The large grandfather clock in the corner released a clangorous toll of throaty bells throughout the all too familiar, poorly lit, extremely dank room, causing the woman with the long black hair, the color of raven's feathers, to jump and drop one of the shirts she was cramming into the well worn leather suitcase onto the dusty wooden floor. I couldn't see her face, but I already knew what she would look like when she finally did turn around, which will happen in about five minutes. Trust me, I know these things.
There were places in the waterlogged slabs of the floor where the wood had simply rotted away, making the concrete foundation visible. Very similar to the way a camera pans out, another section of the room came into view, bringing with it a short male with wiry hair the color of hay, who was pacing anxiously. Oh joy, here we go again! I knew what he would do next right before he did. Just like always, he stopped pacing, and warily glanced at his wife with a look of both fear and shock, like it was just oh so odd that she got startled and dropped a shirt.
If I had the ability to talk, I would have said with him as he stated,“Are you alright? I don't think I've ever seen anything scare you before,” in a strained, tired voice that so perfectly matched his haggard appearance. He had what once must have been an extremely handsome face, but now his cheeks were hollow and his brown eyes were sunken and watery.
“Oh, me? I'm fine, just kind of...” her voice trailed into a yawn, answering his question for him, same routine as always. “Tired,” she finished meekly. She turned around to face her husband. I told you she would! See, I'm all knowing! She had emerald green eyes, large and almost cat like, set in a heart shaped face. Her lips were full and the color of rubies, and her prominent cheek bones pressed against her thin cheeks.
He stopped pacing and turned to face her. “Don't be scared, we'll make it through this,” he murmured comfortingly. “We have before,” he said, his tone not as sure as his words. It was like watching a favorite movie over and over again. I knew all the lines. All I need now is some popcorn, and maybe a soda. That sounds nice...
“Yeah, maybe. But nothing this major, and nothing this threatening. I don't know how we will escape this time...this may very well be our death sentence,” she said truthfully. Her musical voice did not quiver in the fear her eyes swam with, but instead, it radiated power. As she spoke, a baby started crying. The crib suddenly came into view in that same camera-pan like way, small and desolate. The woman ran towards the crib full speed ahead, nearly knocking her husband right off his feet, and picked up the pink bundle of blankets that was her baby girl. She held the baby close, and kissed her on her little red forehead, and then she looked down into the baby's soft blue tear filled eyes. She began bouncing up and down in a comforting motion, and muttering soft words in attempt to soothe the infant's pitiful cries. “There there, everything will be all right,” she lied. I knew well enough now that the tone she was using was a deceitful one. In the years I have lived, I have learned it best to know that tone- a little too soft, a little too nice. I could tell she said the words more for herself than the baby. I'm not exactly sure how I knew it for I have never seen anything past this point, but deep in my gut, I knew if they did not leave soon, nothing would ever be “all right.”
A tear snaked out of the corner of the woman's eyes, as she sat the now calm and sleeping baby back down into her small crib. “I'm sorry for having to do this,” she whispered over the crib, looking down at her baby. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to face her husband.
“We are all packed up, dear,” he said with a small smile. The woman started
walking towards him, but suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her emerald eyes began glowing like flashlights, and her body shook violently. Abruptly, her eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed to the floor. If I hadn't seen it coming, I probably would be freaking out about right now, but it almost seems normal...Almost. Her husband ran over to her, but she did not require any assistance, for as soon as she fell she was back up again.
“He's coming,” she gasped, her voice weak and brittle, and she sounded as if she were speaking from the far end of a long tunnel. She rubbed her eyes tiredly.“We have to go,” she said, the strength returning to her voice as she began gesturing wildly for him to get the suitcase. When he didn't move, she shouted. “Now!” her voice was full of power. He backed up a few steps and then took off and grabbed the suitcase. She met him halfway and grabbed his empty hand. As I knew they would, they both took off into the night, leaving the pitiful and defenseless baby to fend for herself. It never matters how many times I see that, it still manages to make my stomach squeeze, and fill me with such an encompassing nausea and sympathy that I fill as if it had been me in the crib. What difference would it have made, anyways?
. . .
