DISCOVERING SADIE

Prologue

When ever you're faced with something difficult, it's hard to see the brighter side of things. Some like to say when one door closes another opens. I'd like to call bullshit on that cliche. There's no big reveal, or ground breaking revelation waiting for you on the other side. It's all the same.... Or, so I thought.

In order to get the story right, just for my sake. I need to start from the beginning because right now.... I could say I'm losing it. Sadie Pierce here, a Florida native. I think it's safe to say that all I know is sunny skys, short shorts and long days spent on the beach with friends. I'm pretty normal when I think about it. Looking back over my life not too many exciting things happen to me. So how did I get here? To this point.

Take me back to when things were normal. Waking up in my soft bed to the sound of old school blues playing on the stereo and my mom cooking breakfast in the kitchen.

"SADIE! Wake up honey. You're gonna miss breakfast and once it's gone, I don't wanna hear your winning about being hungry." Mom yells from downstairs.

"I'm getting dressed and I'll be right down." I yell back, running from the shower to my room. I hear the footsteps of my dad heading to the kitchen to call dibs on which peices of bacon strips he thinks will be the best.

I comb my hair just a bit more, making sure all the tangles are free and look in the mirror to see my soft curls outlining the shape of my face and falling over my shoulders like a dark waterfall. Pulling on my favorite slippers I hurry down the stairs to grab a plate.

Mornings were the best in my house. The smell of great food, slowly harmonized music and the love of my mom and dad. That's what I call normal. That's the memory I try to hold on to when the world seems to be slipping right through my fingers and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

No, there's no greener pastors on the other side. Just remorse, guilt, lingering on the things that you could've said but didn't. The love that's now bottled up inside, and words you should've said when you had the chance.

Before I give off the wrong impression, I am no gloomy gus. I happily enjoy all types of things. I love a good horror movie, stepping out to a friend's party, and enjoying a good book. Sometimes, things just change you, alter your preception and make you realize that this world is not all unicorns and rainbows. And if you think this is the type of story I'm about to tell, you should get out while you still can.

"This one. Yeahhhh, this one right here. Thanks babe." Dad grumps out, planting a big greasy kiss on moms cheek.

"Gary, Jesus, the way bacon gets you all worked up. Someone may think there's no food at home for you." Mom huffs out waving her hand to swat dad away with a scowl on her face.

Dad tugs at his collar and tightens his tie a bit before picking up his leather brief case and heading out the front door. "I love your bacon Lex. Along with a few other things" Dad winks at mom slyly.

"Ughhhh. Please don't do this to me." I yell gagging on my breakfast. I stand up taking my now emptied dish to the sink.

I love my parents, even when they're gushing becomes too much to bare. My sweet mother is Lexi Wellington, a 40 year old artist still in her prime. She's honestly great at what she does. She may not be as famous as she aims to be, but she is well known for her artwork. Although, her paintings have been changing lately, something about them seems darker. Each a little more twisted than the one before it.

I tried talking to her about it, fishing around to see if dad had pissed her off again. Maybe she's just using her canvas to vent. It wouldn't be too outlandish to do so, I mean everyone needs an outlet right?

"Oh no honey, I'm alright. REALLY! I've just been waking from the most uncanny dreams lately and can't get the images outta my head. So I figured painting them out would scratch that itch." Mom assuring me that she's every bit of her self.

"Dreams, what kinds of dreams are we talking here." I say, rubbing my fingers to my chin. "Black pits and aweful screams? I've heard painters have the most eerie dreams."

I lean back an study my moms beautiful face. Creamy brown sugar skin, with lashes someone can use as a diving board to jump off of, straight into her coco brown eyes. Her sandy red hair pulled into a messy bun of curls. I get my curls from mom but somehow missed the color department; that credit goes to dad.

Mom hated cliches, "Sadie please, dont believe everything you hear. Not every artist is the tortured soul people make them out to be."

"Sooo, about this dream." I say, now with both hands on my hip and a smirk on my face, agreeing to disagree on the subject.

Moms face stiffed and her eyes glazed over as she went over an obscured version of a dream she tried so hard to evoke. "I... I don't know. It was so surreal. Cold, there was this darkness. There's trees all around, and a dark murky lake in the distance. It feels like somethings calling out to me. I look through the tree line but I can't see much at all."

Mom shivers and I patiently wait for her to continue. "I feel this longing, a need. No, this desire to get in once I near the waters edge." Mom wraps her arms around her self tight. "But, I don't, there's something in the water. Something that isn't supposed to be there. My instincts can senses it."

My mouth is hanging open by this point. A bit erritated that mom has never shared any of this with me before. Before my thoughts get too distracted, I tune back in to my mother's voice. "I turned to run through the wooded area but I have no idea where I'm going." Mom shudders and to be honest, I start to feel a bit uneasy. "I hear this thing running behind me and I turn to look everytime. Before I can make out what it truly is I'm jolted awake by your father." Mom fans her hand. "Something about panting and groaning in my sleep."

"Wow, Mom, that's really intense." Mom shrugs it off heading to the sink to rinse off her paint brushes. I stay put because the sink is just across the room from her paint station and she's still in eye sight. "Honey, it's just a dream. Not everything needs to be analyzed. I only want to get this painting finished and maybe get rid of the God awful dream."

Mom comes back over and wraps her arms around me. Laying her head on top on mine. We stare into the painting sitting in the corner of the room. I raise my hand to trace over the paint strokes. I dip my fingers into the cool blue of the lake. Tracing where the water turns to murky green. I gasp, a flash of trees blur my vision. Frigid, brisk winds lick at my skin and I quiver violently.

Mom squeezes me with one arm and grabs my extended wrist with her free hand. "Aghh, careful Sadie, the paints still fresh." She wipes my now stained fingers.

"I'm sorry, Mom." I whisper to myself, still with that chill in my spine.