Stories of her Broken Mask

Chapter 2

Days rushed by with a gasoline infused engine, speed without any intention of slowing pace. Six year day of thy birth unfortunately was swept up in the tracks. A blatant week had passed undetected to my internal memory.

Drizzly grey water found its way past the misery of the dark cotton woven over the sun and advanced homeward bound. Near completely dark, Night was starting to approach. I threw upon my body my typical white nightgown, I was only pleased wearing it for it gave me warmth during the dreary spring evenings.

Saying my night prayers I felt at peace and rather ready to let myself drift. I picked up the now paper-free box my father had given me, pried the corners open and scrimmaged through the maze of tissue. Finding my destination, I plucked the item and studied it for the seventeenth time. My birthday produced a doll from my father. Nor was I one who particularly fancied them, however I pulled to its image due to the originality of the model. Thin, tall, pale, turquoise suited, gold floral printed ruffle with a face I recall now all too well. Hand painted, as if she bore a mask rather than a face.

smiling downward, I held the doll close to my heart as I let the rhythm of the rains snapps, pops and raps attacted the outter wall  fill my mind. Voices started to corrupt the peace, shouting and pounding of agitation rang out from downstairs. I only assumed Mother and Father were at it again. Never was there control anymore, there was never relief. Pain as well as suffering and the thought of separation was shredding ties.

I could not resist tiptoeing down to kitchen for I needed the understanding of the situation. I peered around the open basement door and took note of the arguement.

"Why are you cheating on me dean?" Marilyn moaned in complaining agony with fiery agitation and disappointment in her melting eyes. My chest burned at the sound of the immortalizing despair that cracked the small amount of spirit that was left within her.

Looking upon my father, I felt his whit had become a bodily nervousness for his words lacked confidence, "W-w-what are you talking about dear?" He stuttered as pebbles of sweat dripped down his ghostly face.

Fixated upon the present situation, i felt myself glued to the floorboards beneath me. A moment of holy silence then a sudden rupture roared in my ears making me almost stumble in the volume.

"If you really think of me as a fool why don't you just say it! I found letters jammed in your desk, also things i'd rather not say in this old house in which we share with our children!" Mother squealed not even trying to withhold her growing insanity.

"I-I told you those aren't mine- I had those so l-long ago from a p-past girlfriend back in high school," Dean blurted in his defense against his disbelieving spouse.

Tragedy stuck my deliberating mind as it numbed. Not seeing, neither hearing nor speaking evil; nothingness had taken my cranium hostage over the dangling lava pit of fear. Time then slowed dramatically, feeling my lead-footed run back into my sanctuary a troublesome one. My heart had fallen into my digestive track, rotting in the disappointment of peace among my family. Me being of such a young age I never knew the severity of the argument. Only realizing that I was about to find myself living not a dream anymore... rather a night terror.