These are my pitiful non-permanent scars.

These are my permanent everlasting scars.

They will forever be in my heart adding to the agony each day.

My non-permanent pitiful scars will eventually go away.

They cause a new sensation of pain;

One of which temporarily eases the wounds in my heart.

Why can’t I make them all permanent?

I am a lonely, scared, pitiful coward.

The sight of my blood is what I truly wish to see.

Deeply piercing my skin…

Now do you think I’m crazy?

The pain she causes is unbearable.

Why can’t the pain I cause myself match up to hers?

One of these days it will, then what happens?

Will I be the blame?

Or will she finally realize what she has done over the years.

The problem is, what if she does it first?

The truth will be sealed in the darkness of her soul.

The screaming never ends.

It continues to echo through my head long after it’s gone.

All my pitiful scars are my failed attempts.

Those failed attempts are enough to make the screaming stop.

She has pity from everyone.

She has them in her clutches, manipulating them by puppet strings.

But I am her most favorite toy of all.

I am also the one at the bottom of the chest, never to be opened.

I am the broken one that can never be fixed.

If I’m broken why keep trying?

I will just keep breaking until there’s nothing left.

By then, no one will ever try to put the pieces back together.

‘Cause by birth it was already decided that I was a failed attempt.

I got up from bed and put my dull pencil between the spiral of my small notebook and hid it under my mattress. I shoved some sheet along with it and started to make my bed before she woke up. She is also known as Morana; my mom. I peered into the little mirror above my bed and saw her standing in the doorway; with the same grim look she always has on her face.

“Freya, what are you doing?” She asked with a demanding tone. “Nothing, I’m just making my bed mother,” I answered hiding my fear within me. “That’s certainly not nothing; and how many times have I told you, your not authorized to get out of bed unless I’m awake and you have my permission,” She asked her expression and tone not changing even slightly. “I’m sorry mother,” I said without arguing awaiting my punishment. “You’re not answering my question,” She said with her tone becoming more unpleasant. Without giving me time to answer she began to speak again, “You know how I feel about mirrors…” Mother said before walking away strangely leaving me unpunished. I had the only mirror in the house; mother believes vanity is one of the deadliest sins.

Surprisingly I heard a knock at the door less than a minute since mother had left. From my secluded room upstairs, this was very unusual and rare. I heard mother hurry back down the hallway back to my room. She slammed my door and rushed downstairs; her heals clicking down the wooden stairway. I always have to be very quiet when company is over so I won’t be noticed. I figured eaves- dropping wasn’t worth getting caught so I awaited patiently until the person left; not knowing when they would actually leave due to my almost soundproof walls. I had learned to accept my fate here, as like many other things. I stared blankly into the off-white walls, which I could sometimes do for hours without even realizing it. The mirror and the bed were the only visible things in the room; the journal I keep is a secret. I could tell I was famished by the growl of my stomach. I was used to my meals being forgotten, so I didn’t notice or ponder over it much.

I started wondering who was at the door. I always dreamed that my father would come knocking at the door saving me from this abyss. I knew that was impossible though; fore Morana had told me that my father had passed away. I noticed the door to my bedroom opened a crack just enough to fill my dim room with light. It startled me as it made a noise. “Mother?” I called waiting for her to have come in by now. I heard no answer, just silence. This was also unusual because Morana always locks the door to my room. I know something has to be going on for all these strange things to be happening to me today. “But maybe she just forgot to lock it…” I thought. I dragged myself to the wall facing the opposite side of the door soaking in the little light there was. I slid down on the wall putting my knees up to me face; one arm on each side of me grasping the wood. I was tempted to go see what was going on, but fear overcame me like it usually does.

