Mayhem

Mayhem Is Born

Anything that is different in some way is tortured due to the result of fear. Be it an insult or a form of physical harm or punishment for looking the way one does, or being the way one is. I was born different and I fall into the hands of punishment for this. Not that I had ever done anything to deserve such a thing, life is a card game and you play whatever you are dealt... Or you fold. Sometimes, a joker card can come into the mix, a spontaneous and unpredictable card, there are no rules for this card. It either functions, or it doesn't – I guess... It just took the right one to decide what to do with it. Fear it? Throw it away? Or use it?

Born with the crimson eyes of a demon, a child could never be further from that of Satan's spawn. I was born like any other child, eyes at first black until they grew into the colour I'd live with... I was loved. I was cherished for a short while from what I had seen, but as my eyes formed that bloody red colour, my parents clearly saw the Devil in me. Through result of fear, I was forced into a small, iron cage inside a shed at the bottom of the garden. I was four years old when they finally decided to throw me out into the cold – having had a nanny take care of me until I was old enough to survive so as to be punished for my mutation. The shed was cold and damp, the roof was leaky and it couldn't withstand the wind as drafts chilled my tiny body to the bone – covered only by rags and fed gruel once or maybe twice a day, a small container given to me so that when it rained, I could collect water from the small leaks in the roof. Children from over the garden hedge would sneak into the shed and throw pebbles at me, taunt me, rattle my iron cage, and jab me with sticks. I'd cower in that cage, weeping and hoping that some sort of angel would come down and save me... I'd even welcome the company of a rat if it wandered into the shed; I was so lonely that anything spearing me some sort of attention or presence was anticipated. God only knows how I survived, many times I'd fainted from malnourishment before my father would beat the cage in, take me to the cellar, throw water over my scrawny body and nurse me 'til I was strong enough to withstand more torment. That's when it started... Somewhere in his twisted mind, it must have occurred to him that I was so weak, he could do as he pleased to me. He could do anything he wanted and in a cellar with thick, stone walls, where nobody could hear me scream – was the perfect opportunity for him to ravage me where I lay. On the cold ground, my father mounted me and took my little body as his own, claiming my insides and playing inside me while he would say, "It's because you're a Devil child. You made me do this to you. I had no choice. You deserve to be punished, Ophelia." After he had finished, he'd grab a servant to drag me back to the cage and lock me back inside, hosing me down a final time, forcing me to open my legs so that she could ram her hands inside of me to clean his semen. I kept hoping for some spectacular occurrence, some sort of miracle – a year passed on from then and I was now 5 years old. The same brutal, repetitive cycle of my lifeless life continued on and I was braindead and numb. Is this real life? What is life? Who am I? Namely, I was born as Ophelia Lilith Ashdown, the first of my name and the only. My name is only ever called when my father would ravage my weak, childish form – everything other than that were names such as "demon", "devil child", "filth", "dirt", and many more. I believe I have no identity to cling onto other than my eyes... My eyes are what gave me the so called life I lead. What if I my eyes had only been blue? A simple blue, a forgiving blue... Why was a born with eyes of Hellfire? I'd scratch at my face as a child and cry with the hope that I'd even dilute the colour of my own eyes out into a blue, that the water from my eyes would somehow tint them a different colour... Perhaps then they'd love me. Just as I started to come to the conclusion as this innocent child that should feel nothing but glee and wonder for the world, a normally "terrifying" creature wandered into the corner of my iron cage. A snake. A serpent slithered into my cage, near my tiny, cold feet. A normal child would scream or try to escape the creature... But as I said before, even poison was welcomed because I had nobody or nothing else. I looked round at the long, brown, striped form of this creature and smiled gently, blinking a few times, just taking it in. "Hello Sir Snake... I hope you don't mind me saying, but you have such pretty shades of brown. I don't know why the other people are so afraid of you. Please keep me company a while longer – it's been forever since somebody dropped by." I smiled and hugged my legs; tucking them away from the snake so it had room to move around. Hoping for some sort of response as I chatted away to the snake. "Listen, I know you probably won't understand me... But I wish that I could get out of this cage and have mummy and daddy love me. I don't know why my eyes make them hate me. I just want them to love me like I love them." My voice trembled and my eyes filled with tears as I hoped for something that I knew myself, would never happen. Despite that, I