Blood upon my Fingertips

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The scene before me reminded me of the old black and white photos one would find in a trunk in someone’s attic. Pale skin, clothed in dreary black clothes protected by their large black umbrella’s all with fake tears on their cheeks. I stood about thirty feet away from the supposed grievers, gazing at the two caskets who seemed to be waiting impatiently to finally be lowered into their graves, I considered sitting on the mangy green chairs the funeral home provided for the family, but these were not my family, by blood I suppose but not in my heart. The tight black shoes my aunt had forced me to wear were pinching my toes and the short black dress was drenched by the sky’s tears. I considered faking my own few tears for my dead parents’ sake but why waste perfectly good tears over people I hated so much in life and hated even in death?

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Chapter 1

You are so selfish. Even after breaking my heart you keep coming back just to make sure it can't recover.


May Loise Stow was a monster. Not the silly monsters in cartoons, no she was the monster featured in horror shows. The kind that was ready to rip your heart out all the while saying she loved you. And with each creak of the floorboard under her shiny high heels I began to dread my very being. By her hurried steps I could tell she was ticked. About what? Who could tell? Would I get the blame? Most definitely. My flimsy door was flung open, revealing the angry, hate filled eyes of the woman I had once been proud to have called my aunt. The slap to my face came before I had a chance to react sending me falling to the floor with a sharp cry.

“You have one job! One job!” She screeched, kicking my frail body with her sharp heels. “I come home expecting a nice, warm supper only to find that you have not in fact even started on it!” Another hard kick to my side causing a small tear to slip down my cheek, bruises already forming on my stomach. “To make you obey I guess I’ll have to start discipling you since you just can’t seem to remember anything I tell you! Would you like that, Adaline? Huh?”

“I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t mean t-to.” I sobbed as another sharp kick came to my stomach. I was so sick of apologizing; it seemed the only words I ever said were “I’m sorry”. You’re probably thinking, well why didn’t you just fix her dinner like she asked? It’s kind of hard to do so when you have a million other things, she wants done and if they are not doen, I’m in for another beating. You can’t win with this woman; I am destined to lose.

“You are a disgrace to this family! I should’ve turned you out on the streets as soon as your parents were cold in their grave. Can’t even do one thing right you good for nothing animal!” She screamed before picking my up by the shirt and grabbing hold of my neck, squeezing it with a smirk.

“P-please stop, Au-aunt M-May, I-I’ll go fix di-dinner.” I gasped clawing at her large hands that were wrapped around my airflow. May threw me on the ground causing my head to bang against it, warm blood flowing down my face as an unwelcome visitor but one I had come to know well over the years.

“If my food isn’t ready in ten minutes, I’ll see that your Uncle has his way with you.” May said with a smirk kicking me one last time for good measure before barging out of my bedroom. My uncle is just as much of a monster as my aunt and there is no way that I am going to let him even come near me.

I managed to struggle to the large kitchen, the kitchen was any chefs dream, fit with every pot and pan you could imagine, every new available cooking item right at your disposal. I had once loved cooking but now it had become a punishment and the joy, I once had for it was stripped away along with everything else, I had, had. Given only ten minutes I threw some leftover soup in a pot, praying she wouldn’t notice this was from two days ago. There isn’t much you can do within ten minutes sharp, in my case anyway considering I can hardly walk, and leftover soup is better than ramen noodles, right?

As the soup sat simmering, I quickly peeked under my shirt, dark purple bruises were making a statement loud and clear against my other fading bruises and scars. I hate my body. Dropping the shirt and grabbing some glass bowls from the cabinet, I began filling four bowls with the warm soup. I wonder if salad goes with potato soup? Salad goes with everything. Grabbing four plates and the new package of salad from the fridge, I had it dumped on the plates as soon as the maid, Mary Ann, who literally does nothing entered the kitchen with a sympathetic look on her face. Though she was basically there gaining all the credit for my hard work I did every day I really liked her, she always was there to help me put medicine on my cuts and bruises cooing over them like a mother would. You couldn’t hate her for saying nothing about my aunt, I wouldn’t want her too anyway. I suppose being here is better than being with a foster family I don’t know or being out in the streets. The only thing I have left is my prayers and even that I’m not sure is working or ever did.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” The sweet old man who was scanning my groceries asked.

