Kay so I now have a huge appreciation for Pacifica so I decided to make this little one shot for her. In this Pacifica is four years old.
Ring ring ring.
Pacifica winced at the sound and her body started quivering uncontrollably. Her father glares her down with harsh and demanding eyes. Her mother just stares, her eyes glassed over, her face flawless and painted, like a doll. She put down the crayon she had been using to color the walls of her room. Pacifica had grown tired of winter. She wanted to see flowers again. So she decided to draw them on her wall, imagining she was outside, under the sun instead of trapped in her glistening room.
But with the ring of the bell came horrors far worse than being stuck in her room.
Pacifica couldn't stop crying as her father took a handful of her golden tresses and dragged her out of the room and down the hall. She sobbed hopelessly and apologized frantically.
Her father only offers a cold response. "Stop whimpering. You are a Northwest."
She begged and begged her mother for help, but she only trailed behind them, silent and watching.
At the end of the hall was a lone and simple door, bare of any extravagant designs or glistening paint. Pacifica felt her heart stop beating for a moment when she saw it. She cried harder, screamed louder, but her parents showed no sign that they heard her.
Her father ripped open the door and pushed her inside without a care. She begged him again and again not to do this. She said that she would be good and she would wash away her flowers.
"You know the rules, Pacifica."
This time, it was her mother that spoke. Her face remained gorgeous and placid, but Pacifica could swear that she saw something in her eyes.
Her father closed the door and closed it with a slam.
Pacifica subconsciously grasped the doorknob, even though she already knew it was locked. She pulled and pushed with as much strength as her four year old body could muster. It doesn't budge.
The cold cement walls surrounded her on all sides trapping her in a tiny enclosed space that barely let her breathe. The darkness was suffocating, forcing her to curl up in the corner. Shadows curled around her and blinded her, crushing her with their terrible weight.
Her breathing became shallow and erratic, making her feel lightheaded and terrified. There was no escape from here. There was never an escape.
Pacifica choked on her own tears, halting the labored breathing, making her realize how silent everything was. Every other time she was locked away in this terrible place she would scream until her voice was hoarse to fill the silence. She would claw her nails against the door until they bled to distract her from her slowly enclosing prison.
But today her father didn't notice the tiny object she had slipped into her sleeve.
Pacifica pulled out a tiny toy flashlight from her sleeve. She scrabbled to find the switch as fear crawled its way to her lungs and heart, turning her cold like ice. Her thumb brushed a bump on the surface and with a satisfying click, the room was flooded with light and her lungs were filled with air.
The walls were tight around her still and panic fluttered in her chest as she observed the locked door in front of her. So she continued to fiddle with her flashlight to distract herself from her crushing surroundings.
She flicked it off and got swallowed by the darkness. She flicked it on and watched as she was enveloped by light and color. She watched silently as her world switched from dark to light. She listened intently to soft click of the flashlight. She focused on the warmth of the light. Eventually her tears dried and she stopped shaking. The sound of the clicks and the light of the flashlight embrace her and comfort her like a warm blanket.
Click click click.
Pacifica wasn't sure how long she was in there before the door opens. Soft arms wrapped around her tiny form as she clicked on the flashlight. The hall is dark and shadows curl and crawl across the floor. But with her little light she could see her mother's face. Her lips formed a soft smile that looks like it could shatter at any point, so unlike her picture perfect grin that was almost always in place.
She says nothing as Pacifica continues to flick her flashlight on and off. Cradled in her mother's cold arms with her flashlight in her hands, Pacifica felt herself being carried far away from the door. Her mother took her to her extravagant bedroom. The flowers she had drawn were gone, leaving no trace of color. Pacifica felt her back connect with the softness of her bed and is wrapped in warmth of her blanket. Her mother doesn't speak as the light continues to flick on and off. She leaves gracefully and quietly, her eyes vacant and shiny like empty wine glasses.
When the door closed Pacifica's muscles relaxed and her rapid heartbeat slowed down. With a final click, she turned off her little flashlight and clasped it to her chest.