The Unknown

Chapter 8

        The sudden forced door colliding with my chest knocked the air out of my tender lungs. My back was against the door frame and she repeated the blow once more. 

        Crack. 

        My ribs cracked under the pressure. I yelped in pain and agony. 

        She held the door open and used her foot to try to push me down the steps. I laid there stiff, not moving an inch. She wiggled the front of her shoe underneath my side and pulled up, finally causing my body to rise then inch down the first step. The weight of my body and small surface of steps continued to drop down each step, occasionally skipping one or two. This time, the fall felt slow and prolonged. I felt every step collide with my body, leaving me on the cold cement floor. The smell of ammonia and metalic scent of blood greeted to fill my nostrils once again. My clothing was still damp from the bath I was given about a few days prior, or what felt like a few days, maybe weeks, but a new warmth of fresh blood greeted my limbs and chest. 

        "I've tried to be nice to you. That's all I've ever done to you, but you treat me like this!" Her voice bounces around the basement walls. Her silouhette loomed in the doorway once more. I could feel the daggers of pure loathe shooting from her eyes down onto me.

        I struggled to sit up, clenching my teeth and putting my hand against my heart. My lungs stung and my heart beat throbbed in my chest. I grabbed the hand rail to hoist myself to stand. My legs wobbled and throbbed, blood trickled from my knee down my shin. 

        "I'm sorry," I let the words pour from my mouth like blood on my fresh wounds. I looked up through my butched hair, trying to find her eyes. Black holes were only present where her eyes were. Her brow was furrowed and her clenched jaw was prominent. Her facial expression slightly softened due to the sound of the two words she had never heard before.

        "That's not enough! That will never be enough!" Her voice boomed down the steps, crushing me. My vision began to fade. The room felt as if it was spinning.

        Click.

        My last sight of her was caring a large item. 

        Click.

        I laid there wanting to get away from the bottom of the steps. 

        Click.

        I tried to move, my body refused.

        Click.

        I closed my eyes, feeling myself begin to float. I felt bliss. My heart slowed as well as my breathing.

        The feeling of cool thick liquid poured over my face and the scent of kerosene filled my nostrils. Mixing with the ammonia and metallic scent of blood. My reflexes jolted me to scoot away and sit up against the wall. I wiped the liquid with the back of my hand. It attempted to seep through my closed eyelids. My eyes slowly opened and watered. The fumes stung my exposed eyes. 

        Click.

        Her steps drew away from me. 

        Click.

        I looked up through my dripping hair, trying to search for her distinctive figure in the low light. She circled my bed, the chair, the whole floor with the liquid. 

        "Wha-," I barely managed to say, questioning her doings. I was too focused on trying to breathe rather than form coherant sentences. She did not look back. She proceeded to finish what she started.

        Her laughter made me jump. It made my skin crawl. The stench of the gasoline was stronger than the scent of my blood and ammonia. She splashed the rest of the liquid onto the stairs. The canister thud against the ground when she threw it towards me.

        "It's time, my dear," Her voice cut the silence. My mind was too fixated on the container that I did not realize she was kneeling in front of me. Her hands sat in her lap, smoothing her skirt. The two of us sat there across from each other in the silence of the fumes. My lungs hurt and my breathing was growing harder. Too hard to continue to breathe.

        The next movement made was by her, standing up. Her hand stroked my damp hair before she turned without another word.

        Click.

        Click.

        Click.

        She stood at the top of the stairs in the doorway laughing. 

        Thud. Thud.

        The sound of the front door being broken into stopped her laughter. Her head shot the the general direction of the front door. Multiple foot steps entered into the kitchen. The presence of others were comforting in this lonely home. 

        "Mrs. Amybella Sage, you must com-" the voices were cut off. . .