Angel’s Point of View
I awake in a hard bed that creaks whenever my body fidgets. The rough blanket brushes against my skin as the pillow deeply sinks against my head. My eyes sting, my raw cheeks sting, and my coarse throat hurts whenever I take a small gulp. I stare at the ceiling as the birds perform their morning songs. They’re really gone, aren’t they? A tear wells into my eye. I blink it away moving my hand to the blanket, slowly pushing it off. I look down at my dirtied clothes, guess I never changed into pajamas. Sitting up I stare at my feet, thinking about the smiles that I once had, my fingers curled around the edge of the blanket as I squeeze my mind trying to accept that I will never be able to make the same smiles ever again. I get up and get dressed. I look through our duffle bag until I find my mom’s earrings. Pinching my ear I somewhat register the stinging sensation from piercing my ear. My fingers curled with droplets of blood. The earrings hung slightly down on my ears their silver body shining brightly in the dimmed light coming through the curtains.
I walk towards the door dragging my feet against the hard wood. Slipping on my shoes that dug into the sides of my soles, I open the door. The hallway is clear of all debris except that singular coffee table that I hit myself on the other day. The oaky scent penetrates my nostrils awaking me albeit a little. I drag myself through the hallway towards the front desk, seeking for anyone. I run into the Old Hag writing on some papers her attention is on that and not me. Can’t she see me? Can’t she hear me? Can’t she talk to me? I force myself to walk closer to the front desk, coming up to it almost on top of the Old Hag. Her pen stops whisking away as she looks up from the desk. Her usually sharp eyes were tinted with a glossy undertone. Her irises drifted up and down resting on my face as she studied the grief of my face.
“Angel dear, what are you doing up this early?” She asked softly, almost comforting. I need comfort.
“I…went...to…bed…early,” I said each word so slowly that it was a chore to say even one syllable. How can I be here when they can’t? I look down at my feet, my eyes dropping downwards unable to keep my head upright much more as I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.
A long pause ensued until the Old Hag spoke up, “How about you go sit down in the dining room I’ll bring you some food in a minute.” She stood up her chair scrapping against the wooden floor.
“Ok…thank…you.” I manage to push out as I drag my feet towards the dining room. Each step felt like I was walking through a mountain of snow. The soft clacking of my heels against the floor was the only sign that my mind registered that my body was actually moving. My hands clench around a chair pulling it outwards as I feel myself fall into the chair. My body caves under the weight as I lean into the table, resting my head on the oaky surface. Mom’s earrings make a soft ding as they rest on the table. I miss you, Mom.
A knock on the table wakes me up from my thoughts, without moving my head off the table I turn and look up to see the Old Hag holding a plate of food. The steam from the plate perforated through the air. For some reason, I reach out with my magic and pull the excess moisture from vapor turning it into liquid and placing it in a cup that is sitting on the table opposite of me. I look up at the Old Hag, she shrugs her shoulders and gives me a sigh, “You know removing the steam from the food like that will make it cold.” I look at her my mind registering her words. My face shifts somewhat downward into the table as I reply,
“I…know…I…want…it…cold…it…rem…rem…” I can’t force the words out anymore as a tear droplet leaks down my cheek. I dig my cheek further into the table smashing my ear. The earring digs into my skin, I shouldn’t hurt Mom any more than she already is. I shift my head off of my ear as I rest on my forehead. The Old Hag leaves the plate of food next to me and with a pat on my back, she walks away. I sit still staring at the porcelain plate that towered above my eyes. Finally dragging my head up I take a long look at the food. Pancakes and sausage. Tears start to flow down my cheeks as I try to hold in my cries like a damn breaking. How did she know that this was my favorite? It feels like a cruel joke to my heart but my mind wavers knowing that the Old Hag is the type to be direct, not cruel.
