Violet

Chapter 13: The Eye

I had last seen Emily two years ago. I was sad about it, and so was Jasper. He never even got to meet Emily or Abby. It was mainly because he was too shy, but he still wanted to meet them. Now he would never get the chance. After that day, Emily's mother left, and things spiraled out of control. I was ten then, and my parent's just left me to do whatever I wanted most of the time.

One day, my homeschool teacher, Mrs. Angel, was teaching me about The Diary of Anne Frank. She said that if I was interested in it, she would buy it for me. I told her she didn't have to buy me the book, but she insisted. Personally, I couldn't wait to read it.

Class was nice that day. After it was over, I decided to go outside because it felt far too gloomy inside. I had two parents that paid no attention to me, and I had no friends, so it always got rather depressing, being inside, I mean. A warm breeze whipped against my face. The air smelled nice, as always. I walked through our garden, thinking about Anne Frank, how she died so young with so many plans ahead of her. I didn't have plans in my life, but Anne Frank wanted to be something. That was a sad way to leave the Earth, in my mind.

A few birds flew off in the distance and I could hear them cawing at something ahead. I wished I could go out into the world like that. Any kid would think living in a mansion with everything you ever wanted and no parents to complain was the best thing ever. Well, let me tell you that it wasn't. I wanted to go out and hang with friends. 

So, I was thinking and planning my life ahead, thinking about what I wanted to do when I got older when all of a sudden, I let my tongue touch one of my molars. I had to stop walking. A molar tooth was missing. I thought at that time I could have been exaggerating until I touched it and felt stitches too! The pain slowly crept in as I touched it more and I ended up leaving it alone.

What in the world happened? I wondered.

It was weird and scary because one, I didn't need a molar removed; two, my teeth were great; three, I had never been to a dentist in my life; four, why did I have stitches? I walked back into the house and questioned my mother about it. She thought I was being paranoid, but the moment she touched my tooth and felt the stitches, she knew I wasn't being paranoid.

"Has this always been like that?" my mother asked. I had to tell her to stop touching it because it started hurting, bad.

"No!" I said then rubbed my cheek to ease the pain. "It wasn't like that yesterday," I told her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I almost shout.

She thought about it for a second. "Maybe your father knows." She pointed up at the ceiling, an indication that he was upstairs.

I shook my head again. "Probably not," I said, standing up. "But I'll ask him anyway."

I made my way up the stairs. Talk about pain, I felt like someone was digging through my gums with needles. I couldn't keep my mouth open. I kept opening it and moving my jaw around. I've never experienced pain like that before. I approached my father's art room almost crying and knocked on the door. After several knocks, no one answered. Sometimes he didn't answer because he was so engaged in his artwork. We weren't allowed in his room, but the pain in my gums made me forget his stupid rules at that moment. I barged in through the door.

"Dad?" I asked, looking around. The room was empty, but his room was breathtaking. I forgot about my tooth for a minute or two as I stared at his art. His pictures, sculptures, and painting were so surreal. He had one life-size sculpture of a boy holding a butterfly net full of butterflies. As I approached it, I cringed, realizing the butterflies in the net were real dead ones.

I looked at the other paintings and one in particular eventually caught my eye. It was a painting of a woman and it looked like she was staring up at something. It showed only her face and half of her shoulders. She wore a collared white shirt. Her black hair was tied in the back, making her look like someone I knew. It took me a good two minutes to realize the painting was of Emily's mother. I laughed a bit, causing more pain in my tooth. Why would he draw her? I used to think my dad did have a crush on Emily's mother because he would come down a lot when she was here. He would smile and act polite and when she left, he'd go back into his room and never come down. He also treated Emily and Abby a lot better than he treated me. Abby even got the privilege to go in his art room.

I traced my fingers over the painting, starting from her shoulders. The painting was smooth and very, very nice. I continued feeling the painting until I got to one of the eyes. I snatched my hand away and felt my heart pounding in my chest. The painted eye was slippery, wet, and sticky. It didn't feel like wet paint at all, it just felt gross. It was the most disgusting thing I had ever touched in my life.

Repelled and worried that my dad would come any moment, I left the room and waited for him to return home so I could ask him if he knew anything about my molar and the stiches.