Chapter 1
There is nothing. Just a small house that barely fits four people, surrounded by mountains that swallow it up. As if it was just a speck of dust, nothing more than a grain of sand.
I used to tell my father it was punishment—so nobody could hear my desperate screams whenever I ran up the mountain slope to cool my temper.
He always answered the same, “You are being dramatic, my dear.”
Maybe I was but at a certain point in life, it became the only way to cope, to let go of the anger that begged to stick around.
The squeak of the boots on the snow fills the silence as I make my way down the mountain. My fingers brush against the trees coated under heavy snow. I don’t hurry down, I know the moment the first sun streaks break over the mountains I won’t be free until the moment it sets again.
So, I stop from time to time, scoop up the snow and form a perfect ball before throwing it at a distant tree. I can now make way for it, calculate how to make the snowball swerve, and dodge the trees that stand in its wake. It’s not magic, it’s just a desire you pick up after a time—to make it as far as you can. It gives a way of escape, for a little moment you forget, pretend you can be free.
I wonder what it would feel like to shoot an arrow. It would fly gracefully over the air, glide through the stiff, cold air to find the mark.
The dog starts barking in the distance and I let go of the freshly made snowball. Maybe the sun has already broken over the horizon and I cannot see it through the thick canopy.
My stomach drops with fear, sickening feeling spreading from the pit of it and creeping up to seize my entire body. I break into a run, half-slipping down the frozen ground, dodging trees at the last possible moment.
The little valley that belongs to us is still dark, not even a single streak of light, only the grey sky above me.
A puff of smoke rises to the sky from the chimney, thinning with each passing second which means the fire is dying out.
The dog barks again as if to warn me as the morning beam of light spills over the mountain. I watch it, spreading down the slope as it reaches me, caresses my cheek with a soft, warm hand that I would expect in June and not at the end of December.
Ollie jumps around as I open the gate into the garden. I crouch down and lean a hand on the ground to steady myself as he stands on his hind limbs and beats at my face with his front paws in excitement, his tongue sticking out and head bouncing from side to side.
“Alright, I know,” I say, scratching him behind the ear. He whines for the food, the sound mixing with the first crow of the rooster which yanks me out of the short moment of pure happiness that I dare to steal before the day starts.
A door slams inside the house. Probably my stepmother striding through the house looking for me. I slip behind the house to take out the food for animals but she finds me before I have the chance to start with the chickens.
She eyes me without a word, her dark eyes sharp. I know that look. She was ready to start a fight but I haven’t done anything wrong yet. Her lips turn into a thin line with the realization, hatred flashing across her face before she turns on her heel and returns to the house to tend to her daughter.
I lean against the house, heaving a sigh. Shame floods me, exchanging the fear that had taken over me for a few seconds as I watched her take the last steps towards me.
Sometimes the cause is merely a dream, sometimes just the smallest noise I make, sometimes just her bad mood—I’m always ready for her striking hand, for the sting on my cheek as it collides with my face.
I massage my chest, making soothing circles to ease the constriction, then move to feed the animals that grow restless. I take my time, talking to them, hand-feeding them. Anything but to return to the house.
It might be the reason for today’s beating, for the wrath of a woman that cannot rid of me. But I take that risk, it could be a few minutes of freedom—it’s worth it.
Ollie stays close to me, his paws tangle with my skirt, then my feet but I don’t shoo him away. He only wants to keep me company, maybe he can feel the brewing storm within me.
