Prince Charming Never Came
The moon dotted on a black canvas was swallowed by the emptiness of a starless sky. Shining through the window. It revealed a tear stained pillow that sat awkwardly on an undisturbed bed. Rose pink covers against cold cream matching the colour of the walls. Obvious plainness, nothing showing the emotion of the owner except a small fluffy teddy crammed beside the pillow. A lone dresser nestled in the corner, its mirror reflecting only darkness and sorrow. The door to the room was tightly shut, trying to hold in the upset and pain. Beside the bed sat a bedside table with nothing on top just a thin layer of smudged dust. Furniture stood lonely while the blowing curtains cast moving shadows, playing tricks on your mind.
A little girl sat in the corner, reading a crumpled book. Short blonde hair shadowed her face, her eyes like green fire in darkness. She wore a white t shirt and faded shorts the same colour as the bruises that coated her arms and legs. Her bruised eye looked dark against her platinum hair. Her small delicate fingers bent from previous breaks held tightly to her best friend. One salty tear trickled down her cheek as she listened to the shouts and screams of the people downstairs. Taking comfort in her lifelong friend, she had memories of happy times. These were held within the pages of a fairy tale book that her dad used to read to her; so she could fall asleep to the lull of his voice. At least that was before he lost his job and started drinking. The worn pages clung to her hope and longing for life to be a fairy tale; for a handsome Prince Charming to come and rescue her from her waking nightmare.
The book dropped from the girls grasp, her fingers caught around a thin chain around her neck. She cupped the locket that hung sweetly by her heart, opening it to look upon the photo. Her mother and father on their wedding day, confetti raining down on the happy couple; the smiles caught on their faces, frozen in suspended animation. The girl's lips tugged into a wistful smile.
The shouting ceased, quiet descended inside the house, just the deathly whisper of the wind out side ravishing at the worn trees could be heard.
Light steps tread on bare stairs; the sound of shuffling was loud in the uncomfortable silence. Creaking open the door, a woman entered the room. Tears streamed down her face staining her crimson silk shirt, her once shining eyes dull and puffy from lack of sleep, her blonde hair was dirty and unkempt. The child looked longingly at her mother, her eyes lit with love and a sense of security. The mother's eyes glanced upon the book that lay abandoned at her daughter's feet. With shaking hands she picked up the book and a frown crossed her troubled eyes. She gently placed the book on the bare bed side table and left the room.
Rising to her feet, she moved towards her mother but stopped as her mother whispered in anguish "I'm sorry," and left the room. Rocking back on her heels, hurt flashed across her face, her eyes became void of emotion, her full heart surged to the surface. "Why can't she look at me? What have I done? I'm not the one shouting and attacking things making her life hell. Her thoughts came quickly and were filled with hate. Pain erupted in her head, her shaking legs moved to the bed where she collapsed breathing hard. Her head screamed in pain where her skull seemed to crumple into itself.
She raised her head standing shakily. All she knew was that she had a craving to be wrapped in her mother's arms. Her fingers clawed at the door but made no contact, it was as if an invisible barrier was keeping her prisoner in the room. Staring at her hand in disbelief she then tried the door handle again but her fingers sailed over it, she was not able to touch the wood. The girl tried again in a frenzy her hands were unable to breach the force that pushed her hand away.
She backed into the room terror in her eyes. Sweat glistened on her forehead, her hand wiped it away but her hand felt too wet. Glancing at her hand, her mouth turned into a gape, her breath came quick as she gazed at the red sticky blood on her hand. Her head pulsed, she screamed in pain as she remembered.
Her mother had screamed and ran towards her, face had contorted in fear. Hands had grabbed her mother throwing her like a ragdoll into the wall on the other side of the room. Her mother had crumpled to the floor lifeless.
The same hands then grabbed her arm in a vice grip, pain had seared in her arm as the fingers dug into her skin. She was thrown to the floor and saw the haunting face above her, his soulless eyes ablaze with anger. His hands reached for the bed side table seizing the lamp; gripping it in his hands he brought the lamp down.
The lamp had connected with the side of the girls head. She had felt bursting pain and then numbness. All the girl could do is grip her favourite book in her hand and hold onto it for protection. Her vision going hazy,
Looking into his familiar face her eyes darkened, her sight shadowed, before she was enveloped in darkness and saw no more.
The girl gasped her ghostly whisper as she realised the truth. "Dad killed me."
