The Unknown

Chapter 4

        I gazed around the room which I called mine. Everything was cold. The walls. The floor. The tattered sheet in one corner, I called my bed. The single wooden chair facing the wall. I feared being down here. Then there was the closet. The closet I came to know as my 'time out.'

        She only put me in there when she felt that I wasn't worth being in my room. Because of her, I feared being in tight places. I feared to be near her. I feared to continue living. I had already had accepted death. I just-

        My thoughts were cut off by the creaking hinges of the basement door opening.

        "Good morning my sunshine," her voice was clear and cheerful. The sun's rays seemed to join her to greet me.

        "Good morning," I replied, softly. My voice was hoarse from sobbing myself to sleep the night before.

        "Speak up," her tone seemed to change immediately to harsh and cold. Her heels clicked coming down the steps.

        Click. 

        Click.

        Click.

        My attempt to stand up was slow. My body ached, I felt too fragile to stand. My bones somehow managed to support me. They internally creaked inside.

        Click.

        Click.

        "Good morning," I repeated when she reached the bottom step. She smoothed out her skirt, removing the created wrinkles she had made to come down to see me. I cringed at the sight of her hands. Her nails were sharp and painted cherry red. 

        "That's better. Now, come up stairs to join me for breakfast," she said gently. Her sudden jump in tone frightened me. I slowly made my way to her, one feeble step after another. I was within a few feet from her when she embraced me. Her arms seemed to almost crush me. 

        "I'm sorry, but you cause me to do these things to you," she says, gently stroking my hair. My body felt like it melted in her embrace, enjoying a warmth in my naturally cold atmosphere. She soon pulled back, her face read disgust. A clump of my hair sat on the palm of her open hand. 

        "I thought I taught you how to properly care for yourself," her tone changed once more, chilling to the bone. 

        She pulled her scissors out of her inner coat pocket. It always struck me as peculiar for her to be carrying such a thing with her. I knew not of her occupation or doings outside of this home, but I always questioned it silently. 

        Snip.

        I was too focused on my thoughts that I didn't realize she began to hack away at my hair.

        Snip.

        I looked down at the floor and saw clumps of hair fall to the floor.

        Snip.

        "You needed this," her voice was directly to my right. It was soon followed by a sharp pain in the back of my neck. It felt warm, and the warmth spread.

        Snip.

        This snip wasn't to my hair, but directly to the skin close to my collar bone. I winced in pain. The dull like feeling of the scissors ran across my skin. The snip was soon followed by another warmth.

        Snip.

        Hair fell to the ground once again, but it wasn't the only thing in sight.

        Snip.

        Blood spread to the front of my shirt. My eyes filled with tears.

        Snip. 

        "That's all. You seem more your age now," my tears blurred my vision as I looked at her. She looked into my eyes without looking down to wipe blood off of one of the blades onto a small cloth. I moved my head up to feel the end of my hair to brush against the wound on my collar bone. My freshly trimmed hair pricked the open cut. The tears started to fall.

        "What did I tell you about crying? It shows that you are weak!" Her words were followed by painful scratches against my cheek. Warmth spread and I clutched my face, blood forming under my finger tips. I bit my lip, holding back any more tears that desired to escape from my tear ducts.

        "Pathetic as always. Breakfast is canceled," she turned and walked back up the stairs, her heels clicking away and the door slamming, leaving me in the darkness. 

        I bent down, blinded by the lack of lighting. My fingers grazed the floor in search of the clumps of my hair. I clutched them in my hand and brought it up to my face. It comforted me in a bizarre way, even though it hurt to hold it against my cuts. I turned around and crawled, stopping when my clutched fists met my 'bed'. I huddled against the wall, still clutching my detached wad of hair.

        I leaned my head back looking into the darkness, dozing off the the sound of my breathing and low grumble of my stomach, who hadn't seen food in about twelve visits of her coming down to visit. . .