Let God Have Mercy On Your Soul
There was nothing but the cold and the silence. Frigid wind slapped against my cheeks and blew strands of my fair hair into my face. My cheeks and fingertips were numb, my teeth chattering from the bitter cold. Snow was everywhere, covering everything. It blanketed my world in a veil of eerie serenity and secrecy. There wasn't a single living creature in sight. I was all alone, lost in this ocean of snow and pale blue skys that promised no warmth. It was so quiet out here. The silence was overwhelming.
But thankfully, the next song in my playlist finally flooded through my head phones.
I was out in my drive way, shoveling snow that faithful morning. I say faithful because it was like every other morning this winter - cold, snowy, bleak. There was just so much snow that no matter how long I shoveled, I never seemed to make a dent in it. The area surrounding the driveway was two feet high with snow, making me feel encased by it all - trapped. Usually, I loved snow, loved how it washed away all the ugliness of late fall, blanketing the dead grass and bare trees in white - transforming it into a winter wonderland. But still, that didn't mean I enjoyed shoveling the damn stuff.
But, at least, I had my music. When all else failed, music was always there for me. My IPod was my life - without it, I would be nothing. It was my security blanket. It was my crystal ball. My magic wand. It transported me to another world - one where anything could be anything I wanted it to be. Where I could be anyone I wanted to be. Where I controlled the outcome. Where nobody could control me. Where I ruled.
Sadly, the real world wasn't very much like that. At least, not my world. Not a teenager's world. One day though, it would be my world. When I was full grown and out in the real real world, writing my books and starring in their movie adaptations. One day, one day I would be famous. One day my fantasies would become a reality.
But, for now, I was still here. Although, a short moment later I wished I could be anywhere else. I noticed my step mother standing on the porch, donning the expensive mink coat my father had bought for her. Her raven black hair was blown out, the dark brown highlights a costly addition.
Her devil red lips were moving but I pretended not to notice it, or even her. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and turned away from her, keeping my eyes on my work, letting the music drown out the verbal lashing she was most certainly delivering at the moment. I refused to let my eyes drift back to the porch to see if she was still there, because I knew she was. I was going to win this match, I told myself, I was going to ignore her until she went away. She wouldn't dare risk getting her boots wet - which meant she was confined to the safety of the porch. Meaning that, as long as I didn't take my headphones out, I wouldn't have to deal with her until after I finished shoveling.
An eternity seemed to pass, but due to the fact that only five songs had played, it really only could've been about twenty minutes. Still, every second out in this horrid weather was like an eternity in an icy hell. It was just too cold out here. I finally allowed myself to look up and was glad to see that she was gone. Good. Now I could finish my work in peace. I let my mind wander off to my stories - off to worlds I'd much rather live in.
After I'd looped through my entire play list twice, I was finally done shoveling. It seemed as if my fingers would fall off at any second, but, at least, I was finally done. Once I stored away the shovel and deposited my boots in the garage, I was finally able to slip back inside. I actually moaned at the warmth that rushed over my frozen body as I entered the house. Heat had never felt so good before. I struggled to get my gloves off, thanks to the fact that both of my hands were numb. Finally, I succeeded in releasing them of their cotton prisons. My poor fingers were unnaturally pink and frozen to the bone - the warm air stinging against them. Miraciously, even with my frostbitten fingers, I managed to slide my coat off and hang it up in the closet.
Once all that was done, I was about to go up to my room to change out of my wet clothes, but then the step-bitch decided to rear her ugly head again. Of course, to be fair, she wasn't actually ugly. Not in the psychical sense. If she was, my father would not have married her. Because, truly, she was a vile creature. Contrary to popular belief, not every beautiful person is evil, nor is every step mother evil. My step mother is probably personally responsible for both of those stereotypes.
"I was trying to talk to you outside," she sneered at me.
"I was working," I snapped back, flicking my damp hair over my shoulder and turning my head away from her, "Something you would know nothing about."
"If you were my real daughter . . ." she trailed off threateningly, most likely glaring at me.
"If you were my real mother," I countered in a voice like acid rain as I continued to look away from her in a haughty manner.
"Mercy, Abigal. Enough," came my father's weary but assertive voice as he descended the stair.
"She started it," Abigal sniffed, "She always does."
"Oh grow up," I growled.
"Mercy," my father rebuked.
My only response was a haughty little 'hmph' as I turned away from him. He sighed. "Mercy," he repeated, "Your mother and I want to talk to you about something."
