CH #4 - Dawn

The twisted noise of the door being opened made the whole room send out the message that her arrival had taken place. The light entering through the space was no longer present, as the opposite, smooth and fast sound – a beat – took place there. The wooden door was once again closed, leaving everything outside that space.

Shoes were removed from the feet and left in the corner, next to the earthenware jar filled with dark earth, in which a small decorative ornamental plant grew. Its leaves did not glow with the same life force as before. It needed that lighting that tried to invade the hallway through the front door.

The wood creaked with the sound of swift, subtle footsteps. The impact of feet hitting the surface was itself literally undeniable. No sound came from there, just the crackle of the cold frame that chilled the undersides of her feet.

Other than that, another noise filled the partially dark hallway, mingling with this first one. The plastic bags that were carried in the thin, small hands rubbed against each other, making that constant plain and annoying sound, always monotonous, as if the same amount of force always acted there.

Another sound – that of keys being placed with immense care on the wall, hanging like little bells on a bracket. That noise wasn't one that lasted long however, and it soon gave way to another sound unlike any other.

Apart from that meager distant auditory stimulus, nothing else was heard or perceived in the hallway.

It was a kind of low whinnying, a choked and trapped noise, with no air to expel or facing quite a lack of it; it was something that made no sense at all, something irregular, out of order, fluid, but at the same time unexpectedly dry.

A mixture of the sound of a vehicle braking with that of a shoe sliding on a concrete floor. Something uncomfortable in general, that bothered the deeper levels of the psychological, affecting the ears of the soul and the heart, making them cry together with it, almost at the same pace.

The steps of the stairs. No other noise covered that intermittent nuisance, filled with a perceptible suffering several yards away. That hellishly sad sound was coming from the upstairs door, in a room in the middle of a dark hallway, all being as dark as the thoughts occasioned by that damn cacophony.

An agonizing, liquid, choking hum—a familiar sensation, but one you could never get used to.

She stopped by the door, and after a few minutes of listening to that, she remembered why the person on the other side of the locked wooden barrier was doing this traumatizing hiss. She dropped all groceries right next to the door, somewhere in the runner with no light. The windows were closed and she didn't feel like opening them. Light was not something that belonged to the environment in question.

The dim light that escaped between the drawn white curtains was the only thing that allowed the shapes of everything to be seen, appearing as pale silhouettes in the near darkness. She guided herself there with the simple use of her own hands and prior knowledge of the path.

That didn't matter too much. She sat by the door, hugging her languid knees with both the thin arms, huddling under her hair colored like the sunset over the mountains.

Gazing at the nothingness that was on the other wall of the corridor, the partially erased thoughts surfaced in her head, being accompanied by the broken melody of those coughs that poured out in voluminous amounts from the other side of the door. A melancholic serious countenance resided in her, and in the dark, the fastidious brown eyes displayed their true nature – the darkness kept them from glowing, even for a bit.

... ... ...

The day was a mystery, and the month and year two even bigger ones. Nothing was known apart from the few things she could remember. All she knew is that it happened in an ordinary Saturday day, which shouldn't be interesting at all.

It was pretty bright. The open windows let the light in through the corridors. On the radio, some kind of slow, orchestral music was introduced to listeners. From the kitchen, the smell of pancakes rose, invading every space in the wooden building.

The wood steps still didn't ring back then, and darkness was far from being present in the corridors. Plants received correct amounts of nutrition, and even birds sang with greater vigor than was seen today.

At that time, the sky was blue, it was beautiful... At that time, there were no worries about all the mundane and theoretically silly things that were experienced today. The world was still a magical place, where all people seemed to be happy and live comfortably.

Everything promised to be as it always was that morning. Sitting at the table, in a chair adapted to her small size, the little girl with freckles on her face watched excitedly as the great and ever magnificent woman who at the time was known only as "Mommy" cut into small pieces, the size of her tiny bites, that round pile of dough that smelled so good and looked so delicious.

