Albino Child

Sixteen

The joy, I could recall every single moment of those days with absolute clarity, while I could not do that for all these mundane days of repetitive schooling, I could do it for the past, remember everything by rote and repetition- many hours of time wasted on the retelling of my life to myself and the ceiling of both my minimalistic study and cluttered bedroom, I knew each for they were precious, without them I was just like everyone else, kill the time till time kills you. I was shaken awake by the clown whose obnoxious garnet-coloured nose perched onto my cheek and stroked the skin, I slapped him away once I realised what was going on, white makeup strobed onto my hand, talc-like powder and greasy cream-paint lathering the palm, I threw a startled expression of shock and disgust as I wiped the foul substance onto my oyster-white sheets, they were blemished with smoky dapples of a dusty substance- the damage looked to have been made with a form of powder for it only grazed the surface of the fabric, I frowned in dismay, this was not there previously for I knew that my doll or that blundering fool of a jester would have sorted the mess out, squinting to the end of the bed I noticed inky droplets had dispersed on the end like bleeding stains, they were a swirling assortment of colours ranging from a dull Victorian pewter to a pale and watery tone that better resembled the tinted tips of white cabbage- these splatters and smear of colour created a rather pretty design on the fabric but I knew they would not last, especially when Doll reawoke to banish the tainted surface with an abundance of industrial-strength bleach; I muttered a few words of confused profanity, my voice was slurred but my mind sharp, I certainly hoped that I was not drunk- if so, then I might have well dreamed up the whole entire meeting with the God and the children- but I knew that was not quite correct, perhaps it was like before, I was in a situation full of unknowns then blanked and returned to my current habitation, I sighed in a grumbling manner at my lack of knowledge, without information I would never have the upper hand, nor could I rely on my standard tactic, blackmail.

Doll entered the room smoothly, as if gliding over the wooden floor, she donned an elegant olive and crocodile green stone upon her pendant, the only form of colour other than her eyes, she strode in expelling cool confidence under her porcelain stature, I smiled with cold welcoming as she removed the covers, we were both horrified by what we saw through, the icy exterior melted at the sight of my legs, they were bloodied and bruised, the skin on my calves were a mixture of hyacinth and eggplant tones, the surface of the dermis itself was cracked and shattered, it appeared to be almost scale-like, furthermore, between each individual island was a sea of blood, the layer seemed to have been drained of any form of moisture and torn away from each other, every peeling could remove to reveal more bloodied shell, the surface of the skin sensitive and sore, within each dry islands were more rivers themselves, the veined over the desert like webs of aged salt- they looked disgusting the curdling of pus-coloured blisters bubbling along the brim of the sea of chalk and sangria; sitting upright, she placed a firm hand upon my back and one upon the tender underside of my thighs, taking me to the sterile bathroom, I noticed that the stone of her pendant had changed into a throb of spruce and dark denim, I did not mention this to her as she stripped me off my sullied clothing and threw them to the other side of the antiseptic area, it fell and tumbled into a duck-egg-blue plastic basket, the round item was thin and flexible, as seen as the clothes bulged through the sides, I was placed inside the bathtub, an antique Rococo basin with sterling silver feet and a matching faucet and showerhead, she had the modern addition installed much to my dismay, I was rather reluctant to damage the item, for it truly was a masterpiece with much history. She began to beat hot water down my back then my body, cooling the water into a more bearable lukewarm, she dampened my hair and then turned off the tap to conserve the hot water, lathering a mysterious concoction of rum, rosemary oil and black tea in an abrasive manner, this mixture was typical of the Victorian era and to go along with my romantic-style bath, I decided that complementary cleaning substances be used. Unfortunately, this also meant that vinegar was to be poured upon my open wounds, I winced in imaginary pain, it wounded painful and unjust, thankfully, she sensed my discomfort and pain and brought out a bottle of modern soap of those with severe eczema- most likely bought for the clown if he ever decided to remove that ghastly mask of makeup of his, I sneered at the thought of him removing the artful application, I knew he could never look normal again, when he was under creation I could recall painting the face-piece with terror, I gave him piercing teeth and a frightful glare, his pupils were merely small spheres that shot down opponents with invisible calligraphy size 0 nibs, his skin, that was a nightmare- my immature sense of humour decided to draw obscene phrases and images all over the soft, smoothly applied asparagus-white glaze, he was ashamed of them, I knew but I refused to help him- my twisted sense of gratification prevented me from helping his problem.

I snickered as she massaged my skin clean, once completed I saw a large slate-grey tub being opened, the label read 'Skin Grease for Extreme Sealing' and a long roll medical gauze laying innocently next to her slender figure, she began to lift me out of the bath and towel me dry, sitting down on a thistle-painted MDF stool I stretched out a delicate leg onto a plush pillow or folded flannels, she began to smear the oily cream onto my leg as if it were a gluing substance to bind the sheets of therapeutic fabric onto my dermis, my circulation was gently cut off by the tightness of the windings around my skin, there was much to be covered and she executed the task with ease, precision and efficiency, she was the perfect creation- her tasks were always completed to absolute perfection, I sighed in satisfaction, her features were also a work of art, I had created her many years prior, within the facility as a demonstration of my skills, I had received top of the class and sneered down upon the foolish students that failed to submit anything on my level of excellence; I grinned as I recalled my moments of success, I refused to imagine what Doll was doing after she pulled out healing spider-twine thread and a microscopically thin wire-like crochet tool, I could feel as if all my wounds were being stitched away as I staged my famous achievements in my mind, I exaggerated all the differences making myself appear more advanced than I really was and pretended that the others were significantly worse that they truly were, I needed this boost in morale if I was to confront him, he was relatively scary, he was known for not being hesitant to cheat and play dirty to win but hopefully, with my leverage after many years of keeping tabs on him would aid me in my circumstances.

I heard a final snip as Doll stood up and retrieved a ricotta cotton shirt with parallel corn silk stitching, almost invisible but the expensive glint in the steely lighting made the price and quality of the item evident, from a laundry hanger, upon the lower bar and bottom base of the hanging accessory I was greeted with coordinated matte graphite trousers with almost undetectable pinstripes of signal black all vertical and ironed for ultimate camouflaged effect, on a separate hanger I noticed my favourite porpoise-coloured cardigan hanging limply upon the metal, I smiled as it was placed upon my narrow shoulders, I read ready and prepared, both mentally and physically now. I could face him and take him down for if I was going to face hell from God, so was he.