"My mother? Oh, have you somehow risen her from the dead? Because last time I checked, I had no mother," I said, looking over my shoulder at both of them snootily.
He sighed again, something he did quite often during our conversations. "Abigal and I," he amended, "Have something we'd like to talk to you about."
"Well get on with it then," I said, "I haven't all day you know."
"Perhaps we should go into the living room," he suggested.
"Ah, so this is bad news then, is it? Why am I surprised? You want to go into the living room because you think that I need to be sitting for this news. Which means you think I will react badly. Obviously the planets have aligned, because for once, you are probably right," I said. "However, I shall remain standing. I believe I can handle whatever news you have for me."
My father sighed once again, obviously not believing that. Despite his doubts, he began anyway. "Alright then Mercy. I'm not going to give a big speech. I know you prefer to be the speech giver. So, I will make this short and to the point. Your m - Abigail and I have decided to send you to boarding school."
It was a good thing I wasn't sitting down or I would have shot up like a rocket. I could've seriously hurt myself. "I beg your pardon!" I exclaimed.
"We're sending you to Dark Woods Academy," he elaborated, "Upstate."
"Why in the name of God would you want to do that?" I demanded, "That is a horrible idea! In fact, it's the worst idea I've ever heard!"
"It's not an idea Mercy," he said while Abigail silently sneered at me from over his shoulder, "It's a fact. It's happening."
"Do you really hate me that much? . . . No, of course you don't father. Why would I even entertain the thought that this was your idea? It was obviously her idea," I said, jabbing a finger at Abigail.
"Now honey Abigal and I came to this descion together," my father lied through his teeth.
"I'm an actress Daddy," I said with a flippant wave of my hand, "You, however, are not. Which is why it is plainly obvious to me that you are lying."
The vein in his head began to throb, due to the fact that he knew I was right. "It doesn't matter whose idea it was," he practically growled, "What matters is that you're starting school at Dark Woods Acadamy next week."
"This isn't fair!" I shouted, anger building inside of me like a volcano about to burst, "You want to get rid of me . . . Because of what? I am hardly a problem child. I do well in school, I almost never get in trouble, I do all the work around here. What have I ever done wrong? Besides not gotten along with your bimbo of a wife!"
"Richard!" Abigail exclaimed, running her manicured fingers down my father's arm, "Are you going to let her talk to me like that?"
"See! There it is!" I jumped at the opportunity, "Right there! The manipulating!"
"Mercy, that's enough," my father said sternly. "This discussion is over. You're going to Dark Woods Acadamy and that is final."
"Nothing is final father," I hissed, "Until I say it is final."
He rolled his eyes at me. "Enough with the dramatics Mercy," he said in that weary voice of his. "For once, just accept that this is happening and it's beyond your control."
I glared at him with all my heat but he refused to break eye contact. We'd been playing this game for too long. He was getting good. "Fine," I snapped, "But if I'm leaving . . ."
I turned and walked away, ignoring my father as he demanded to know what I was doing. I kept walking, out of the house and into the garage. Upon arriving, I grabbed the shovel I'd been using, the one with the melted snow collecting inside of it. I carried it inside the house and stood across the hall from my father and Abigail.
"Mercy . . . What are you doing?" my father asked cautiously. I said nothing and dropped the shovel to the ground. The water inside the blade of the shovel sloshed around, some droplets landing on the polished hard wood floors. I put my foot atop the shaft of the shovel and heaved it forward, letting it skid across the floor and slam right into their feet. The water sloshed some more, getting on their shoes. Abigail made an ear grating screeching sound as her boots got wet.
"You're going to need that," I sneered at her, "It's your job now." With that, I tossed my fair hair over my shoulder and fluttered upstairs.
"Mercy!" my father bellowed after me.
I paused at the top of the stairs and leaned over the banister, as far as I could without falling. "Sorry Father," I sung down, "But I'm not apart of this family anymore. Hence, I do not have to do what you say. I'm my own woman now. Off to live on my own at the luxurious Dark Woods Academy. Golly, I just hope there are lots of attractive boys there."
"Mercy!" he shouted furiously, the vein in his head throbbing eratically. I could see it clearly even from this distance.
"Not now Father," I said in a fatigued voice, putting a hand to my forehead, "I'm quite busy. I have so much packing to do."
I strolled over to my door and stepped inside. I was about to close the door, locking myself inside, but changed my mind. I leaned out, one hand locked around the door frame as I balanced on the balls of my feet. "Oh and Daddy," I called, "One last thing."
"I hate you!" I screamed as I slammed my door shut forcefully.