On the Surface

CHAPTER 2: The Basement

CHAPTER 2 The Basement

Zynnia stared out of the open window. it was grimy and opaque, with mud, dust and dead bugs streaked across it. the yard outside was wild, like an absurd wig the ground had decided to put on to hide the beauty it might posses. The grass was tall and half browned from the heat. there were daises, dandelions and clover poking out of it, with other various weeds mixed into the dirt, which was parched and dry from lack of water. it had not rained since April. It was in the heart of July.

   Zynnia raised her head up to the sky. there were clouds, but not rain clouds. they were all fluffy white ones, with no sign of unpleasant weather hiding in them. The air was heavy, foul and hot inside the dark room that she stood in. the walls were bare concrete, and there was no light source except for the sun rays bursting into the room, flooding it with warmth, which sadly only added to the odor.

  She turned away and stumbled onto her bed, a mattress on the floor, and sat on it. The light outside had hurt her eyes at first, but as they adjusted, the tall, messy grass seemed like the place where she was supposed to be. Now, Zynnia's vision was blurry from the sudden change into darkness. The outline of her matress were heavy, not quite distinct from the ground, but soon she was yet again adjusted to the darkness. She realized she was hungry. The last time Zynnia had eaten anything was over 12 hours ago, this morning at around 5:00. It was nearing 1:00 in the afternoon. Her stomach gurgled in a loud, lazy sort of way. It was probably protesting against the muddy, cold stew she had so eagerly inhaled this morning. 

   Her red curls was knotted, but not terribly. Zynnia did posses a brush and a mirror. Her T- shirt was muddy and had a rip on the sleeve. Her Skirt was dirty and frayed. she had bruises and cuts everywhere, and her pale cheeks had smears of dirt on them. she didn't have shoes. Zynnia wished she had a mother to cone and care for her, to tell her it would be okay... she wished that she could have a mother to buy her dresses and to give her advice on the things that she so desperately wanted, like friends. But she knew that was impossible, something that she couldn't have. Besides, it would be stupid even to hope.

   Zynnia was alone in her life, almost completely. Her father, was never there for her. she was shuttered alone in the dark basement below the rest of her house. She was allowed out briefly to sit in the sunshine, to go to school and to do her chores. The rest, was shuttered to the dank chamber in which she stayed now. It had a bathroom (Though that was wet, cold and never clean, nor did it have a shower) a radio, and the few necessities she needed besides that. Zynnia thought more of the mother she wanted to have so much, and that, which was an entire sadness in itself, made her start to cry, which triggered her father to come into the basement.

   The door burst open, Zynnia hadn't even heard the click of the lock. A tall, thin man with bright red cheeks, a woozy expression and almost no hair stepped in, and his features changed. He snarled like an angry wolf.

    "You live in my house!" he yelled, "You live here and you make too much noise!"

   Zynnia couldn't breathe. She had jerked her head upright at his entry, all of her tears instantly vanished. they were replaced by fear and hatred.

   "You call this LIVING?" She screamed.

    "You don't make noise in my house! Understand?" he bellowed back. Then he strode over and kicked the girl, hard. She screamed in pain. her whole body had ached for a year, and she did not need more pain, more torture. The man gave an insane chuckle, and left. Zynnia buried her face in her hands and her body was wracked with sobs.

   It had been two days since Zynnia had last seen her father. She was now sitting on the floor, looking at the bruise that had spread across her shin. It was dark, purple and brown. It ached, and she had no remedy to ease the pain.

   The wall across from her contained the only window. It was pouring light into the room, but it seemed so dark. Zynnia carefully placed the large rock she had found under the bare wooden shelf down beside her. She picked up a book and flipped it open to a random page, and began to read. The book was called: On the Surface By a woman named Kenya Surri. Zynnia had heard on the radio that the book was becoming a movie.

   She remembered movies from before her mother had died. They would all curl up on the couch to watch them, Her mother, her father, the cat Nickle, the old Basset Hound Rudy and her. They were a real family. Then, when her mother had died of  cancer, her father turned mental. Nickle ran away and Rudy died of starvation. Zynnia was locked up more and more, and her father was beginning to rely on alcohol and drugs, when he lost it completely. He beat Zynnia into tears, and finally unconsciousness.

   When she woke up, she was in the basement with a mattress, her book and a hunk of bread. Her possessions eventually grew as her father added the mirror, the brush and the radio, but that was all she had. She had been 12.

   Now, at age 15 Zynnia was having ideas. She would do almost anything to escape, to break free. She wanted her life back. And for a girl with nothing, that seemed like the best option. The bruise looked bad. For a lingering moment, Zynnia wondered if it was infected, but she retorted sternly to herself, that that was stupid, bruises can't get infected. Glancing down at her hand though, she had another thought. But gunshots can.