Half asleep, Morana came barging in through the door, practically stumbling over as she walked. “What Did You DO?!” She screamed at me. Confusion came over my face, “I don’t know what yo-.” “You know VERY well what you did!” She interrupted. “You’ve done it this time you brat! You hungry? Huh? Ya?! “ She said, her voice only getting louder. She took the small platter off of what I suspected was the feeding cart and threw it violently at me, barely missing my head. “Well eat it you bitch!,” She screamed stomping her foot on the wood; her heal getting caught in the cracks. She tumbled to the floor as her heal broke. Scared, I started crying for the first time in years. I promised myself I wouldn’t show pain for her, even when it was at its worst. This wasn’t even at its worst, which feared me deeply.

As she screamed drool slid down from the side of her face; that’s when I knew it was happening. “You fucking bitch! Cry! Baby, Cry!” She said trying to get up. She didn’t even bother getting the whip out this time; she just came straight at me, limping from side to side. She kicked at me doing whatever she could to hurt me, as she screamed,” Get up! Get up!” With her being a much older mother, she had gotten shorter, causing me to be much taller than her. “You think you’re so much better than because you’re a little taller, DON’T YOU?!!” “Mother, I-” I was cut off mid-sentence. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!” Her face seemed to have a purple tint to it from all of the shouting. “Pieces of shit like you don’t deserve to live,” She said with a tone that held no regret.

She Wobbled out of my room losing her balance every couple of steps. She slammed the door so hard my little mirror fell off its nail, and shattered across the floor reaching out from under my bed. The shards of what seemed like ice were spread all around me now. I carefully picked up one of the pieces to examine it, and was distracted for a moment. After all that had happened now, I could see the emotionless expression on my face through the tiny piece of tainted glass. Without realizing it, Morana was in my room again; this time her entrance was almost unnoticeable. Her expression was cold; a frown spread across her gloomy face as she glowered at me with hate in her burning brown eyes. It took me a second to look down at her hand to see the whip curled up, her fist grasping it showing her anger. She still stood motionless for a moment, and I obeyed her orders I knew she was expecting me to know by now. Still standing, I kneeled on the floor to make it easier. I unbuttoned my old-fashioned shirt slowly, but not too slow to make her even more angry-if that was possible. I slid this blouse down over my shoulders, feeling the emotionless expression still glued to my face.

Lash by lash, one was more painful than the next. Not one time did I cry out in pain, I tried even not to shed any tears. Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied until I did-I stuck with my gut; hoping I’d still have one when she was through with me. I drowned out her screaming in my mind, which was a very hard thing for me to do. In a way I was overjoyed to feel pain, almost ecstatic. ‘Cause as long as I felt pain, I knew I was still alive. It still seemed to go in slow motion, and sometimes I forgot to breathe. I did not come out of my fantasy-world only until blood came out of an unexpected place. I coughed up a mouthful of the thick red liquid, it was dripping out the remains. I used to be so scared of the sight of blood, almost fainting when I’d see the tiniest bit. I’d become immune to that silly fear now; there were so many other things to fear, so many more things that made sense to fear. My eyesight turned hazy, then colors turned disoriented. Before my face fell to the floor, I was already unconscious.

***

I awakened back to my empty room on the cold surface of the hard-wood floor. In front of me was a pool of blood, my blood. Small pieces of glass from the mirror made a small contribute to the pool in front of me. Most of the bigger shards were cleaned up; I assumed it could only be because of Morana’s distrust in me… I turned on my right side to see the platter of food that stained the wall; I was unsure of what it was. All I knew now, was that it was soaked in a much tinier pool of my flesh a couple feet away from me. I lost my appetite and closed my eyes in hopes that the gory site would disappear. It was almost impossible to relax while cringing in pain from the burning sensation traveling down my spine. That, and the fact that my little Jacuzzi was starting to smell wretchedly. I somehow managed to sit up, straining my body to move accordingly. I was shaking; my weight suddenly seemed 3-fold than it was before. I knew this was impossible though due to my long-term diet. I collapsed into my sticky pool failing to do this one simple thing.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought it smelled in my room. All too quickly Morana was back in my room again. Her nose wrinkled up in disgust. She held a rope in her hands and walked silently towards me as I lay in agony. She grabbed my wrist forcefully either not noticing or caring that she was pressing the glass in deeper as she did so. She then tied my wrist behind my back, and before I knew it I was on my stomach. She pulled backwards on my arms pulling them upward dragging me up unsteadily to me feet.

