Death Comes With Open Arms

Chapter 1: Satan's Gift

Silence and Loneliness... Those are the two things I've only ever known. My parents have always been very protective of me. Every scratch I got they'd treat like the world may end, our very own existence. This was especially true in public. For years, I've been locked up in this same house, seeing the same floor, same windows, same ceiling, same rugs, same faces. It gets boring. I've started sneaking out just so I can get a breath of fresh air. The garden is a nice place for that. It's full of these weird, red flowers that are apparently really rare. No one knows how they were made or how they even got here. They're just... There. Even since long before, like in the history books. However, now they're so rare people will pay millions just for a petal. Miraculously, my family has plenty of them. They just grow there. They don't die, even during the winter. They still keep their red glow too. Every petal you take grows back two more petals. I've tried cutting one but its stem broke my knife. My mom still doesn't know what happened to that knife and she won't find out. She'd kill me if she knew I tried to hurt her precious flowers. She spends more time taking care of those things than her own daughter. It's ridiculous how obsessed with youth and beauty women are today. People are crazy enough to try to steal a flower to the point my parents built an entire warehouse around it that is heavily fortified. I like to break inside for fun when my parents are gone for their month-long trips. It's always the same. The same old goodbyes and then the quiet, creepy house, the old warehouse, and me. That's how it's always been. "What color next, Bean?" I ask as I look at my calico cat by my side. He has tufts on the tip of his ears and different-colored eyes. Beanie meows and licks his paw. "Blue it is," I say, painting on my canvas, "How does a beach scene sound? I want to finish covering my wall." I turn my chair to face my large wall, which is almost fully covered with colorful canvases. The one that stands out is a painting I did of the flowers, my mom's favorite child. I always manage to somehow incorporate a flower that looks like it in my paintings. At this point, I've made it my mark as a painter. It gets annoying to stare at it all the time but it's the only interesting thing in my life. My mom tells me to stay away from them but they're like little, disgusting magnets. They're always somewhere in my field of vision. I've gotten used to it being there. I've accepted that my mom loves them more than she loves me and that I shouldn't touch them. However, they're so interesting. Water doesn't keep them thriving, they don't die, you can't kill them, and they give eternal youth. What isn't interesting about that? How do they eat? They don't even need sunlight. How do they work? Are they actually plants or weird creatures that we keep thriving but are going to kill us all in the future? Like zombies or something. I hear something fall on the floor next to me. "Bean!" I shout, picking up my jar of brushes scattered on the floor. Beanie quickly runs out of the room in fear, leaving his mess behind. I guess I zoned out again. It's always the damn flowers that cause it too. No wonder the churches call it a gift from Satan. It gives an unholy presence. I finish picking up the brushes and set them down back in their jar. My stomach growls loudly, practically echoing around the room. I haven't eaten yet today. Maybe this is a good stopping point. I should feed Beanie too. "Bean," I say, getting dressed. I look at my reflection in the mirror. My curly brown hair frames my face, paint streaks decorating it as well. I need a shower. I look at my eyes, the green, blue, and brown mixed like a canvas. I am rather thin from not eating enough and my ribs stick out slightly. I'm not very bosomy but I'm not flat either. If I packed on a few pounds or had the chance, I may be. As I walk downstairs to look for Beanie and his food bowl, wherever he dragged it, I hear a car beep loudly and a pair of headlights shine through the front door windows. The door unlocks and swings open quickly. "Thyra!" yells a voice as a pair of arms grab me and pull me into a hug. "Hello, Mother," I say as I'm getting the life squeezed out of me. "How was the house? Are the flowers alright?" my mother asks, trying to look through the windows in the back of the house from the room. She's gained weight since leaving and her tight curls have loosened. She's also gotten taller and seems stubbier than before. I hate I look similar to her, but her hair is darker. Her face gets thinner the older she gets. It doesn't look right with how her body looks. Why couldn't I look like my father? All I got was his nose, height, and hair color. "Yes, Mother. Your other child is fine," I mumble. "Oh, don't be like that," my mother says. "Hello, Thee," says a man following my mother. "Hello, Father," I say, hugging him gently. He seems taller than when he left. However, that may be because I forgot his height from how long it has been. His blue eyes look down at me, complemented by his brown hair and sharp features. The only thing soft on his face is his nose, which stands out but suits him still. I don't know how my mom found someone like him. Her looks don't even compare to his. "How was everything?" my father asks, gently hugging me. "It was good. I made a few new paintings," I say. "That's fantastic. I can't wait to see them," my father says, setting his and my mother's suitcases down. "You didn't get cut at all, did you? No boys here? You're not hiding a boy in here, right?" my mother asks, observing me and examining my arms. "No, mother. No boys and no cuts as usual," I say, sighing some. My mother sighs a sigh of relief and says, "That's good. I'm going to check on the warehouse." My father nods and my mother walks through the backdoor towards the warehouse. "Sometimes I wonder if she cares more about those damn plants than me," I mutter. "Don't say that. You know you're mother loves you. She's just been troubled lately," my father says, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Yup. The same excuse every time. Don't worry. I've accepted it," I say. My father sighs and then says, "How about you show me your paintings? You've gotten very skilled at it. Why don't you try to sell them?" "I'd have to be allowed to leave the house for that," I say. My father gives me a sympathetic look and says, "You know people would try to kidnap you because of our business, Thyra." "I know...," I mutter. "We're doing this for your safety, Thee," my father says softly. "I know, I know," I say, sighing softly. I haven't left the house since the time I tried public school. I went in secret for other reasons that they don't know of. I have a life outside of the house. If I didn't, I'd go insane and start talking to the cat like he's a person. At least, more than I do now. "My paintings are upstairs," I say, walking upstairs. "I can't wait to see them," my father says, following me upstairs. "Augustus!" my mother shrieks as she runs inside. "Ellenora?" my father questions, pausing and looking at my mother. "Someone tried to break inside and steal our flowers!" my mother says with urgency. They must have found that knife blade that broke that I couldn't find. It was too dark when I lost it to be able to find it again. "What? How do you know??" my father asks. "There's a blade to a knife that I found by a plant," my mother says, "And the poor thing was chipped." "Let me see," my father says, quickly walking outside to the warehouse. Shit. I'm caught. That damn, weak knife. I watch out the window as my dad disappears inside the warehouse. My mother looks at me and then follows him. Shit. After a few minutes, my father walks back inside with my mother. "Thyra Grace," he says sternly, "Please come downstairs." I'm screwed. "Yes, Father," I say as I walk downstairs and look at my father and mother. They both stand by the backdoor, looking at me as my father holds up the blade of my knife in his hands. "What's this?" my father asks. "I-I don't know," I say. Such a shitty liar. "Then why does the blade say 'To my beautiful niece, Thrya'?" my father asks, reading the writing on my knife. "Um...," I say. "Thyra, did you sneak into the warehouse and try to cut a plant?" my mother asks. "I only went in there to look at them-," I say, interrupted by my father. "I will not tolerate lying in this household. You're grounded. Go to your room and do not come out until I say so or you are called out. Also, no painting," my father says. "What??" I ask. "Go," my father says, pointing towards the stairs. "But-," I say. "Listen to your father, Grace," my mother says as she clings to my father's arm. So you're going to disappear for months, come back, then punish me for being curious and exploring? Wow. I huff and storm upstairs, closing my door behind me. Those damn flowers. They care about them more than me, their own kid. Why am I even still here? I basically take care of myself. They leave to party, drink, or go on vacation for months then come home and expect me to be perfectly fine and happy. I'm done. I can't sit here and take this any longer. A few hours pass as I sit on my bed, staring at the wall. A knock is heard at my door, followed by a voice. "Thee. Dinner is ready," my father says. "I'm not hungry," I say. My father goes quiet and then says, "Bean misses you. He keeps meowing downstairs for you." "He'll live," I mutter. "Thee, please," my father says. I huff and say, "I'm grounded. Can't you leave me alone? Please?" My father sighs and closes the door. The sound of steps echoes down the hallway and then disappears completely. A meow is heard by my door and I stand up from my bed to open the door. "What do you want, Beanie?" I ask. Beanie walks into my room and rubs against my leg, purring softly. I sigh, pick up Beanie, and close my door. "Fine. You can stay," I mutter. Beanie meows with contempt and jumps out of my arms and onto my bed, making biscuits in the sheets. I sigh, walk over to my bed, and sit down on the edge. "Might as well do something," I mutter as I grab a book and begin to read.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the hours pass, the only light in my room is the light of a candle. The crickets outside the house chirp and the world around us seems practically dead. Beanie snores loudly behind me and the candlelight climbs up the walls behind him. I lock my door and set the key down on my dresser. "Bean, let's go," I say as I blow out the candle. My room becomes pitch-black and I grab Beanie gently. I open the window and the cool air creeps into the room, feeling like ice has touched my skin. I quickly grab a large coat and then carefully climb out the window. The dark has never been a  problem for me. While most people have to squint to see, I've always been able to see around me. It's as if my eyes have imaginary candles lit behind them that help me see. As I climb out the window, a creak is heard and a room is illuminated by a candle nearby me. I stop and listen around me before the light is extinguished. I breathe a sigh of relief and quickly rush away from the house. Beanie runs next to me, the house growing smaller as we run. The town becomes visible and my face begins to light up with excitement. Beanie lets out a meow with surprise and his tail flicks as he takes in his surroundings. "Isn't this place so pretty at night, Bean?" I ask, taking in the crisp air around me. Pies, coal, and oil. An odd scent but it smells like home. Beanie meows again and starts to walk towards a house with a freshly baked pie on their windowsill. "No, Bean. We don't steal," I say as I whisk Beanie up into my arms. Beanie meows with defeat and continues to look around as I walk. "I wonder if mother and father will miss their flowers more than me. They obviously didn't miss me that much. I'm just there to sit and clean," I whisper to Beanie. I open a small pouch that I stuffed into my shoe, golden coins shining in the moonlight. "They make enough money already," I mutter. Beanie looks up at me and meows as if trying to change my mind. It's too late. My mind is made. I'm finally letting go today...