Mommy would always be the most beautiful woman in the world. Her curly hair, long and thick, fell from the top of her head in spirals, like great giant springs to her shoulders, in the way of magical staircases colored in the tones of the sunset.

Large eyes, a deep, luminous brown color. She always imagined them as two huge fountains of delicious milk chocolate. Thin lips, and several small red moles that ran across her cheeks, decorating them like stars in the sky. A small, slender woman, with a gentle manner, so that any less careful gesture made her look like she would shatter at any second, like a fine porcelain jar.

There wasn't a single difference between the two of them, and the mirror would soon no longer distinguish one from the other. Mommy always told her that she was very beautiful, and that she would become even more than she was.

Such a proclamation always seemed impossible, as one could not be prettier than the prettiest person.

The squares looked like small table top game pieces, which dotted the white ceramic plate. The cut of Mommy's knife was precise and immediate, and just a single quick sweep of the serrated and shiny surface was all it took to split that delicious dish.

Everything promised to be as it always was. She, thrilled with the opportunity to finally be able to try another one of the delights made by the greatest cook in the world, found it hard to realize that something was different that day.

... ... ...

Oh... Her childish mind wouldn't let her see... The pancakes were careful in her eyes, shining like sunlight, preventing her from seeing the reality that was happening right there in front of her being! Nothing at the time she could understand, but there, in the darkness of the hallway, it all finally came to her.

As a child she didn't see it, but today she asked herself "Why?"

Mom's smile wasn't the same anymore. Her eyes were red and irritated too, and every now and then the desperate sniff of air was heard. Two nearly invisible lines slowly dried beside her eyes, staining the pale, partially reddened skin.

The lips curled in that gesture of plastic happiness. It was visible now that that smile was a lie, and nothing but a fabrication so that she didn't bother trying to find out about anything, so that she didn't imagine a single thing, so that she would continue to be a child, and to smile like a child.

She didn't want her to ask about it, whether it was the lines in her face or the red in her eyes. Mommy did her best not to shiver, not to flinch from that smile.

Everything promised to be as it always was. As it always was meant to be.

As a child, she didn't notice the absurd and heavy silence that fell upon the kitchen. And now an occupant was missing from the rustic round wooden table that had remained until then. There was not the slightest sound there, other than that produced by the knife to cut.

Cut… Divide… Slash. She didn't realize it, but that, too, was about to happen in her life.

Light steps approached, and soon a known figure was present. Immediately, a smile spread across her face, and she left to hug the one who appeared in the doorway.

There, in the darkness of several years later, she finally realized that the embrace had told a lot more things than she'd ever imagined.

That man. "Daddy". No. There was no other name to call him. Only Daddy was enough, after all, that was the only name she remembered and would take the trouble to do.

Daddy wrapped his arms around her. It was a dead embrace, one that was now cold and buried. No emotion was radiated in that contact. It was but a meaningless, mechanical grip.

Her childish mentality did not allow her to realize this. For her, Daddy loved her and would always do so, no matter how tight the hug. Her immature head insisted on searching there for a warmth that never existed, for a light of hope that was never lit.

He didn't say a single word. The perfume invaded her nostrils – a fine, woody scent. On his left side he carried a business briefcase. Daddy always carried those complicated papers full of weird words that she couldn't pronounce or even begin to understand. If they weren't already boring enough for their content, those pages were the only ones she couldn't draw on, or Daddy would be really mad.

But above all, Daddy was a role model. When she saw him, her eyes lit up with an indescribable desire to be that cool. He was a fancy man, who almost always wore those nice clothes that make you look quite rich and important. He always walked around with a briefcase in his left hand, and a faint smile that was almost constant.

He was tall, had beautiful, straight blond hair combed to the left side and always meticulously arranged. His green eyes shone like two rare emeralds, and complementing his thin, masculine face perfectly, there was a short mustache and beard, quite sparse and barely present, but which ensured a responsible and mature tone to him.

