Soul of Flames

Chapter 5-Robyn

Dad drives the car up the long, gated road to our house, pulling to a silent halt just in front of the large front doors with heavy brass knockers mounted in their centres.  Looking up at the ominous opening that has kept me trapped for so many years sends a shiver down my spine, and I avert my gaze.

To the left of the house, down a straight, wide pathway, are the gardens, all arranged in a perfectly symmetrical pattern: rows upon rows of expertly trimmed rose bushes intersected by more pathways, circles of pansies and carnations in full bloom, all creating a riot of colour against the grey stone of the large house.

There is even a fountain down there-right in the centre-made of sparkling white marble with cherubs holding drawn bows perched on each layer. From the arrow tips clear water pours out that glistens like diamonds in the afternoon sun.

On the opposite side lies the overly-big garage; although its size is proportionate to the ridiculous amount of vehicles my family own, ranging from top of the range motorbikes-with paint so glossy you can blind yourself looking at them-to the fastest and most expensive sports cars ever made.

In case you’re wondering how on earth we can afford such a majestic place, let me explain. My family are one of the richest and wealthiest in this part of the city-all due to my father’s business-hence the extravagant manor standing before me now. 

It’s most kids dream to live in such a huge house, but I don’t see the blessing of it. To me, the opulence is just a way to make up for the complete lack of character that most of the people dwelling here possess. 

In my opinion, it would take a fool to be taken in by the glamour. You only have to look just under the surface to perceive the truth, to push aside the veil of light and wonder to see the thick shadows underneath.

The lion head knockers bare their teeth at anyone who dares to even glance up the drive way, the brass taking on a crimson hue. The colour of the flower beds fade away against the sheer expanse of bleak, dark stone that makes up the house. The clear water of the fountain becomes as hard and cold as ice, its sharp edge slicing through you, numbing your brain.

That is how I see the terror that I live in, that I have to come home to everyday. But even that pales in comparison to the beasts within.

I know that every teenager thinks that their parents are evil, demons in disguise, existing purely to prevent you from living your life to the full. In my case however, this is true. Well, almost true.

Before I can lapse into an internal rant at my infuriating family, my dad comes up behind me and pushes me towards the front door. ‘Come on Robyn,’ he mutters in my ear. ‘There’s no point in stalling. It will happen either way.’

And so, with his hand forcing me roughly forwards, I manage the few steps from the car to the door. There I stand, in the shadow of the entrance, shivering in front of the solid, ten foot high doors of doom.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Dad handing over the car keys to a valet, before striding up to stand slightly behind me on the top step. I can just see his glare at the edge of my peripheral vision, spearing me with his eyes.

I sigh, knowing that he will make me walk in before him, offering me up as a sacrifice. However, I refuse to just back down, as usual. Instead I stand there, waiting for him to move past me and open the door, protecting me from the onslaught within.

Of course, it doesn’t happen. He leans in again, whispering, ‘As I’ve told you before, I’m not going to help you. You have to learn to accept responsibility for your own messes.’

I bite back the retort I long to utter-I know it won’t help-and take a deep breath. This is always the worst part, the waiting, not being able to see what’s behind the door. Going blind has always been one of my greatest fears, and it really shows when I have to stand out here.