Rotten On Us

Chapter 3

"Are you not going to say hello?", a familiar hoarse voice shouted from below.

Emma was still looking down on them, her body static and her lack of ability to speak. Not being able to in any ways communicate with anyone she cared about, or of course didn't care about.

She didn't hear this mind you, but the man did whisper under his foul breath 'How rude!' Maybe it was the suspicion of those words floating in the air making her behave in such an awkward manner, bullets stunning her to silence.

Emma crept closer and closer to the window frame, she felt safe here in the walls of her room. Any outside, and any physical contact she feared. All except the safety of one's arms.

In an attempt to get the greeting over and done with, Emma was out of the door and outside as fast as light escaping its darkness.

I was used to hearing Emma's thoughts, feeling her and seeing through her eyes, and I surely felt the electrical waves rushing through her veins as she shook his hands.

"James Ricketts" He spoke rather calmly.

The seconds, to her, felt like hours. Her body pulsated, her breathing heavier than usual, but her beloved family covered up her tension and rationalised it as her being her typical self. How could they let 17 years of perfection go to waste? Pride was indeed everything. They had to avoid embarrassment, though they'd soon receive mountains of it. She did not look up to the man when their skin connected for the first time, she just breathed and tried to stop the drumming coming from her chest. Not bothering to get comfort from her relatives standing right beside her, there was no point, she looked up at her window; hoping to be in that sanctuary again. And with failure, straight forward at the darkness in his coat. Darkness.

The stranger grunted at the girl, and instead of looking up at the man, which I assumed he desired, she looked slightly to the left of him to his van; clearer this time. The young girl still had her head down, and strong mother stared ahead, just ahead; not blinking.

The man had noticed this and kindly ordered for them to "get out of the vehicle", and they followed without protest. He had a threatening tone to his voice, a sincere, threatening, tone; so calm that it sent shivers down our spine. Both girls still looked dead, lost, alone.

The man began talking again, this time in a more confident voice. But Emma's mind was focused more on reading through his daughter's frozen tears. They both looked approachable, without the husband or daddy.

Emma did once envy those who's parents were married, those who even knew both of their parents, but standing before the effects of another father - she didn't envy anymore. She felt disgusted actually.

She glanced at her uncle and mother beside her, both with huge grins and nodding at the man's words. They were robots, being fed the fuel of bullshit from the man's mouth. Emma wanted to walk away and leave, but she was trapped in the knots of guilt, shame and blame - just like the other sane females before her. She believed they wished for freedom, but they were captivated, just like she was, though her captivation was physical. Her uncle's hands vigorously gripping her wrist. Though still looking at the man with sincere eyes, he had a stern expression on his face because Emma had looked at his hands she knew he was demanding for her to remain put. Put in her place. That's what uncle wanted. And that she was, or would be.

I felt sorry for the beauty. Her whole being was endangered by these robots - carrying out a complex series of actions automatically. Droids - lifeless, mechanical. The seized hand was once her own again. And again the desolate faces distances from her, and she looked down noticing her 'being' walking away because of freedom.
Those around didn't even notice her departure. Even the frozen-eyed creature with whom she connected with most, watching her - But of course she couldn't break through the ice to see.