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In between sobs, I pick up my fork and knife and with quivering hands I stab the pancake slicing a piece off. I move the piece to my mouth almost choking on the fluffy goodness in-between sobs. How did the old hag know this is my favorite breakfast as memories flashback about the once joyful mornings? I sit there taking small bites of each piece of food, slowly eating it while I feel my stomach gets fuller but my heart gets emptier. About halfway through the dish I don’t feel hungry anymore. Feeling a little more energized than I was earlier today I decided to give the Old Hag a little less work, I stand up pick up my plate of leftovers, and walk into the kitchen. My feet still dragging their way through the rooms but at least my eyes are looking forward now. Bending over the trash can I scrape the food into it. Moving to the sink I place some soap onto the plate and turn on the water. Letting it soak for a few seconds I grab a rag and start to scrub off the debris. Finishing I use my magic to pull the remnants of water from the dish making it dry as frick. Putting the dish away I turn on the sink and pull the water from the running water into my mouth, taking in a big gulp of water. Mom, I know I was a brat but thank you for teaching me this.
My messy hair waved in the air as I tracked back into the dining hall and looked around. Is no one still here? I take a look at the opened windows noticing that the sky is still dark. What time is it? Shifting my shoulder to the side I spun around to drag my feet across the dining room floor toward the front desk where I saw the Old Hag once again scribbling on some pieces of paper. Stopping a few feet in front of her I look down at my feet trying to bring words to my mouth. My arms shuffled while doing so which caught the attention of the Old Hag. She looks up from her notes patiently waiting for me to speak.
“What time…is…it?” I stumbled the words out of my mouth which came out soft and quiet but at least I was able to get them out. My eyes dart back and forth from the ground to the Old Hag waiting for a response. I want to run away. I want to go back to my room. Why did I come here after breakfast? I should’ve just left to my room. I don’t want to be here anymore but my feet won’t budge. Please just tell me to go away you're busy or something. Mom, please help me. I miss you. While thoughts are racing in my mind she finally speaks up,
“A little past 6 in the morning.” She says directly to me but with a hint of softness in her tone. Her shift in her posture becomes evident to my active eyes as she stares at me as if she is giving me her full attention like what she was doing earlier is not as important as me, at this moment. I’m sorry Mom please don’t look at me like that. My eyes look down and stay down this time as I cough up a response to the Old Hag, “Thank…you…” Before she is able to give me a proper response I drag my feet through the hallway back towards my room. The hallway shrank and spun around me all the while. Grabbing the cold handle I twist the knob and walk into the room. The birds still singing their sweet melody even when the bitter sunlight barely shined, I walk to the covers of my bed and pull them over me once again, sitting there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what has happened, thinking about the memories of my last day.
Memories of what once was flood my mind, Mom’s strict lessons on how to use my magic, Dad’s hardy laughs at my antics, and the good old days when I was able to get away with throwing a tantrum and still be loved. I…I can’t believe…the last day I spent…with Mom…was a fight…I can’t…why did I fight with her? I remember the times I would sing with her and help around with the cooking and the smiles we shared. I miss her. My eyes turn into a sobbing mess as tears run down my cheeks, the pillow underneath turning into a wipe, a wipe for the tears, for the emotions, for the life I once had. A coughing fit sprung up breaking the symphony of my sobs. The echoes of the coughs caused memories to flash, first, it was the laughter of my parents while they were dealing with my antics but the picture in my mind burned the the horrendous laughter of that man took its place. The sight of my Dad’s body being used like a cane. The skin melted off of his face. The tears rush down even faster as my voice echoes through the room, my body quivering at the same tune of the bird’s sweet melodies, the memories flashing of Jack carrying me away from Mom while screaming to her, begging her to let me help her.
I turn into the pillow burying my face into it, letting it soak up my screams and my tears like a sponge. The echoes still bleeding out of the feathery pillow, echoing more and more in my head the screams of pain while I watched my father’s body flail around knowing that Mom would end up the same way, with the same grotesque appearance. Hugging my pillow even deeper, I taste the bitterness of my tears. How can I do that to Mom? How can I, her daughter, behave in such a horrible manner? How can I throw water at her when all she was doing was trying to teach me to protect myself? How did I allow myself to have fun with the magic when all it does now is remind me of her? How can I apologize to her? Tell me, God. How could I tell her I am sorry? How can I tell her I love her? HOW GOD HOW! My thoughts bleed into my throat as I screamed into the pillow my sobs intensifying. I lay there motionless, the only proof I am alive being the sobs straining out of my face. Eventually, my consciousness fades off to sleep with bittersweet dreams.