The Fire Within

Fiamma

I'm drowning. I try to scream but icy water invades my screaming mouth and fills my lungs. My arms thrash wildly around me, trying to bring my body up to open air. As my fingertips break the surface, another unforgiving wave pounds down on top of me and pushes me back under. The furious waves throw me around until I'm utterly disoriented. I try to swim but can't tell if I'm heading deeper into the seemingly endless torrent of cold aloneness, or up towards the air my lungs so desperately ache for.

"Am!" A voice calls for me, distorted by the water, "Am! Wake the hell up!" With a gasp I jolt upright in bed, pulled from the haunting dream, chest heaving as I suck in deep breaths of the oxygen that now gloriously surrounds me.

"Fiamma, it's six in the morning, you should have been awake an hour ago! Get out of bed a do your chores. Get out of bed and do your chores. Mr. Abbott has important company coming in a few, so this house must be spotless!" Mrs. Abbott yelled sternly, her fat face pinched in anger.

"Yes ma'am, I apologize for my irresponsibleness." I ducked my head in shame if only to shield my face from the spittle torpedoing from her tiny mouth.

As soon as she left my bedroom I jumped off my small, sweat soaked bed, my body quivering as I went from the fear still coursing through me. Grabbing the tin bucket I had placed under my small bed the previous night, I promptly threw up. After a few minutes, my stomach had nothing left to show me and dry heaves raked through my tired body. Wiping the sick from the corners of my mouth and grimacing at the sour taste, I peeled my faded nightgown from my thin body. I'd have to wash the sick and sweat out from the old cotton later.

I've been having them more recently, the nightmares. Always the same. Me, drowning, the water cold as ice that shocks my choking lungs. I wake up most nights shaking, with tear stains running down my freckled cheeks. I try to stay awake to fend off the horrid dreams, but sleep always overtakes my futile efforts. Ugly purple bags sag beneath my sunken eyes, a drastic difference to my pale sickly complexion. Yet Mrs. Abbott never comments on it, never offers pity, never even cares. So I rubbed my watering eyes and changed into a loose brown dress before reluctantly creeping upstairs to attend to my chores.

My room was in the underground basement of the house. Stone walls closed in on me from all sides, moss and dirt filling in the cracks that snaked along the weathered rocks. A ladder lying against a wall across the room from my bed leads up to a wooden trap door that brings you to Mrs. Abbott's rose gardens. The small door never seems to fully close and lets the cold winds of winter in, leaving me shivering all night long. I'm not allowed to use the big glass door at the entrance to the Abbott's home. Mrs. Abbott says her reputation will be tarnished should anyone of high ranking ever see such an ugly girl come and go from her pristine abode.

I've been working for the Abbotts for as long as I can remember. Genevieve and Maximilian Abbott adopted me into their family after they found me as a baby abandoned on their front doorstep. The Abbotts are a very contrasting couple with Mrs. Abbott being a plump, mean woman and her husband who is a very thin, somber looking man. Mr. Abbott has always regarded me with nothing short of indifference, his dull green eyes seem to always look right through me. Whereas Mrs. Abbott would have loved to throw me out on the street if not for my compliance to work for my keep.

"Good morn' Mr. Abbott," I nodded to the frail old man who sat in his usual blood red chair reading the newspaper in the living room. The only response I received from him was a flicker of his eyes in my directions before a small tilt of his balding head in my direction. I set to work dusting the living room shelves and décor having already grabbed a feather duster from the kitchen closet.

The living room was truly a grand sight to see, its warm yellow wallpaper and white shag carpet complimented the crimson furniture it held within its walls. A brick fireplace sitting on the northern side of the room hissed and crackled at me, delicate china displayed on its ledge. Large windows graced the western wall covered by long curtains to block out the lights, but when the rich cloth was pulled back, the room transformed into a beautiful fire while the sun sets beneath the horizon.

The air smelt of tabasco smoke that slowly curled from Mr. Abbott's pipe and the dust danced in the light that snuck in between the small gaps of the red curtains. I smiled lightly as I imagined pulling aside the heavy curtains so the large windows may welcome the warm rising sun into the gloomy home. I would dance and laugh, letting my red hair fly free from its perch atop my head. But sadly, I could never do such a thing as the bright light of the new-born day would hurt poor Mr. Abbott's old eyes and I'd get a sure beating for it from his wife.

Mr. Abbott would never hit me, though he has never showed me any interest, he is still a kind soul. Mrs. Abbott on the other hand started beating me four years ago. I was thirteen at the time, Mrs. Abbott had just purchased a new china set. The expensive white tea pot and matching cups were painted with a gorgeous storm of royal blue and gold. Sitting innocently in a glass display case in the kitchen, the set was looking a little dusty. I grabbed my duster and took each delicate piece down from the cabinet, treating them with the utmost care. As I was putting the last cup back, my hand slipped and the little teacup fell, hitting the bottom of the display case before my other hand caught it. Looking down at the china, to my horror I saw a chip in the lip of the cup. I returned the teacup, chip facing away from the glass, and hoped that Mrs. Abbott wouldn't find it for many years.

Four months later, we hosted Mrs. Abbott's friends for lunch and tea. When she went to grab the china set she saw the chip in the cup. After her friends left, she beat me until I passed out. Now sixteen year of age, my skin is regularly painted with bruises and my body thin from days I was starved for punishment.