I do not own Coraline, nor do I make any profits from my story. All I own is my OC!
Peace!
They say even the proudest spirits can be broken .. with love.
How about an already broken one?
Can love … fix it?
Chapter 1
The heavens are crying. At least that's how they seem to me. But …. Are they crying for me or are these just the tears that i can't cry? It doesn't matter anyway, I guess! For nobody seems to notice, and there are those that hide from them tears! So I guess the heavens' tears don't matter any more than mine. I wonder if there are any tears that do matter if even the heavens' don't. Oh well .. guess we arrived.
This is the new home .. or so the parents say. The Pink Palace apartments. I heard tidbits of the conversation between the previous tenant and the parents, the phone was on the table and the sound was high while the mother was typing on her laptop, that's why I heard. The woman -for it was a woman who spoke with a lovely, kind, cheerful voice- kept saying: "Don't worry, it is completely safe for your child, nothing can happen, it's all over". To which, the mother expressed great, fake relief, not bothering to ask what it was that was all over, before she gestured to the stepfather that I was listening, so he came, pulled my hair and dragged me with it to my closet of a room and locked me inside. As usual.
We are moving stuff in now, the clothes' bags and personal gadgets like mobiles and laptops and such, as the movers are moving the furniture in. Though none of these are mine except two almost torn t-shirts and an oversized pair of trousers in a little wearied bag on my shoulders. But the bag is not torn, so it can be shown in public as a bag i favor like most kids my age do because, of course, we have to keep appearances. So i am also wearing borrowed clothes that will be taken away from me once i get another closet of a room, and I am helping move the stuff as though they are mine. The mother is doting on me, saying how a good little girl I am to the owner with the big frizzy hair and kind eyes who received us with a smile, and the stepfather is saying how proud he is to have such a gorgeous stepdaughter. I don't smile and earn a glare from the mother so i show my teeth in the sweetest, fakest smile in the universe, I believe. The glare intensifies, then morphs into a fake giggle excusing my smile as a defect in mentality, saying I am slow and my reactions are exaggerated, earning me a sympathetic look from the man and earning the mother a look of appreciation and admiration at her saying she adores me to bits still, and my smile has long since fallen and I am back to carrying the bags in.
They entered the house, the owner was gone and the little girl was waiting for what she knew will come. She may be just 8 but her mind was way older than it should be or so her teacher in her old school said. Not to mention "Be friends with your pain"; the advice her daddy gave her before the comfy darkness -as he called it- took him away, though she begged him to take her with him, he told her to stay. And stay she did, and understood, and accepted her life.
"WHY YOU LITTLE UGLY RETARDED BEGGAR OF A DAUGHTER! WERE YOU TRYING TO EMBARRASS US ACTING LIKE A MENTALLY UNSTABLE BITCH? HOW COULD YOU?" screeched the mother at the little girl then slapped her twice causing the girl to fall on the floor. But before she could do anything else the stepfather held the mother's arm back saying: "Honey, Honey, why all the screaming and slapping? Why exhaust yourself? We could always lock her up and give her no food for a day or two! No need for so much effort!"
That made the mother sigh and turn to her husband saying lovingly: "Oh sweetie, thank you so much, what have I ever done to be cursed with this .. this thing?" casting a hateful glance to the now standing girl. She then turned to the girl to spout: "There are no small rooms for you in this house yet, so you will be taking the former tenants' daughter's childhood room till we have the builders make you a little hole to be stashed in, do you understand?" and as always the girl replied with "yes, ma'am". Infuriated by the still strong and unwavering obedience and durability of such a small kid she added: "now get out of my sight before my generosity runs out, and I kill you right this minute"
The girl heard and obeyed, and she scurried to find the room they said was hers till her hole was made, she was not told where it was nor was she described to its contents, yet the 8 year old was far more perceptive than would be expected. She perceived from the stairs that the bedrooms were not on the first floor, so she climbed them, passed by the woman's parents' room first and didn't linger. It was obvious to her little emeralds of eyes that it wasn't the room. So she ran on her emaciated, skinny, little legs to the next room; jet black long hair as dark as a moonless, starless night, floating behind her, as if trying to match her fast pace, because if the parents come, who knows what they might do. And "Mallory", that is her name, the "unfortunate" it means, arrived at a room with a one-person bed with thin columns hanging a roof above it, and shelves seemingly made for toys that she will never have, and she knew that was the room. And as she knows the rules, she sat herself on the ground in the farthest corner of the room after closing the door.
She is not to be a nuisance, not to be seen, not to be heard. And that's exactly what she planned to do.