Chapter 1:
The First Thing I Remember
I knew I was special. From the time I was eight years old, I knew I could do things no one else could. Maybe it was the way I was raised that awoke a part of my brain, allowing me to completely change the way I thought about life. This is my story. The story of a young girl feeliing like anything she did was being watched and controlled. This is the story of how I broke free.
The earlies memory of my life was one morning when I was eight. I know most people have memories from when they are much younger, but this particular memory changed my entire future. Therefore, any memory before it was completely erased. Nothing would ever be the same.
Pink was my colour back then. I was a young girl, so naturally there were flowers on my walls and butterflies on my sheets. I awoke and took in the new day. The first thing I saw through my sleepy haze was my small pink piggy-bank on my white dresser. My messy hair was in my face, its colour as inexplicably white as it is now, and I pushed it out of the way. My closet was half open, revealing long dresses, all of which were white. I got out of bed and pulled a comb through my tangles. I grabbed a dress off a hanger and pulled it on over my head. As if on a timer I heard my mother call for breakfast from downstairs. Before I went downstairs, I looed in the mirror to make sure I was presentable, and left, my mind barely registering the crucifix hanging on the door.
Walking down the hall to the staircase was like walking through a shrine to our Lord. There was not a single picture of me, but there were several likenesses of His Son hung every few feet. I never paid attention to these. I'd ignored Mother's preaching, not understanding the strange words, nor the meaning behind them. Our house was adhorned sparsely with furniture, but exponentially with religious paraphernalia.
When I descended the stairs into the kitchen, my mother's back was turned. She was small in stature, but her intense prescence and severe scowl demanded respect everywhere we went. I sat without a word, per was the usual. She turned and placed a bowl of fruit in front of me. i instinctually picked up my fork. And, of course, that was my mistake.
The nextr thing I knew, I was on the floor, a sharp pain radiating from my left ear. I almost cried out, but even at that age, I knew better. Mother glared at me with her Bible held high in her hand, prepared to strike again, should I make a sound. She calmly sat, paying no more attention to took her place at the table and closed her eyes, setting down her precious book. Without opening them, she held her hand over my place. I immediately scurried back up into my seat, fighting tears, and grabbed her hand with conviction.
Eyes still closed, she barked, "Exodus!Twenty three! Twenty five! Now!"
I close my own eyes and recited. "You shall serve the Lord your God, and He will bless your bread and your water, and I will take sickness from among you." I looked to her for approval on my memorization, but she didn't react in the slightest.
She merely gave me another. "Proverbs! Seventeen! One!
And again I recited. "Better is a dry morsel with quiet than a house full of... full of..." I faltered, "a house full of..." I hasd forgotten. I had no idea what the words meant, but I still knew them. I know I did. My mind had simply drawn a blank. Before I could even open my eyes, my mother had already stood and delivered another blow, much harder than the first. It almost knocked me to the floor again, but I saw it coming. I grabed the table the keep myself upright as she reared her Holy Book to hit me again.
"Full of what?!" She screamed. "Full of what?! You ungreatful child! Do you want to bring His wrath upon you?!" Twice more she struck me. the throbbing in the side of my head was incredible, and I was getting dizzy.
As if from thin air, all the dizziness was gone, replaced by anger. I slammed my hands to the tabletop. The resulting sound was much too loud to have been made by my small hands, but I didn't even realize this until long after. I squeezed my eyes shut and shouted at the top of my lungs: "A FULL HOUSE OF FEASTING WITH STRIFE!"
Then something altogether took place. Our entire kitchen table rose off the tile floor and hurled itself the the right into the living room, smashing into the wall above the fireplace. My mothe who was lucky enough to be on the left side of the table, and not in its path, promptly dropped her Bible. It hit the floor with a loud thud. The stunned silence that followed hung there, dead.