Random Short Stories 📕

A Beginning to a Book

This is a beginning to a book please comment if I should make it an actual book, thanks!
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Shhhhhhhhhh.
Just remember, this is for your own good.
Just remember, you deserve this.
Just remember, this is your fault.

My father likes to say.

My poor mother died while giving birth to me and my father has always despised me every since. He remembers how she bled so much, it looked as if he was a murderer. But then I say, I would believe you if you were one. And then he hits me.

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The clouds always hover around here, in the mountains. Those nimbostratus clouds that carry the snow. The white flecks that slowly fall one minute but icy shards that pierce you the next. My mother had always wanted a house in the woods and my father loved her so much that he built one. Our cabin is in the middle of nowhere. At the tip of Alaska. My older brother, James has always protected me from the monster, my father. He would take care of me when I was little. Oh, how father hates James and I. I see the red marks on his back and I used to cry but now I don't. I'm used to it. The hate. The pain. And the anger.

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I wake at dawn. The dark blue hues painted by the earth are scattered across the sky. I braid my thick black hair into two braids and get out of bed. I hear father snoring, thank god. I begin to slowly walk downstairs to cook breakfast when the floorboard creaks. My brown eyes widen and I wait, in silence. A loud snore occurs and I sigh in relief. I slowly walk to the next room and tap James.

"James? James, wake up." I whisper as the dawn light enters the room.

He turns over in his sleep then opens his eyes.

"Huh? What?" He says as he yawns.

"Can you help me with breakfast?" I say.

"Sure," he sighs as he walks down the oak stairs with me.

We have done this for at least nine months now. Making extra breakfast in the morning so that we don't starve. Father always gives us less food when he makes breakfast every morning and we get hungry.

James mixed waffle batter in a spruce bowl while I took some berries out of the icebox. The golden colored batter looked as smooth as the wood on the dining room table. I sprinkled the berries in it and smiled. James folded the batter and we poured it on the waffle maker.

You might ask how we have electricity if we are in the mountains. Well, we have two large power generators out in the woods that give us power. They give us power from a dam that's about ten miles away.

We sit for a little bit and when we hear a beep, James opens the waffle maker. We eat them with no plates because we don't want Father to see the residue of the food.

When I bite into it, the berry flavor explodes into my mouth making it tingle.

"Wow James, that's really good." I say between bites.

"Thanks, Via." He says.

We then quickly swipe away the crumbs and we swiftly sit down on the old antique chairs. MI hear loud footsteps walking down the stairs and I turn to see him. My father.

"Good morning." He says.

"Good morning." We both say.

"Now you two sit while I make us some eggs." Father says.

"Yes, Father." We both say again.

He makes the eggs and we all eat in silence. The drops of rain roll down the window and I stare outside.