My mother was known to be a quiet and obedient wife. Through her dull brown eyes one could tell she bore knowledge beyond her years— knowledge the younger generation now thirst for but haven't quenched, however before my father she was a meek lamb. One who was offered up for sacrifice; an atonement for the sins of elders she knew nothing of, whose blood had been spilled time and time again yet she remained strong as an ox.
I was a troubled child... still am, somehow she always had a little something to tell me which would ease my inner turmoil.
It was on one night when she had snuck into my room, the air was crispy and cold, curtains billowing as the a fierce gust of wind blew through the open window and smacked my skin. I squeezed my eyes, pretending to be fast asleep as the creaking sound of my bedroom door being slid open and lithe footsteps approaching the base of my bed drifted into my ears.
Warmth engulfed my fingers and my heart thudded in my chest. Papa would never hold my hand as a display of affection, his ways of showing love was quite different. Realization filled me and I slowly peeled my eyelids open instantly zeroing in her smallish oval face and the heavy bags which hung underneath her murky brown eyes... eyes that'd lost life over the course of the years but lit up like the stars at the sight of me.
Her lips –pale and chapped– tilted upward to form a tired smile, yet happiness that would only last briefly danced in her dim eyes as she questioned quietly, "can't sleep?"
I whimpered, pathetically bobbing my head up and down whilst I peered up at her, catching the slight fall in her expression before she flashed me another smile. My insides churned, wanting to kiss those frowns she tried to hide from me yet being well aware that a simple kiss wouldn't stop it from resurfacing. She didn't need fleeting happiness that would depart and leave her empty, my mother deserved all the joy in the world. Everlasting joy.
And I wanted to give it to her. Even if it meant painting the glass walls of my prison red.
When no words left her mouth I added, "I don't like the dark."
Understanding flashed in those chocolate orbs as she cooed and ran her thumb soothingly over the back of my palm. Her voice was pained as she spoke; "oh my sweet sweet girl, me neither. Monsters lurk in the darkness."
She paused, expression thoughtful whilst she contemplated her next words. "—which is why we must run into the light. Never stop running."
But the light has always been far away from me. Many times I believed I'd finally found my light, my safe haven, only to discover it was a hoax. A false illusion of what I desire the most.
Even now as I drown in an endless pit of nightmares, the light still seems distant.
Monsters lurk in the shadows for several reasons; one of which is the light. It threatens to unravel them later by layer, exposing and rendering them powerless.
Tonight is the same as many others; filled with darkness, thick walls that suffocate me and his haunting voice echoing all around me.
The world behind my close lids is void as I fall down the never ending pit, suddenly hands chill to the bone wrap around me. Grabbing my hair and giving it a harsh tug, pulling my limbs in opposite directions and scraping their claws over my skin till my breath lodges in my throat and my body trembles.
My muscles tense, readying for his onslaught.
"How many times have I told you, be poised as a peacock."
His cane bangs against the cherry wood floorboard.
"You're just like your mother," his tone is laced with venomous needles which prick my flesh deep. "Useless."
Faces flash before me– haunting memories I wish to never recall play in my head like a broken record. But one strikingly familiar face has air clogging my lungs and fists clenching. My body thrashes violently on the mattress, breathing laboured as sweat claims its dwelling in the deepened creases between my brows.
"Please," I whimper.
But he doesn't listen. I watch in my dream state as he drops his cane to the floor like he always does, undoing the gold cufflinks and begins to roll the sleeves of his expensive white shirt up to his hairy forearms.
He laughs. The sound is loud, maniacal and horrid to my ears. Humming a low tune under his breathe as he digs into the pocket of his dress pants, years of practiced posture straight as his foot crosses the other while a sickening sweet smile lingers on his mouth. He 'ahs' when he finds it, the key dangles idly from his pinky finger in the air and seem to taunt me.
"Be a good girl."
In a blink of an eye, blood is everywhere.
A shrill scream rips past my vocal cords, slicing through the night air and breaking the deadly silence. Tears stream down my cheeks, wetting the sheets as tendrils of hair stick to my wet face as a heaviness falls upon my chest so my breathing constricts.
I scream, unable to break free from the chains of the nightmare. I scream, serving it on a silver platter for my demons to feast and get a high off.
Suddenly, warmth spreads over the pads of my shoulders and my body is shaken. Once, twice, till I'm jostled awake from my state of unconsciousness.
As my eyes flicker wide open and my screams are caught in my hoarse throat, instead a dry sob is released, rivulets of tears rolling down my cheeks and neck.
Aïdon sits on the side of my bed, lips parted to speak yet no words make it out. His hair is tousled and eyes tired as he holds me at arms length, the moon casts a soft glow through the open window upon his features so he looks almost transcendent.
In the dead of night, amidst my terror, all I see is him. His facial expression is something I can't decipher as an emotion flashes, gone before I am able to comprehend it. He mutters lowly but enough that I can hear while his rough fingers brush back the tendrils which had fallen free from the braid. "Shoo, it's alright."
In my desperation for comfort, my hands latch onto his bare skin and I all but fling myself on him, successfully moulding our bodies together.
The man stiffens and a barely audible sound of shock is voiced, hands freezing at his sides as they drop from their place on my head. His skin is hot to touch when my face makes contact with his bare chest but he doesn't make a sound of protest, letting my tears fall freely.
Finally he relaxes, letting me pull myself into a sitting position and burrow my face into his chest, inhaling his fresh woodsy scent whilst my fingers tightly grasp his arms and refuse to let go.
All I see is crimson. All I smell is a pungent coppery scent, the lush red tainting the walls and floor, liquid dripping off my clothes and hair.
We remain in that position for God knows how long. Hours? Minutes? It passes in a blur and he holds me close till my sobs reduce to little whimpers, awkwardly patting my back.
My eyes slowly but surely begin to flutter shut as I grow tired.
His hands remain wrapped around me, silently rubbing soothing circles on my arms as his warmth protects me from the cold.
The monster's face flash before my eyes once more as I drift off, his wicked smile and gleaming eyes whispering goodnight. The urge to burst into tears for the second time tonight grows overwhelming.
For in life he was a terror and in death he is worse; an unrelenting nightmare.
Let me know your theories if any...