Chapter 8: An Old Dream
Harold Hadden was still stewing in his sleep, tossing and turning in the cave he and the old woman slept in. His eyes were clenched tight and his hands gripped hard onto the sides of his head. He rolled to his left side grimacing all the while and whimpering in his sleep. The old woman woke up, and watched as he tossed around. She tried to jab his back to wake him up but he did not budge. "Harold… Harold…" she whispered to him. He wouldn't answer. She tried to stifle the yelps by plugging her ears but could not escape them. She pulled at her hair, groaning from the lack of sleep she had been obtaining lately.
"Can I go one night without your annoying nightmares?" she begged him. He continued on crying in terror and bouncing around the cave floor. The old woman just stood up, trying to rid herself of the piercing headache that coursed her. She slumped over to the entrance and looked out over to the city. She always liked to see the buildings, lit up like a huge neon picture painted before her. Hilary started tapping her foot on the ground, thinking hard to herself. "How did I turn so evil?" she asked herself, continuing to watch the city. Her left arm folded over her stomach and right perched under her chin.
The woman's mind floated off back in time to when she was a little girl. She was only ten years old at this time. She was standing in the middle of an open field with a giant, hairy man looming over her with a leather belt. He just got done chasing her around the house for thirty minutes before she tripped in the field. He was yelling at her, swinging the belt hard onto her back, with all of his force. She screamed in pain while her skin was being whipped away piece by piece. No matter how much the girl yelled the man continued to beat her mercilessly until she was bleeding all over. When he was finally finished he spit in her face, and gave her one final kick in the stomach. "That'll teach you; you filthy, disgusting girl! If I see you go near that grave again, I'll lash ya' even harder than this time!" he told her.
When he finally left, the girl cried out hard; not even able to move without creating agonizing pain. Her back as lashed so hard, that bits of her muscle and bones were showing. She was barely able to stand up and lean against a burnt tree, gasping for air and wiping sweat from her face. Her hair was as black as coal and eyes were a bright hazel. She was standing in the middle of a field which sat around a worn down house. The house was so small that it only had one floor, and four rooms in it. On the outside chips of paint fell off, where it used to be white, it was now grey.
Two broken windows stood on each side of a brown screen door. The front porch was sunken in with two pillars barely holding up the ceiling. All along the roof were holes where bees and birds would make their homes. To the left of the house stood an old propane tank and around the land was an enormous wheat field. Most of the lawn was surrounded by these fields. The woman was wearing a ripped up towel, shaped into a robe which used to be white but was stained with her blood.
The girl's face had a resemblance to a lion, including the arched nostrils, slanted eyes, and high cheek bones. She had freckles all over her face and shoulders as well as her arms. She wasn't the best looking girl, but she made do with what she had. Her legs were long and skinny, and arms hung past her waist; she was very tall for her age. "Hillary!" her father yelled out the door. She tried not to answer so she could sneak out into the field for the day and get away from his abuse.
"HILLARY SWANK, WHERE ARE YOU?!" he bellowed once again. His voice was low and raspy. He was short; shorter than her anyways, and had even shorter, fat, hairy arms. His face stuck out, with an under bite, big lower lip and widened nose. Hillary always thought he looked like a gorilla, and the moment she pointed this out; trying to make a joke, she got a horrendous beating. The following week, she shouldn't have been able to move but her father threatened to beat her even harder if she didn't do her chores. The sun was beating down hard on Hillary's face, which she could already feel the burning taking over; her skin was very sensitive to the sun.
Every time she would get burnt however, her father would beat her shouting, "SWANKS ARE NOT LOBSTERS, THEY ARE DARK TAN AND PROUD!" Every time he'd yell this, he'd take a wooden plank with a nail on it and strike her legs, tearing through the muscle. She never knew why her father was such an angry person, but always expected a beating almost every day, no matter if she was beaten just yesterday. She heard her father curse and began charging out the front door, off the porch. In his right hand was the wooden plank which was stained with her blood.
Her eyes were beginning to sting with fear and sadness when she saw him walking towards her. "P-please don't d-do this daddy; why do you hit me like this?" Hillary cried, falling to her knees. Her back still roared in pain, when he got to her. "I called you Hillary darling, why didn't you answer me?" he asked, slapping the plank into his right hand and holding it with his left. When the wood smacked his palms lightly, Hillary would shake with violent fear, knowing what was going to come. She knew deep down why he beat her so evilly; she was always the weird one in the family. When her mother died, she happened to be there. The rest of that memory was hazy, all she remembered was her mother dead on the lawn.
He cried into his wife's chest. When his sobs subsided he gave her the most malicious look she ever saw. That night she was dragged by her hair across the field, and beaten until she couldn't even stand on her own. That was the night that he broke out the plank with the nail from the porch, which is why it was sinking now. "Now now Hillary, you need to know discipline. I got disciplined when I was your age and believe me, it helped a lot." He picked her up by her hair, holding her in the air. She could feel every strand straining to hold onto her scalp as he shook her around.
"P-please stop, d-daddy!" she screamed at him. He swung at her with the plank multiple times, and then she jerked back awake. Her eyes were now facing the ceiling of the cave, as the cool air blew past her face. "Hillary, are; are you alright?" Harold asked, gazing down at her. She sat up, wincing when Harold touched her back. She could still feel the pain even to this day. "What were you dreaming?" he asked. "I… It was nothing. Are you finally done dreaming as well?" Hillary replied. "What do you mean?" he asked. "You were groaning and rolling around like you do every night." Harold looked confused, rubbing his chin, and then he gasped. "OH YEAH! It was nothing Hillary." He said quickly, then sat next to her. Didn't sound like nothing. Hilary thought.
Harold moved his right hand over to her lap, which she accepted with her left. They both watched as the sun began to rise in the sky, making elaborate color schemes. Pinks, blues, purples; they all mashed together so perfectly. "The world is so beautiful isn't it Harold?" Hillary asked, leaning her head onto his shoulder. "It is Hillary; it really is." He replied, patting her back and resting his head on top of hers. They both continued to hold each other, before dozing off together this time. Despite their pains, they both felt a connection that night so smiles were on their faces.