She could hear the rain, sleeting on the roof when she sat on the porch, wondering how God could forsake her.
It streamed down the gutter in her house, broken in several hinges like broken bones after a car accident. And she wished that would've happened to her, so long ago.
She loved the rain. It always had such a calming effect on her. She could listen to it whisper in their wet lips for as long as many minutes, many hours even, just thinking. Rain was one of the only things she liked in the world. Without it, she wouldn't even know why she was still here, on this planet, with its miserable, wretched things. Things that always made her cry in the middle of the night. The rain was only one of the encouraging whispers that told her to keep walking, keep living, because there were many other rains, many other storms that were soon to come, and God couldn't let her die. Not yet.
When she was younger, she always played in the rain, despite the yells of her parents that her brand new skirt would get dirty and wet, the only one that they could possibly afford for her. But she liked to feel the puddle's absorb her feet, the raindrops all over her dress. It was sort of a rebellious thing she did, to get her revenge, even if it was small, but it tasted so sweet to her on her small white lips. She felt it was even better when there was a thunderstorm. She loved to hear the lion in the sky roar, bring about his flashing manes and make them drop down to the earth, shattering the world. Sometimes she thought the lion up in the sky would protect her, bring her peace and goodwill, much like a kind god should. But no one could save her. No one wanted to. It was simply too much to ask for.
She watched the rain stream down, making the sidewalk wet, making the grass slick, making the men and women open their umbrellas and ignore her. Ignore her own personal hell she had to deal with, day by day. Their lives were so much more important. No matter how loud this child screamed, even if she was louder than the great lightning lion, they would still go about their business and go to their jobs, drive in their cars and go to the bars and go to their homes and completely forget she existed. The world didn't care. The world forgot. The world couldn't see. And she wished she couldn't either. She wished all of her senses were taken away from her, so she could no longer feel the pain.
The wind blew, carrying her disarrayed hair in long threads of brown. She liked the wind, especially on such a rainy day such as this. The skies were silver, a white outline on the clouds as the sun made them glaze with light. She liked being outside when it was this kind of weather. It brought her peace amid the chaos. Sometimes she liked to see the world be torn a little bit and then be put back together again. She liked the process of recovery. Hope. Something she never had when she was born. But she hid her tears as the wind wiped them away, and sat in the cold rainy weather, reminiscing, of days long past.
And she just wanted the world to look at her and say everything was going to be okay. But no one had eyes.
She soon went in her mother's room a few moments later, her saying it was too cold. She would catch a cold. And if she caught a cold and she had to take care of her, then she swore she would just make her suffer, because she was a useless piece of shit that would never amount to anything. Her mother was the same. The usual. The same she's been for what seems to be in so long.
There was a picture frame of her mother and father, smiling, their faces bright and sunny and beaming. And her, holding the flowers in her hands, smiling too. Because her parents were perfect. They were going to have a happily ever after. And they were filthy dirty liars who told her that everything was going to be okay from now on. And they never were. The marriage, the whole ceremony, the whole persona they had to put up when they cut the cake, it all was a mask, a big fat lie that they made for everyone to think they were such a happy family when none of that was true. Because her family was probably the most wretched, most miserable family she ever knew. And she wished she couldn't be a part of it anymore. It was too much for her, and she wanted it to all end, to make it torn a little, broken in pieces, destroyed, maimed.
So she took the picture frame in her tiny hands and tossed it to the floor, the glass cracking and breaking, the sound echoing throughout the house. She wished she could continue breaking the picture, to take her feet and stomp on it, stomp on both her mother's and father's face, for lying so much to her, for telling her that things were fine. The horizon wasn't clear, it was full of smog, thick black smoke that continues to shield her from the truth, that they kept billowing from their mouths. And she hated them and she wanted them in frayed pieces too.
Then there was the rush of footsteps. She knew she was coming. She was prepared. She was prepared to take her punishment, her small moment of death, just for defying her, just for destroying the lies she created.
Her mother came in through the door, her face always in disgust over what she did. She launched a finger to her, the wicked ice cold fingers that she came to know in so long, and she expected it to grow longer, to pierce her and tear open her heart. She screamed, and she had to listen.
"Schiza, what's the meaning in all this? Don't you realize I had enough of your behavior? I'm too tired for this shit. You clean that up, right now!"
She hesitated, her eyes scanning for a broom. "But there's no broom, mom…" She was no longer expecting. She was afraid. Her voice was soft, and if she had the option she would just hide and clasp her knees and watch the world jump up and down constantly. She knew she was in for it, and she couldn't escape.
