𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐚𝐡𝐬

sunflower

Neglect.

The first time she had seen that word was on TV. Her parents had sat her four-year-old self in front of the Sunday news channel while they read the paper, finished up chores, and got ready for work.

A commercial had come on about an animal adoption center, how they took in mistreated dogs, and gave them nicer homes to live out the rest of their days in. She liked that concept. The dogs were old but that didn't mean they deserved any less than a puppy. Some would think she'd be too young to understand much of anything at all, but she did.

"Mamma. Dog." she had tugged on her mother's sleeve and pointed at the glowing screen. "Hm? I see, dear."

Another tug to the sleeve and her mother finally looked up from the newspaper.

"Dog."

"Now stop you stop that yanking or I'm turning it off, understand?" her mother scolded. She didn't personally enjoy the news anyways. She could just look out the window.

Shrugging, the child hopped off the couch and went on a hunt. She was looking for one of her father's many books, it had lots and lots of words in it. The best part about it was that all those fun words said what they meant, she would read it all the time. Over and over and over again.

Slipping into the big book room as she called it, she went to her favorite shelf, grabbed her favorite book, and began her search for the word. Once she spotted it, she read it aloud to herself, memorizing it's meaning.

"Neglect. Fail to care for properly."

-------

The first time she had seen her new house was after the long drive in the car, stuck behind an old rickety truck that carried all of her little family's things inside.

She was the first one in, or so she thought. After spotting all their furniture neatly placed, she realized that the big men who took all of her chairs had been here first.

The now five-year-old girl immediately ran up the stairs, knowing her parents would pay no mind. She figured they hadn't even left the car yet.

One by one she went through the rooms, examining each one carefully. One room caught her eye though, she decided to enter. "Mine," she said, deciding that if it echoed off the wood flooring then that would make it real.

"You like it?" a voice spoke out to her from behind, although she didn't recognize it as her mother's or father. She spun around to meet eyes with a teenage looking girl, blonde, with a soft expression on her face. She nods.

"I'm Violet. This used to be my room. What's your name?" she didn't reply to the girl, nor did she step away in fear. She held her ground and shut her mouth. "You shy?" Violet asked. She shook her head no, no way she was shy. She was five, but she wasn't 'some baby', as her father had put it when she had struggled once with her speech therapist while saying the word, "Flower." It wasn't that she was unable to say it, well, maybe it was, but in a circumstance that her father wouldn't understand. 

She heard footsteps walking around downstairs. Her parents must have finally arrived. Looking towards the door, she decided that that didn't matter, but when she looked back, this 'Violet' character had left.

She hadn't seen any more strangers until her 7th birthday, the first one her parents truly forgot. She had spent her morning testing out other ways to make cereal, using orange juice and room-temperature coffee instead of milk. Her parents didn't buy dairy products, but she didn't care enough to ask why. Something about 'lack toes' and 'taller ants', at least that's what her mother had told her.