Chapter 1: Oatmeal
This morning I remember being jolted awake in a cold sweat, my right arm ached, and I couldn't quite till if it was my heart or a disrupted organ that was causing me chest pains. I had walked down the empty hallway into my bathroom and cringed when I flicked the light on. It hadn't been the sudden brightness of the lit bathroom that made me squint, but my appearance. My eyes were bloodshot, my lips were cracked, and my right arm was covered in a large purple bruise. My mind kept drawing blanks as I struggled to think back to the night before, and my nose was suddenly filled with the scent of brown sugar. I made my way down the stairs, feeling my head blow up like a balloon as burning sugar attacked my nostrils making me feel light headed.
The kitchen floor was stained with red wine, and the stove held a pot of oatmeal that ran down its sides. Miriam had sauntered in the room as if she were ballroom dancing, wearing a haunted expression on her face and a curved smile, as she painfully struggled to get the last drop of whatever liquid was in her mug. She had twirled over to me, playfully grabbing my arm and quickly drawing back when she heard me wince. Miriam's smile froze, as she looked down at my bruise and dropped her mug, which shattered to the floor and matched the sticky red stains that had already begun to set. She looked as though she was going to puke, but then abruptly smiled before turning to the stove and telling me she made me oatmeal while waving widely. Even now I can clearly hear her cheerful voice breaking in my head as she chirped "I put some brown sugar in it, just like old times Helga!" before hiccupping wildly. I painfully watched her fight against the pot as she chipped away at the burnt oatmeal and attempted to sling some in a bowl. She kept tossing me an animated smile before looking down at my feet and swinging her hands in the air, as she pointed at some of her coffee mug shards that had pinned themselves in my feet and started to draw thin lines of blood. Before I could say a word, she was shouting "We need band aids!", as she slung her purse over her shoulder and hustled out the front door carrying her keys in one hand, and a wine coupon in the other dressed in her big fluffy robe.
The clock on the wall ticked away, almost as if it were making dire efforts to grab my attention, though I refused to look. Judging by the view from outside, Miriam had been gone for hours, and the chance that she was coming home with a first aid kit was far fetched. I traced the raindrops with my fingertips as they slid down the window, wincing as I pressed my lips together. My mouth was still cracked, and I licked at the cuts viciously, but came up dry. Pushing myself off the threaded couch, I drifted toward the kitchen, aimlessly grabbing a cup, and filling it with up with cool water from the faucet. My lips stung as the water hit them, but I continued to refill and down the cool liquid as if I were in a trance.
I watched myself take a backseat to my body as I trudged upstairs, washed my face, cleaned and disinfected my wounds, and brushed my teeth. Carrying myself back downstairs, I walked into what used to be Olga's room, or what I now consider Olga's shrine, left in perfect condition since she moved out. I fondled through her dresser before yanking out a heavy bag labeled "makeup" drawn in perfect hand writing. Reaching in the bag I pulled out a small bottle, unscrewed the top, and began dabbing it on my skin with an egg-shaped object that I had watched Olga use years before, when she prepared for recitals. Wincing, I dabbed the product on the darkened thin layer of skin underneath my eyes, pulled on a white-collar shirt, slipped on a pair of pink overalls, old sneakers, and gathered my hair in two pigtails, topping it with a giant pink bow. Aside from my bright pink bow tattoo on my arm and developed appearance I looked just like I did when I was in preschool.
Pulling my math book to my chest seemed to take the pressure off it as I walked into the school building. The hallway stood quiet and empty, and I could practically feel my chest warm, when I glanced at the clock and saw it read 2:30 pm. My body felt foreign to me as I walked up a flight of stairs, and into my final period, gaining the attention of everyone as I slipped inside the classroom. A low gasp erupted from everyone in the room, and a girl with a petite build, short jet-black hair, and glasses who looked as though she had been crying all day stood up. "Helga?" she whispered as if she wasn't sure she was identifying the correct person. "Hey there Pheebs" I saluted before quickly grabbing my side. Suddenly my stomach began to churn, the room started to sway, the burning in my chest increased, and everything became dark.
