Coiled in a darkened corner, lay a cowering girl. Whimpering under the merciless hands of hate. The young girl let out a blood-curdling cry, as punch by dreadful punch landed directly into her innocent soul. Her body trembled under the cruel touch of her loathsome mother. The frame of her poor body, bruised with a hate that dwelled deep within a beast. She'd never felt smaller and more insecure in her own being, than she did then. Being beaten. For the first time.
I awoke to the bright white of my hospital room, which I'd grown fond of. I realized with embarrassment, that my cheeks were raw with searing tears. I thanked God silently that He was the only wittness to my pain. The only one who'd seen and known of my struggle to survive. The only one who did nothing to assist as He watched. Why should I thank Him for the nothing I have? The nothing I am.
A knock on the door quickly averted my thoughts. There she stood, as cold as ever. On the surface, she's a beauty that has upheld the gratitude in becoming my gaurdian. Yet I can clearly see the unwelcoming in her grey eyes. As I have declared before, I will strive to many lengths to make that grey a color with love.
"I am here to tell you that you're living with me," she said shortly.
I pretended to have thought it a remarkable surprise as I said, "Really? W-well thank you!"
"Trust me, I barely had a choice," she muttered to herself, not intending it fell upon my ears. But I surely did not miss a word of it.
Silence grew uncomfortably dead. Trena teetered back and fourth on her heels, at a loss of words.
"Well, get dressed, will you? I'll go check you out from the hospital," she tossed a pair of jeans and a baggie black sweatshirt carelessly on top of my covers. She left almost immediately afterward. I guessed she didn't enjoy my company very much.
I slipped off my gown that Elena said was mandatory and into the clothes Trena had given me. The jeans were loose on my waist and the sweatshirt was soft, but smelled of a cheap to-go purfume that stung my nose. I took one last look around my room. The familiar scent, the whitest of walls, the paintings...
I starred at the small blue bird, wondering if he was searching for his family, or flying from them. I spent all my life waiting for something else, someone else. Yet now I am begining to regret ever asking Elena. Sweet, kind Elena. How could someone of such love create a daughter with such hate? Whether the dull sun rose or set, in the other painting, I never knew.
I left my home, or the closest thing to it, merely to enter another life. With love or with hate, I shall soon find out.
YOU ARE READING
A Color With Love
Teenage FiktionSofie Anne Martez was not born into love. She had to earn it, to a very high price. Her mother, an alcoholic with a rather abusive nature, committed suicide. And no, she can't go running to her dad because thanks again to her mother, he's dead. She'...
