The Unknown

Chapter 2

        When her hand collided with my right cheek. The sting lingered on my skin. Possibly worse than a wasp stinging you in the face. The force turned my head and caused me to collapse onto the floor.

        The next blow was a kick to my ribs. I laid on the cold tile floor gasping for air that previously escaped my lungs. My attempt to sit up was canceled by the next sudden blow to my left temple with the point of her toe high heels. I turned away and clutched the side of my head. My eyes burned from the forming tears in my eyes. My hearing rang in octaves too high for my brain to handle. 

        "Get up," she said with pure hatred and disgust in her voice. I laid there, in fetal position, holding back tears. The blows continued. It switched from my ribs to my spine.

        "I said get up," she repeated as she forced her heel into my side. I cried out in pain and the tears began to flow.

        "Stop, please," I begged in a whisper. In response, she threw a porcelain bowl in my direction, which shattered upon impact at the tile behind me. Then there was silence. The only thing I heard was her breathing and the feeling of her cruel gaze upon my back. I slowly turned my head and made eye contact with her. Our gazes of emotion were different. Mine was full of plead and hers was full of loathe and disappointment. The only thing about her was that her eyes were the only visible thing. Her other facial features were not focused, as if almost faded and non existent. 

        Her eyes, naturally a soft blue, seemed to turn cold as ice with an odd rage of fire. Blue fire filled her eyes. A few pieces of her hair fell loosely around her face. I turned back to face the other way. I felt uneasy being caught in her gaze.

        "Speak up. What did I tell you about mumbling?" Her voice spit fire full of execrate towards me, not one thought of sorrow or to pity me crossed her mind. I shut my eyes tightly and laid there in silence and fear.

        "I know you can hear me," her voice was close behind me, her lips were inches from my ear. I could feel the warmth of her breath on the back of my neck. There was no sound of the clicking of her heels walking towards me or any sound of movement. Before I could open my eyes, my hair was pulled. Tears formed in my eyes once again, stinging when I eventually opened my eyes. She knelt beside me now, but with a knife in her hand. The large knife, in her knife set, that metaphorically had my name written upon it. She gripped my arm above my head and dug into the small amount of flesh on my arm. I yelped in pain and scooted away, but she still held a handful of my hair. 

        "Pathetic," her voice echoed in my head. She proceeded to stand up still clutching my hair. This brought me to my knees. The slash of the knife across my back sent me sprawled onto the floor as she let go of my hair. A feeling of a liquid warmth began to rise and flow from the gash in my back. Waterfalls fell from my eyes as fast as my blood. The warmth of the tears comforted my swollen face from crying. My body continued to throb and ached in pain. The main feeling was the warmth and stinging from my exposed flesh.  

        My vision started to drift, but I was interrupted by the sudden feeling of the hard cemented basement stairs under my body. I laid there on the stairs, the icy darkness and the damp air of the basement surrounding me. The sounds of my sobbing echoed into the darkness, almost comforting my lonesome self. I reached back to glide my fingers close to the gash. 

        My body went completely numb and the darkness felt overwhelming . . .