Wordless, she guided me to my doorway as I limped beside her. I had guessed she was taking me to the bathroom down the hall to wash up while she mopped up the mess she made in my room. My assumption was right-she once again lead me across the dazzling hallway across the small red carpet that covered the wood. I looked up to see my picture; well it wasn’t mine, but it was my favorite out of all the pictures that covered the fancy wallpapered surface. They were all evenly spaced out-maybe one meter apart, all the same size; all except for my picture. The height and width were doubled in size in comparison. There were two people in the painting, maybe the same I couldn’t tell due to the exact features they both seemed to share. These people were merely girls. The girl on the right had other people surrounding her, but she was in the center while the rest were slightly blurred. Yet, she still wore a smile on her face; it glistened so much that I couldn’t believe that it was the same person on the left. The only difference in features was the loneliness on the girls face. As like the other side of the picture, there were people surrounding her, but they were farther away. Instead of being blurred, they were shadows, watching her. In the center of the picture seemed to be a wall separating the two girls.

I wasn’t able to get much detail out of the picture by just one glance because each time I passed it up for less than a second, taking in more thought about it. Before I was shoved in the bathroom, I could see the locked door at the end of the hallway; which I always checked just in case of a miracle. Then I found myself behind another locked door, alone this time. I could hear Morana’s footsteps fading which were hard enough to hear already as she walked down the narrow carpet. I undressed my self from my bloody stained clothes and lay them on the beautiful marble counter next to the shining silver sink. It was cooler in here than in most rooms, and it made me slightly shiver. My fingertips gently twisted the shower knob revealing hot steam as water came crashing down. The burning on my palm felt good against my icy skin. The sensation spread throughout my body slowly taking it in. My fingers weaved through my tangled hair as I slowly began to wash my troubles away. The water unevenly splattered downward to the smooth tile caressing between my toes. The crystal clear water turned a light red, enough to still be transparent. My dark red-brown hair turned back to its natural color as the transparent red swirled quickly down the drain.

The water pressed harshly against my back, blending the pain between the burning wounds and the steamy water. I started humming a tune; it was at a whisper. It was so quiet, my soprano voice didn’t even bounce back off the walls. Morana used to hum the song to me when was little; almost too young to remember how nice she used to be. That was a time when she actually smiled. It’s hard to think that the death of my father had caused all this; I understand the pain, but it just doesn’t add all up. I finished rinsing the soap out of my hair when my humming came to the last measure of the song. I made sure I was completely ridden of blood before I turned the faucet off, and reached for the bleach white towel. I dried off quickly and stepped out gracefully, being sure not to make any noise. My hopes of not being noticed where crushed as I saw Morana’s shadowy figure stretching out from underneath the doorway-waiting I suppose. I wonder how long she’s been waiting there. I put on my still-stained clothes; which were dried now. At least I managed to quench my thirst by taking in some shower water before I got out.

She seemed to know I was dressed, and unlocked the door stepping in. I folded the towel I had used putting it in the hamper before meeting her gaze. I could tell she was hiding her emotions as she guided me back to my bedroom. The walk back was strangely awkward, and it seemed to exaggerate the time to more than it actually was. I didn’t dare to break the soothing quietness. Before I knew it, my hands were free from the tangled rope, and I was placed behind my four walls once again. After the door was shut and her presence was long gone to be traced, I flopped on my bed pulling out my notebook. I began to write about today; rather than my usual poetry.

