Soul Arts

Chapter Nine

The bed is warm, spacious, and plush. The small girl snuggles harder under her fresh sheets, but she knows it is time to rise for the day and meet her parents down stairs for breakfast; The usual routine.

Tossing the thick covers away, she sits up in bed to rub her eyes and yawn. She gazes up at the analogue wall clock which now reads nine o'clock. Mother usually comes in earlier in the morning before she wakes up to open her curtains and blinds. The room gleams with the unmatched warmth and beauty of the crisp natural light.

Her bedroom is a perfect square with painted walls alternating between the colors pink and yellow. Her walls are abundantly decorated with stuffed animals on shelves, posters, and photographs; a collage of all things girly. She has a beautiful dresser, a small couch, and some beanbag chairs; a delightful room, to say the least.

Quietly, the girl climbs out of her bed, trots into the hallway, and then carefully descends down the stairs. She makes her way to the half-bathroom near the living room to rinse out her mouth and wash her face as she does every morning. A small step stool placed neatly in front the sink allows her to reach the sink with ease and see herself in the vanity mirror. It feels like it has been ages since the girl has seen herself. She is petite with a slender frame. She has a narrow face with a rather pointed chin, small cutting eyes, thin lips, pale skin, and medium length, frizzed blonde hair in pigtails with a few stray strands that always seem to hang over her face.

She rolls her eyes, displeased at her reflection, as she has always felt she looks rather sour and unsightly. After swishing a mouthful of water around and wiping her face with a warm, damp cloth, the girl prances out of the bathroom. She always likes to reach the breakfast table before mother has to call her so that Mother will not think she has forgotten the daily routine of the household.

"Good morning sweetie," says Mother. Mother is a warm and affectionate woman, but not overly vibrant. The young woman is of average height with a plump and curvy body, short blonde hair, and blue eyes. She greets her daughter with a warm smile and a plate of food,

"Morning mom," replies the girl as she accepts the food with a smile not nearly as sincere as her mother's.

"What's the matter, princess?" a deep, concerned voice asks. Father is leaning on the kitchen counter next to the window. He is exceptionally tall even when slouching. The girl's father is a large man with broad shoulders and strong arms; quite a stocky frame. With his short blond hair, low cut blond moustache, and alluring blue eyes, the girl clearly takes after many of her father's traits.

"Another bad dream," he asks.

The girl only nods weakly, rolling a sausage around her plate with a fork.

"Wanna tell us about it?" Father causally asks without pressuring.

"Not really," the girl replies.

"Melody, why don't you try keeping a dream journal," says Mother. "I know a gal named Maya who does dream interpretations, divinations, tarot card readings and all kinds of cool things. She could always help you try and figure out what your dreams mean if you want."

The girl suddenly springs up and her eyes widen as the familiar name catches her attention. Her eyes dart back and forth from her mother to her father and she listens intently.

"The dream journal I'm okay with, but we are not paying a lady to make up stuff about Melody's dreams. All she's going to tell her is that she should stop watching scary movies late at night and that when she's older she's going to marry a rich prince and live happily ever after in a sugar castle."

"That's not true," Mother scoffs at Father. "Maya's practice is very legitimate. And you do need to stop watching those horror movies, Melody. You're just not old enough for a lot of those films."