Violet

Chapter 5: Locked Away

Violet's pov

My mother dressed me up for pictures on my second birthday. I remember not staying still as she dressed me. "Violet," she said gently. "Don't you want to look nice for the camera man?"

"Baba guebi," I said, probably meaning no.

"Baba guebi," my mother mimicked after me.  "Yeah, where is daddy?" she asked, sliding on my socks. I looked around for him, too. 

"Dada," I said, wanting him to show himself.  I didn't see him much. My dad would stay in his art room for ages. The only time he'd come out was for dinner. And you know what? My mom hated that. She hated how obsessed he had become with his art. He seemed to be that way ever since I was born. I wasn't allowed inside of his art room and to be honest, I wouldn't go in there even as a curious two-year-old.

You see, my father developed an obsession with live art. He would use real animal parts and sometimes human parts as well. Not like human arms or legs; thank heavens no. I meant like hair and if he got his tooth pulled, he'd use it as a piece of his art. It was disgusting and it left an unpleasant smell in his art room

"Jason! We're going to be late. Come on," my mom yelled out loud enough for him to hear.

My father walked into the room ."DaDAAA!" I shrieked, excited to see him.

He smiled at me and I reached out my arms toward him. My mom wasn't as happy as me, though. She frowned, upset that he wasn't dressed.

"Jason, why aren't you dressed. We're three minutes late," she said. "Did you even consider traffic?"

My father scratched the back of his head then walked over to pick me up. "We have a perfect camera right here in the house."

"No, Jason Harmon," my mother, said pulling me back away from him.

"Hayu," I yelled out, probably meaning HEY.

"You are not putting off another professional photo shoot just to stay in and paint," my mother fussed.

My father rolled his eyes. "It's not the painting. I just think we shouldn't have to waste our money when we have our own camera." He reached for me again and threw me in the air once, something my mother hated. 

She sighed as my father continuously threw me in the air. She shrugged and looked at the floor. "So we're not going to go?" 

My father held me up and looked at me. "You don't want all those flashing lights in your face right?" he asked me.

I smiled at him. "NumBa!" I said, probably meaning, "I don't."

My mother stood up and snatched me from my father. He gave her a confused look and lifted his hands into the empty air. Mother began unbuttoning my shirt and taking off my socks and shoes. I fussed as she did so, not so happy that she was going to dress me again after she finished stripping me. I began to cry.

My father let his hands drop, turned around, and walked toward the door. "Yeah, go on back to your roadkill," my mother said, throwing my clothes on the ground.

My father didn't say anything to her. He only closed the door and locked himself away from us, locked himself away from the world.