"Then you pick it up with your hands! You terrible, rotten girl, if any of those pieces cut you, you damn well deserved it! You should think about what I'm going to do to you before you pull any of your shit!"
"I don't want to pick it up with my hands, mom…" Her hands were simply too soft, too fragile, much like she was. She guessed her mother wanted to see her in chaos too, with blood running down them and broken. And that was when her mother had enough, and she felt something sharp strike her face, her tears coming up as she received her punishment.
Her mother had slapped her across the face, and her eyes and face were glowering, much like the monsters Schiza had saw her in her brief dreams, her little escapes that soon turned nightmarish.
"Defy me anymore and I'll bring out the belt! Is that understood?" she bellowed.
Her tears wanted to escape, but she kept them inside, inside her fragile, soft body. If her mother saw a single tear down her cheek, she would just simply hurt her again. Her mother hated tears. And she wanted them gone completely, even if it meant she had to beat them all away.
She bent down slowly, carefully picking up the shattered pieces. Each shard of ice pricked her, cut her, made her fingers run red rivers, and they hurt, they stung, and she wished her mother would experience this at least once in her life. The feel of being stabbed and pricked. She experienced it too often, and she was only seven.
She picked up the last few pieces and put them in the trash. Her mother smirked, and she had to open her large, fangled mouth again. Oh how she grew to hate it.
"You bleeding? Good! You deserved it after all the disrespect and embarrassment you have brought onto this family! We try to make you into a good girl, but you're so filthy and evil that not even God will accept you into Heaven. When you die, you'll burn in Hell and you will be punished for all of eternity after all the horrible things you have done! Do you want that? Do you want to burn in Hell?"
Her charades from the Bible, because her mother was such a good Christian. If she was such one, she wouldn't hurt her any longer. After all, would Jesus think slapping her would be the right punishment? Would he try to make her cry? A few of those tears escaped from her eyes, but she hoped, she prayed that her mother wouldn't see them. "No mom! I don't want to burn in Hell! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"Sorry isn't enough for you, child. I want you to go to your room and you will stay there until I say it's okay for you to come out. You shall read your Bible verses and pray to God for forgiveness, if He even wants to save your damned soul. Is that understood?"
"Yes mom, I understand," she uttered out, her voice once again soft. There was no point in trying to defy her any longer. She had to admit defeat.
Her mother clutched her hands, and she flung her in the room, completely white, completely bare and vacant. The door slammed, the sound echoing throughout her sad little house again, and clicks. She locked her inside, and now she couldn't come out, no matter how much she could scream and cry. She was trapped, forced to read the Bible, the thing that could be so hypocritical, the thing that her parents claimed they read when she read the whole thing from the beginning to the end about ten times. She knew it all.
Her room only had a bed, a desk to do her schoolwork, and a shelf where the Bible sat. Her mother got rid of everything else, saying that giving her too many possessions would make her evil, so out it went, to the garbage dump. Her precious vanity mirror, her precious toy box, everything that she grew to cherish while she experienced the harsh rule of her parents. The only thing that remained that gave her comfort were her stuffed toys, the things that made her escape for a few mere small moments. They were the only thing in her life that she loved now, especially one that stood out among the rest.
She picked up the Bible from the shelf and began her verses. She knew them all, but her mother continued to make her repeat them, and she knew no matter how many times she read them, her mother would never be happy, would never be satisfied with how her mind retained it all. Her mother would continue to say that she was a bad child, that she tried everything to help her, but nothing was working and she was about to give up. And she hoped that when she gave up she would stop punishing her, and most of all, she would stop making her read her Bible verses. They got boring after a while, and she wouldn't miss them at all if her mother forbid them. She was sure she would be able to remember them deeply in her mind anyways.
An hour passed. Her mind grew weary from reading the verses. Her mother wasn't watching, so she thought she would take a 10-minute break before she would check on her. She lied on her bed, her pillow surrounded by a few stuffed animals. There was a black and white cat wearing a pink dress that was missing an eye. She felt sorry for it, and she took it to her bed. She named it Lucky. Then there was a teddy bear that her father gave her two years ago, brown and made with soft curly fur. She named it Rosy. She always gave her stuffed animals names, as if they were her friends. She would talk to them when she felt upset, hugging them constantly to make her feel better.
