Bound by Blood

Chapter One: Unforgettable PREVIEW INTO REWRITE

 When someone asks "what was your childhood like?" or "what memories do you hold close" I'm overwhelmed with all these different emotions and memories I try so desperately hard to push to the back of my head, to forget. Yet I still smile, I wear a mask that shows I'm stronger, that I am not going to break down from these memories. I'm better than that. I'll show Mother.

I hum my favourite tune as I slowly make my way down the main hall, carefully dusting the various amounts of vases and decorative tables even the frames as I go all a part of the weekly routine. I stop at one photo in particular just barely hanging on a slant. Squinting my eyes up at the frame as the lights shine brightly down on me I observe the familiar memory.

The only picture left in the house of Father, showing him pushing me gently on a swing as I laughed as I swang at an old long abandoned park. I remember the winding whipping through my hair and my loud giggles filling the silence, even the butterflies that rose in my stomach as I swung higher and higher into the cold winter air. Fathers long brown coat tussling as I fall back to him, his dark brown hair neatly combed and his warm brown eyes watching over me with care. I can see my light blue eyes glistening with curiosity towards the camera with my dark brown hair fluttering across my face in a mass mess following the wind.

It makes me wonder what happened to Father; I was too young to understand what happened or how and why he died. Mother won't tell me she avoids the question completely, like she's hiding something. But I won't bother her anymore with asking when I know I'll get the same reaction every single time.

Moving on down the hall heading deeper into the house I continue dusting coming to another stop at the hallway mirror. Wiping the dust away with my duster, I sneeze lightly and look into it. I look a mess, Mother won't be happy. Adjusting my purple baby doll dress and apron I finish up cleaning for the morning and pack up the cleaning utensils and chemicals for those stains that are stubborn you know.

"Light, doll breakfast is ready!" Mother chirps happily like always from the kitchen.

The kitchen was spotless, so vigorously cleaned that the floor acts just like some sort of mirror.  The marble benches shine brightly under the white lights and every object decorating the area perfectly placed to compliment everything.

Hanging my apron up on the wooden rack as I enter the kitchen and I'm instantly hit with the smell of tamagoyaki, basically rolled omelette with grated daikon radish as a small side. Something traditional Mother and I have now and then.

"Smells amazing Mother" I smile warmly taking a seat at the lavish glass dining table, that had already been set with a range of side dishes and eating utensils.

Alright Legs crossed, back straight and most importantly smile, check.

Mother happily made her way over stopping to set the dish neatly in front of me than making her way to her own seat. I flash a warm smile towards her just to receive one in turn.  She sits there silently just staring at me with an awkward look for a moment then tilts her head and drops all emotion from her face and starts to eat, huffing as she does so.

Brushing off the tension I attempt small talk with Mother while we enjoy breakfast, trying to lighten the mood as much as possible. Mother and have had our ups and downs over the years but this is new. Even weirder then how she acted the first couple of years after Father had left

Before I realise we've finished dinner and Mother has taken my plate away and washed all of the dishes. I look over to her just in time to see her smash a ceramic plate on the floor. Growling in anger she picks up the jagged pieces of what was once a plate and throws them away. It didn't take her too long for her to than next storm over to me as I started to stand up.