pale blondes with hints of glittering gold. My blue, purple and red streaks only add character to my other wise colorless hair. And what girl doesn’t have her ears pierced? I mean come-on, she even made me get the first set of piercings. It was all downhill from there. I got my ears double pierced, then the cartilage in the left an industrial bar in my right and my belly button. She should be happy that I don’t have tattoos that she can see, that would just be the icing on her cake of things I’ve done wrong. And don’t even get her started on my fashion sense. Today I’m wearing a black tank top that is cut from my lower right ribs to my left hip leaving my mid-riff bare, a teal acid washed jean mini skirt with matching suspenders and black stiletto boots.