Chapter One
Daffodils
´"Swaying in the breeze, they dance and sing,
An enchanting melody of sorrow and joy…"
Melanie whispered under her breath. Her hand seemed to vibrate as she quickly scribbled down these new lines. So absorbed was she, she did not notice all the ants crawling up her legs. Nor did she care – as long as they did not disturb her concentration from the blossoming line of daffodils.
Melanie considered herself a poet. And that she was – a natural one. Many ´poets´ dream of having a talent like Melanie's, and when they realize at last that they have not, they feel the need to attract attention. That is why poets are renowned for being wacky and a little mad. These people are disgraces to the small group of natural poets we have in this sinning world of ours,
The daffodils carried on swaying side to side like nodding ornaments…bobbing their sun-yellow heads in time to the silent music that no human ear can pick up. Melanie called it the ´Song of Nature´.
Always agreeing, thought Melanie, and an idea began to form in her head. She stared in utter absorption at the single line of yellow daffodils. The rest of the world could have blown up and she wouldn't have noticed. The long grass of the field swayed with the daffodils, as one. Trees whispered and ushered and clouds floated over her head calmly. Still Melanie stared at the line of swaying daffodils.
"There she is!" came a shout. The voice was a man's, deep and violent. No good intentions were in that voice.
The average human's instinct would tell them to run, but then Melanie was too absorbed in her work to have any instincts at all. And she was far from average.
Huge muscular hands wrapped around her shoulders and hauled her up from where she lay. For a second, pure, undiluted terror coursed through her veins making her heart beat in irregular splutters. "Got you, stupid child," barked the rough voice triumphantly. Melanie let out a shrill scream, releasing her fear with sound. "What's this?" he sneered scornfully, ripping up the verses that had taken her hours of concentration. "What do you think you are? A poet?" he spat on the shreds of paper then rubbed them into the ground with his rubber soled foot.
Melanie was shocked and confused. She was minding her own business, just writing simple poetry. Maybe her dad could explain later. "Get up, freak!" he shoved her hard then kicked the back of her knees, sending her sprawling on the ground. "I said get up!" he bellowed unreasonably. Now she really was confused. Tears streaked down her dirty face, smearing the dirt that had been rubbed on by the man.
"Come 'ere," he bawled and dragged her to her feet and across the field.
".
"Your damned parents are bloody well dead, and if they aren't, they can survive 5 rounds with a farmer's shotgun," he sneered tauntingly. "Your mother screamed for you before she died. That's how I found you, you little runt!" And with that he kicked her again. By now, Melanie was in a state of shock! Everything was happening too fast! Without meaning to, her whole body was racked with sobs.
"Your father's debt to me was a little overdue," he said mockingly.
"What was that?" Melanie asked bravely.
"You," he said darkly. "Your body."