“Of course, I am.” I replied forcing a smile that I didn’t feel.

“Not to be nosey, but what happened to your face?” He asked looking at the bruise closely.

“I fell down the stairs.” I answered after a short pause.

“Isn’t that what you told me last week?” He asked suspiciously. “You must be one clumsy girl.”

“I am.” I said laughing nervously. “You wouldn’t believe how much I fall.” He didn’t believe me, but he was kind enough not to press the issue, instead he handed me my bag of groceries with a smile. Thank goodness I wear hoodies; I wouldn’t want him seeing my arms.

“You have a wonderful day, ma’am. And don’t go falling down those stairs again, you hear?”

“Yes sir, you have a good day too.” I said with a smile. It was raining hard, and I hated the very thought of having to walk home in this downpour. Too bad my life isn’t like movies or a hot guy would pull over and ask if I want to ride and then we’d fall in love and all that cheesy stuff I practically live for. But this is not a movie this is real life and not only is it real life this is my life, a life of living hell. A car came speeding by me as I walked down the cracked sidewalk, drenching my clothes worse than they already were. What is the point of this umbrella if its not doing its job? Water now dripped off my black, floppy hat falling onto my lashes. I’ve never liked the rain, the annoying noise it makes pattering against the roof, or the loud thunder that it brings. I hate thunder, it’s like a booming voice mocking me with every step. Thunder reminds me of my aunt. Another car zooms by, in a hurry to get wherever they might be going showering me with a muddy spray. And they wonder why I hate people; they are all so busy with their lives they could care less about anyone else. My groceries are now soaked, the paper bag is tearing just waiting to spill the contents down to the puddles below. That would only result in a beating and I am praying with all my might that the bag will hold together, but to give it credit, it’s doing a rather good job of holding itself together, better than I am anyway.

My aunts home looked like it was right out of a horror story, the plants she is so proud of in the summer are now dead, the siding that is usually a pearly white is now weathered and stained with the grey air along with dead tree standing in the front all bare and depressed. I’ve always loved that tree; it’s been my only friend for the past ten years but even she seems ready to choke me with her thin arms. Everything is a traitor when I really comes down to it.

Opening the large mahogany door my ears pricked at the sound of a movie playing in the living room, hopefully Aunt May will be so absorbed in her Asian dramas that she will forget about me and not open the bag of soaked food. Mary Ann met me in the kitchen with a distressed expression on her face. What could be wrong now? She said nothing to my questioning gaze, instead she began helping me put up the groceries as quickly and quietly as possible.

“Where are the twins?” I asked. Normally by this time my eleven-year-old cousins would be jumping around the kitchen begging for a snack.

“I have them occupied with a show in their room, but I would hurry and get snacks together because that was around an hour ago.” Mary Ann replied softly. Pursing my lips, I examined the food in the massive pantry trying to decide what to give the picky twins. Apples and peanut butter would be easy, maybe I can bake some cookies after school tomorrow. Grabbing the peanut butter, I quickly dumped some in a bowl just as Aunt May waltzed into the kitchen, an observant expression etched on her face as if looking for an excuse to beat me.

“Do you have the twin’s snacks?” She demanded. I held up the bowl of peanut butter and an apple I was beginning to cut.

“Yes ma’am.” I replied quietly, trying my hardest not to anger her but my effort fell short.

“Speak up child!” She yelled, slapping my face with a scowl. “You have no respect for me whatsoever, you are such an ungrateful brat!” She slapped me again without an ounce of remorse on her face. By now, I could hardly even feel her slaps, I was too immune to them. But one day she will pay dearly for all these years she has put me through. She will pay dearly.

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