***

I awoken with a jolt; startled that I was dreaming. Yes. Just a dream. It had seemed so real; it was hard to pull myself back into reality. My dreams were usually stupid and made no sense; which clearly was the opposite of this dream. In it, I was referring to someone else as my mother; other than Morana. I assumed it was how my mind deciphers between the once good and now bad Morana, but it kept me wondering. Lost in thought, I suddenly remembered that I had fallen asleep while writing. My eyes focused on the sheets where I tossed and turned and found that everything was still there. I put it all under my mattress once again assuming that it was still undiscovered. After my state of panic, I forgot the rest of my dream; which made me sad. It wasn’t often after that I had a dream that didn’t end up a nightmare. After a long sigh, I drifted back to sleep awaiting the morning to come.

Beside my bed was the cart that held my breakfast. It consisted simply of an apple and a glass of orange juice. I quickly got up and sank my teeth down into the delicious sweetness of the fresh apple. Until hardly even the core remained, I moved on to the bitter juice that tickled down my throat. While I was trying to force out every drop from the glass, I heard the faint sound of music coming from downstairs. It drowned out the uproar of whispers below me; making them intelligible. It seemed as if a small group of the whispers were making their way towards me. Yes; coming up the stairs is what sounded like three people. Their voices became clearer over the once whispers they were before. Morana’s voice screeched behind them, panting, sounding like she was trying to keep up. The two other people, men I suppose, were booming out laughter seeming not to here her, as did I. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience about the bathroom renovation, but this house is old,” Morana’s voice became as clear as the others now, more polite than what I’m used to. “Tis quite alright, this house is a beauty, that’s for sure,” An angelic voice answered her in an eager tone. “Must both of you go at once?” Morana asked trying to keep her tone. The booming laughter echoed through the halls again. “We’ll continue our conversation later,” The other man with the not-so angelic voice said as I could here his footsteps fading away.

“I could do this alone you know, although I do appreciate your kindness,” The man who remained offered. I could only imagine the expression Morana was trying to hide on her face now knowing the reason she wouldn’t possibly do that. “Very well, don’t get lost on the way back,” Morana answered as I heard her heals ever so slightly across the narrow red carpet. Astonished, I lost track of all thought. I came out of my empty stare when I heard the bathroom door snap shut. Thinking about the man with the beautiful voice, I started humming my tune of happiness ever so quietly. The opening of the door to the bathroom did not break my low-whispered hum as the man came towards my door. So close, I could hear his heavy breathing. Then Morana’s voice broke the silence, “Come; there is nothing but scrimmage in the room before you.” My hum silenced itself as the voice reached my ears. “I say, is this place haunted?” The man asked. “Mr. Cornellson, do you really believe that sort of nonsense?” She answered with another question. Even his sigh was beautiful as I heard him turn away toward the stairway, “I suppose not; and by the way the large painting over there is quite lovely.” Their conversation was drowned by the low classical music once more. My heart was racing. “Mr. Cornellson,” My mind repeated over and over. What a lovely name. I knew he could have only been talking about my painting, which made me even more delighted. I had become fascinated by the man whose face I did not know.

I danced gracefully towards my bed, twirling with the last step. Grabbing the hidden journal quickly made my smile fade to a frown when I noticed that my pencil was too dull to write with. I picked at it for a moment, which did nothing in exception to breaking my nail. Frustrated, I looked around the room not expecting to find what I was looking for. My smile brightened back up when my eyes passed over the air-vent on the opposite wall. It had not worked so well for escaping, but what about sharpening pencils? I anxiously glided across the floor on the balls of my feet. I ended my dance with a Grande’ Plie’ examining the vent.

I put the tip of my pencil against the edge and striked it across. It made an unexpected loud noise, and I jolted back. I realized after a minute or two that I was that only one that had heard it. I did it a couple more times, and was pleased with myself because of my new working discovery. My pencil wasn't sharp, but it wasn't dull. When I was satisfied, I flipped through the pages of the note book. It was the fifth time I had used it; fifth page. I began to write, but I stopped when I noticed that there was a page torn out. It wasn't one of my pages thankfully, but that must've meant someone had actually used before me. I shuddered for a instant, then finally began to write my memories from moments ago.