Page 2 of The Threads Of Fate
Backpack in hand, I open the kitchen door and head back upstairs into my room. I hate this, not feeling safe in the house I am forced to live in. None of my classmates has this; they always say that they miss being home, that they miss their parents, but unlike them, I am glad to be anywhere but here.
I sit down on the floor in my bedroom and open my school books. I don’t want to miss out on too much, so I’ll just work on it myself. My teacher says I’m already an advanced student, which makes me so proud. Of course, my mom had to ruin it by laughing and saying she probably just mistook me for someone else.
Grabbing my pen, I start to work on the tasks in my book. I’ll show her my worth someday.
Come, my sweet, don’t try to fight,
My arms will hold you tight.
Thread by thread, your path is sewn,
Each stitch a secret you’ve not known.
I hum the fate you cannot flee,
My cracks are kind–just stay with me.
Close your eyes, don’t pull the thread…
Or find what waits when dreams are dead.
I hum the old lullaby my mother sings for me when she thinks I am asleep. My classmates tell me it sounds strange, and maybe it is. I used to be scared of it at first. Her voice would always sound so different when she sang it, softer, but in a creepy way. But now I feel like it’s the only thing that proves she still likes me. That I mean something to her.
THUD
My spine stiffens at the sound, and I look behind me at where my Seraphina doll is supposed to be sitting, between my colouring books. Where now the space is empty.
I placed her there because she kept falling over from my closet; the books are supposed to hold her in place over there, but I guess that didn’t work either.
I get up and grab the doll from the floor, and take her to my toy chest. I’m too old for dolls anyway, and I don’t want her porcelain skin to break from falling too hard. She's scary but in a beautiful way. Sometimes I look at her and wish I were as pretty as she is.
But I have to grow up if I want to get out of here. So I do what I must, I place her in the chest and close the lid.
???
I’ve been writing for hours, and I’m pretty sure that it’s past midday now. My tummy is rumbling, and I could use some more milk, too. I walk downstairs, trailing my fingers over the smooth texture of the rails while I hum the old lullaby.
I walk past my parents’ bedroom towards the kitchen door. Opening it, I look around, but there’s no one there.Maybe my mom is still sleeping?
There’s a chill rising over my spine like something is not how it should be, but that could just be my imagination. I’ve been toldI have a lot of that. I walk back to the door of my parents' room, the door creaking loudly as I push it open.
My mother's feet are dangling over the bed, her face pointed at the outer wall, so I can’t see it. I feel like maybe I don’t want to. Slowly, I walk over to her; every step I take feels like my feet are made of lead. Until I stop and stand still, only a step or two away from her, my arms reach out to her, and I poke her a few times. Her body slightly moves from the impact, but she still doesn’t respond. Unsure, I walk to the other side, so I can see her face.
The moment I do, a loud gasp comes out of me, while I take in the scene before me. Her eyes are wide open, but there seems to be nothing alive in them; her mouth is slightly hanging open, and there’s foam dripping down out of it, onto the floor, while her arm is spread over the bed, an empty bottle of those weird TicTacs still in her hand.
“Mom?” I move closer and start to shake her. She doesn’t respond or move, no matter how much I try. A small smile starts to play on my mouth.Does this mean she can’t hurt me anymore?
I run to the kitchen table and grab my mother's cell phone so I can call my father. Maybe things will get better after all.
8 years later
I look up at the dark clouds covering the sky. It’s going to rain soon, and everyone is running to get back home before it starts,everyone but me.
I wish I could stay here in this in-between moment forever, but I know it will end soon. The moment I step foot on the pavement of the place I am supposed to call home, it’ll be over, and I’ll be back into the life I never asked for nor want to have. But I guess that’s just the way things go,at least that’s what they tell me.
I breathe in the smell of the rain as the drops fall, my face pointed to the sky, and my eyes closed. I never understood why people run from the rain; it’s one of the only things in my life that makes me feel something other than dread.
“Beautiful.” The sudden intrusion causes me to jump and turn around, seeing a boy my age standing behind me, who’s looking at me with something along the lines of admiration. But that can’t be it; I have never met this stranger before.
