Beyond Old Scars

The Cellar

Being locked in a cellar by your parents is scary, right? Try having it happen every day of your damn life. What's scary in my strange house is when my parents are happy, they are never happy. I remember the first time I was locked down there it was for a punishment, no food, no water, no outside contact for a week. It was scary at first, cold, moist air, sound proof; lonely. I have three cotton sheets and an old pillow in the corner of the room, I know if I am put down there longer than one night it means no food.

My parents don't look like normal parents either. My mother is skin and bone, her skin is as white as our walls in the house because she never leaves; some days I think I was adopted by the wrong family, I look nothing like them. My father is a tall built man; he looks like a normal guy you see on the street, he has more of a tan then my mother. They both have dull, grey, shady eyes that scare me.

I on the other hand sneak out all the time so I am like my father, I am built and tan, everyone finds it crazy that I am built because I'm a girl, but that's how you defend yourself from your crazy fucking parents. I have long auburn hair, and shining Red eyes that I was born with, my mother thinks I am Satan. Most of the time I wear the same jeans and flannel with and undershirt, so kids at school don't like me all too much but they also don't know what happens at home.

On the day my story begins, everything seems normal for once, it's raining and the black cat I see and allow in the basement with me sits in my window, in the crevice so my parents don't see her. My father comes home from another day at work and I can hear my mother cooking, perfect chance to steal more money from my mother's jewelry box. Fifty dollars, I find. I have a small stone I hide the money under in the cellar, I plan on getting Lucifer (The Cat) a red collar to match her eyes. In total when I count I have seven hundred dollars, I can leave as soon as I get one thousand.

As I place all my money I have back into its hiding place mother calls out for me saying dinner is done. Her and my Father doesn't want me calling them mom and dad, I don't mind either; mother and father is okay with me. I walk up the stairs and help place dishes so we can eat; we are having a roast, again. We sit down all together and say our prayers, then start passing the food.