still loved my parents – even my father despite what he had done. In fact, I was so little, that I never truly realised what had happened to me, I just knew that it hurt, but thought that I somehow must have deserved it. The rain began to fall from outside and I quickly grabbed the little container from behind me, pushing it out of the bars and close by to a position where the rain could fall through one of the leaks in the roof. "I'm glad it's raining, Sir Snake... I can have something to drink today! I don't suppose you'll want any? I'll leave you a bit, just in case." I smiled, as I wiped my tears away, listening to the rain, swallowing my saliva to trick myself into believing I was staying hydrated. The world seemed to turn to white noise for a while, just before a deep voice echoed through the shed. "Such a delectable soul. Such a kind, innocent and selfless soul... Someday you'll grow to realise how cruel the world can be and you'll be bitter and filled with hatred. Yes... You'll do nicely, little one... I'll be back for you ..." So I watched this creature as it slithered out from the cage and into a man, to my shock I just sat there completely awestricken by what I had witnessed. He was dressed in an expensive looking cutaway cloth coat in a red so dark it resembled black, then paired with a waistcoat patterned with grey and black, a pair of black matching pantaloons and a ruffled necktie. This style was to be seen on gentlemen of a higher society in my time, me being a Georgian child, born on September 23rd 1771. He had hair the colour of the midnight sky, slicked back and eyes as black as onyx. Before I could even take a break, he vanished within half a blink. For all of that night, I kept wishing that the slightest noise that came afterwards was him, slithering around the shed – oh how I didn't mind this... Most would scream in terror and call for their parents, but I suppose that was why he chose me. Soon their came the rain and snow, the paralytic ice and the sun that would waste me away and suffocate me before my father would suffocate me on his manhood. Yes... It continued almost every single day still, but I kept hoping that my dark angel might return, even if he only wished to consume me. I thought somehow though, that he truly did care for this feeble little girl, because sometimes I'd hear him call to me, "Mayhem... Mayhem... Won't you come to me?" and I'd awake with a blanket of foliage sometimes when the frigid weather would send me shivering. He'd wait for me to be conscious enough to realise it was happening, but unconscious enough that I'd fail to open my eyes. Through trees of bear, trees of green and trees that redden as the cold months fall, I'd wait for him and attempt to keep my tiny heart beating with every fibre of my being so as to wait for him to come back to me. I wondered if he'd forgotten me, or if I was dreaming hopelessly, a vision made from fever, perhaps? I didn't want to believe that he was not my reality. Softly, softly there came a voice and it was speaking faintly to me words that were foreign, "Happy birthday, my little Mayhem here with me. My dull eyes shot wide open only to see my dark angel leaning by the cage beside me, not in the form that he was originally, but as a man. I spoke as much as I could through my ill and little voice, as many words as my throat could handle, deprived of water. "Thank you..." I smiled as tears began to fall from my eyes uncontrollably, it is a feeling that even in my old age I can never forget. No matter how many winters turn to spring, or how many springs turn to summer, to the dullness of fall... I could never forget his eyes as they stared so warmly into my eyes that glistened with grateful tears. For once, someone who didn't look at me with discontent and disgust... Someone who finally treated me as the child I was and not a caged animal with only a small difference from the rest of the world... My eyes were not blue, or green, or brown... But red. "There, there... You wipe those tears for me. I've brought you a gift." As I tried to frantically dry my tears with the rags upon my body, I sniffed and thought to myself that, he WAS the gift, but politely, I quietly accepted with that same smile on my face, anticipating his kindness. "Now, it isn't much... But it's something to remind you that I'm always here, even when it may seem like I'm nowhere to be found, or if you think you may have been dreaming. This is for you, Mayhem." Through the iron bars, he passed through a small, silver, handheld mirror, smiling at me he said clutching my hand as he passed them to me. "When I leave, stare into the mirror and you can see the world as I see it. Then you'll know it's not a dream..." My heart was filled with warmth and wander as I beamed up at this angel of mine, then stated to him softly. "Is this really for me? Does... Does this mean I can keep it?" He chuckled to me sweetly, this kindness in his voice as he responded by taking one of my hands and kissing it gently. "Mayhem... My world is your world, but just remember. Never let our vision cloud the truth, never forgive those who have wronged you. Let it fester and build and I'll come back to you when your heart is as black as twilight." Let it fester? Let it build? What did he mean?