There was one stuffed animal that was her favorite out of all of them. She always talked to it, and whenever her parents weren't around, she would hug it, cuddle it, and give it so much attention, and she could feel hope emanating throughout its felt body, its soft blue quills and his shining green eyes and his shining smile. There was something about it that always seemed to comfort her whenever she went to her room.
It was a blue hedgehog, named Sonic, a stuffed animal that was given to her when she was much younger. One of her friends gave him to her on her birthday, knowing that her favorite animal were hedgehogs. He was a little dirty due to her used to carrying him everywhere, but there was something about him that she thought was very cute and very soothing to her. Like the rain that continued to pelt down her roof and made her body calm and no longer so soft. She treated him as if he was real, petting him and scratching behind his ears, imagining him purring with delight. She began to talk to him in a whisper, so her mom wouldn't hear her.
"Hi Sonic. I was sent to my room again because I broke mom and dad's wedding picture. Even though I was punished for it, I don't care about what I did. It felt good when I broke it." She began to clasp him in her arms, his smile still remaining, the plushness of his body comforting her as she held him.
"My mom and dad were never happy when they got married. Never. Things got worse when it happened. I don't know why, but they did." She paused. She gazed into his eyes, innocent and nearly glowing. She thought he was looking at her intently, listening to her every word. She thought if he was real, he would try to understand her suffering. And he would try to make it all go away.
"I don't like either of them. They're so mean to me, they treat me like dirt. The only time I'm ever happy is when I talk to you and your other friends or when I'm at school, hanging out with my friends." She sighed, clutching him even tighter. Tears began to develop, some escaping, and she wished he could take his gloved hands and wipe them away. She wished she could feel his heartbeat, and know that he cared, and he loved her ever since she got him.
"I know you're a stuffed animal though. But I like to think of you as my friend. I like to think you always listen to me, and if you were real, you'd hug me back. Make it all go away. I wished you were real, Sonic. When my parents aren't around we could play." She began to pet him, she began to imagine that Sonic's voice would quiver, purring. "I think you would be very pretty if you were real. Your quills would shine and glow…but I know that you're not real."
Thinking about that fact, she sniffled and some tears fell on him, his fur wet. If only he had a real heart. If only he had real eyes and a real smile, not ones made with thread and stitching. She wished he could come alive, even through magic. "Maybe I can pray to God that you can…become real. I know it probably won't happen, because between you and me, I don't think God is as real as you."
She sat up, lowering her head, putting the palms of her hands together, and she wished that man in the sky that her parents believed in could listen to her speak. "Dear God…you know that I don't really believe in you. Because if you were real, you wouldn't let me be with my parents. You would let me be somewhere safe and warm. But I have a request, and I'll say it anyways even though it probably won't happen." She continued, even through her doubts.
"I have a friend named Sonic. He's a stuffed animal. But yet I think if he was real, he would play with me when my mom and dad aren't around. Maybe he'll even protect me from them. When I first got him I always thought he was good. Maybe…somehow, someway…you can make him real to me. It is such a big request, but maybe…you can help me."
She held Sonic, his smile still on his face as she cradled him close to chest, and she hugged him tight, a few of her tears dripping out of her eyes and through her cheeks.
"And forgive me of all of my sins, even though I feel like I haven't done anything wrong. Amen."
There were more footsteps, and she knew that her time with Sonic and Lucky and Rosy were up and back into the book of make believe. She quickly kissed Sonic on his nose, then she went back to her desk, opening the Bible. Her mother cracked open the door, imagining that her hands and eyes were trying to reach out towards her, trying to reach her through that small little crack.
"Are you reading the verses of the Lord like I told you to?"
"Yes mom. I was reading them the whole time."
"At least you've done one good thing in your life. It's late. I want you to go to bed. I'll let you out of your room in the morning to go to school. You must wake up and be ready by the time I open this door. Is that understood?"
"Yes mom."
"Okay. Goodnight." She shut the door, her hands and eyes no longer trying to grab her, more clicks being echoed. She locked the door again, and left her to her Bible, to her stuffed animals, to go to bed and sleep away her troubles and pain.
She lied on her bed, looking at Sonic, the blue hedgehog who would swear to her that he would make this all go away and make her live in a castle and have a happily ever after, like the stories her mom and dad used to tell her, back when they were nice, back when they promised her that everything was going to be okay.
"Goodnight Sonic. Sweet dreams. I love you."
And as she kissed him softly on his nose, she thought she could hear him say "I love you too, Schiza."