But that day his smile was different. It was strangely more open, more vivid… It was almost like the smile of a criminal released earlier from sentence.

His teeth gleamed whiter than ever, eyes expressed all that happiness, and his nose was even up in the air. Something different about the whole thing was there.

And as if that wasn't enough, he had that sparkle in his eyes. It was a beautiful, hopeful glow, like that of a child about to get a new toy, or that of an artist filled with the purest inspiration.

And that's when Mommy called her. She didn't turn around to talk to Daddy like she did every day. Her eyes remained static on the plate of pancakes, holding the table knife made of cheap aluminum, styled to look like real silver.

Her immature imagination led her to miss the obvious signs once more, and she innocently followed Mommy's lead. She then got up and accompanied Daddy to the door. Not a single word was exchanged between them.

The pancakes cut into small pieces were so delicious...

A few minutes later, Mommy returned. As with every day, Daddy had gone to work.

Everything promised to be as it always was...

…Except that he never returned to eat pancakes with them ever again.

And that day, she saw the world.

She couldn't hate her mother. As much as she lied to her, the girl knew better – the notion that whatever was said was to protect her never left the mind. Even though she was theoretically entitled, she couldn't bring herself to feel even a little distaste for her mother's words.

But looking back now, it was too easy and too obvious to see that all that man wanted most was to distance himself from her – from them. She never saw true happiness in his eyes and that parting moment was the only time that happened. She believed it wouldn't be wrong to assume he didn't care.

The clouds came to cover the sun, the plants were no longer so green, the birds lost their inspiration of their singing, the windows were now covered and the wooden floorboards began to creak.

... The outside of that door was no longer a magical place, and the darkness inside became her only refuge from the pain and the monsters that walked in the street and pretended to be people like her. They hurt, and made her want to cry so much... And everyone's smiles slowly faded away. Reality has shown its true hidden claws, invisible to a child's eyes.

Why? Why are people so cruel? Instead of helping an equal, they see themselves as enemies of each other, and the simple act of existing becomes a great "Zero Sum Game", in which to win, someone else must lose... To ascend, the other must be humiliated and despised, and have the ground beneath their feet removed.

But the scariest thing about growing up is that the suffering that came from behind the door became understandable and, sometimes, even relatable.

She finally managed to understand the truth behind each of those tears – the meaning of each one, as well as everything she couldn't see as a child.

The scariest thing about growing up is that everything becomes darker, noisier, just like that upstairs hallway of that house.

A closed door or window is one less light, just like the years that have passed in her life since that Saturday day that she couldn't even be bothered to remember in detail.

... ... …

She looked at her small hands. Even after all those discoveries, part of the whole scenario still seemed unreal.

A surge of the kind of energy she was still adapting to took over the little girl's entire body, and in a matter of a few seconds, she took note of the change that had taken place there.

Her hands were not the same anymore – they were now big, and had long, beautiful fingers, with perfect, shiny nails, even in the lack of light.

She didn't know what the nexus was behind these weird things was meant to be, but also thought that asking too much questions about it wouldn't get her anywhere either. It can be assumed that she accepted that in such a natural way that it would be almost astonishing.

That was the trump card she was guaranteed to triumph over those mysteries of the world, after all, if it was all about having a winner, holding something that helped her so much to win made her feel determined to do it.

It felt like cheating, but it wasn't she cared – it was just natural, all things considered. That delinquent from yesterday was the first, and then, there shall be more. All causers of that pain should suffer the same fate.

She got up, opening a window and finally allowing light and fresh air to flow once more into the home.

Her moment had finally arrived after so much suffering, and that was proof that her perseverance in living under such adverse conditions wasn't in vain.

Amidst the gray clouds a gap opened up, and a beam of light descended from it, striking almost scenically over Elderlog's town center. That was the sign.

Her moment to shine had finally arrived.

Phoebe Martinez smiled to the beautiful new world that just happened to open its golden gates.