"Flaky! Flaky, sweetheart, wake up! It's time for breakfast!"
The scent of sizzling bacon wafted under the door crack and caressed the sleeping child's nose. A shift from under the covers as they puddled to the oaken flooring and a frizzy haired girl was sitting straight in the bed. The room was without clarity, everything a mesh of pink box shaped furniture, but everything in her sight soon sharpened.
Princess curtains were drawn shut, but a beam of light from the other rooms and hallways came through the door, it standing slightly ajar and permitting the delicious smell of breakfast to enter. The audible sound of popping as oil jumped in a frying pan paired with the delectable bacon scent only enticed her to shake her weariness away; she could take a short nap later if her developing body required it. She threw off the blankets that were her nightly cocoon and wearily slid from the comfort of her bed.
Flaky shimmed the loose shirt she occupied as sleepwear over her head, preferring to wear a play shirt with a picture of her favorite show. The beginning of her day always started in this familiar routine: She would be wakened by her mother or father, dress herself as she found it tiring to have to pester either parent to help her each morning, and from then on it would be onto school, her babysitter's dwelling, or whatever they planned for family activities. Every day was something new, so the routine didn't bother her as much as other things did. It was interesting, to say least.
One by one she grabbed the white hair clips from her dresser and pinned back the unmanageable red curls that had only gotten more untamed in her sleeping state. Done, she skipped into the bathroom across the hall from her room and gave her teeth a delicate scrubbing. That over and her mouth minty, she put her toothbrush back in its holder and stepped into the hall.
Morning light came from around the bend of the doorway that led into the kitchen. The soft voices of her parents were a buzz that she couldn't make out fully, a side effect of Pop's baby wailing in her ears the night before when they had come over. Flaky, walking into the kitchen, pulled out a chair and climbed atop it. Voice drowsy as she said a good morning, she turned her attention on the old TV resting on the counter. The news was playing and she could only catch a few sentences before the rest was drowned out.
Adults used such big words to explain themselves, how did they expect anyone to understand what they were going on about? They just liked to speak, hear themselves talk, and sound smart to other people. That was a good explanation.
Flaky cringed with every high pitched scrape of the fork as it scratched the pan. It felt like her ears bled whenever the unintentionally screech sounded, and with her mother letting it go by unnoticed it happened again. A small shake shot up her spin at the second scratching. She left the TV to place a wondering stare upon the older woman.
"M-mommy, what are we doing today?" she asked meekly, tensing for yet another sharp drag of prongs on coarse pan.
"I was thinking," the woman turned her head to gaze at her daughter, a faint smile tugging up the corner of her mouth, "that we would let you decide. It is the weekend after all, and it'd be a nice change from all the crazy things your father is always wanting to do." She laughed lightly as a defiant 'hey' came from inside the pantry.
"Whatever you want to do we'll do it. It could be going to the park, or heading somewhere to eat later, or just hanging out at home, anything."
"A-anything?" Flaky stepped off her seat, going to stand besides her mother and contemplating what she would ask to do. It seemed that her mom would always give the planning of activities to her, and if it was not her day to decide the two adults would always swing to do something she found enjoyable. She hadn't participated in any outgoings that wouldn't appeal to her in one way or another. Just last week she had chosen a ride on the kiddy train at the carnival as opposed to her father's want to do extravagant stunts while plummeting to earth.
That was too dangerous, her mother had been on opposite sides of the argument of going sky diving.
Her stomach rumbled and informed her that it would not allow her thoughts to process correctly if it didn't get food first. "I-I don't know right now, but I can think about it!"
Flaky's mother smiled, patting her head with her free hand and scraping the pan once more. She didn't see the child retract because of the harsh noise, or so Flaky believed. "Alright I'll give you some time, go sit down and think about it, okay? The food's about to be done so your little tummy doesn't have to worry anymore."
Flaky, about to go sit again, halted at the sight of the blue flames.
Tamed and unwavering as they licked the pan's underside, they seemed to be whispering to her. Peculiar was what it was, flames couldn't talk, especially not the ones used for cooking her eggs. But these were, it explained the soft murmurs that brushed her ears—when it wasn't interrupted by the repetitive scratching that was fraying her last nerve.
"M-mommy," she rubbed her ear, "can you stop d-doing that, p-please? It's, um, hurting my e-ears."
"Hm? Doing what?" The brunette looked fully at her daughter for the first time. "What am I doing?"
The room was at a standstill as Flaky's mouth opened, a soft gasp leaving the slight gap between her lips. She forgot the scraping sounds for the time being, eyes locked on the face of her birth giver in a silenced awe. Her hand slipped away from where she had been tugging on her apron to hang limply at her side. "Oh . . ."
It was the right side of her face that caught her attention, it stood out like a sore thumb.
Rosy, smooth skin darkened into a grotesque, charred black that covered the flesh from the base of her neck to her hair line. The end of her plump lips was withered and melted together to create a horrid, pale scar that didn't belong in the dark skin. Circling her eye was a dusting of ashes and evidence of herself being burnt, though not as critical. Her right cheek was hallow, the bone jutting out noticeably, and the remaining patch of conjoined cells was drawn over it tightly.
As if it would tear if she smiled too big.
"Flaky?" she questioned her child's drastic change in behavior. "What's wrong?"
The eight year old couldn't drag her eyes away for the sake of her. Gaunt and bony, the side of her face was too much of a distraction, and she didn't seem to realize that was the cause of her gawking. The whispers from the fire were back, but instead of coming from only the stove, they sounded off from all corners of the room. Familiar, familiar . . . She had seen this before.
"I-I don't know what," stuttered Flaky. "But, m-mommy, what happened to your face?"
The woman's expression grew grave, frightened, as she subconsciously brought her hand to hide her scars. She prodded the wrinkled flesh and passively said, "Oh this, it's nothing. Just a burn, a small burn that I got from straightening my hair." Seeing the girl reaching up with outstretched fingers to touch the disfiguration, she pushed them down.
"T-then why is it so big—"
"Have you thought of a family activity yet?" Her turning of the eggs that were long done quickened, frantic reflected in her eyes despite her calm voice. "I think that maybe we should go to the beach, see that new petting zoo, or—"
"Can we invite Flippy to go with us? I k-know he likes penguins so can we go to the zoo and—"
"Flippy?" The squeaking fork hit the pan bottom again. Her mother pursed her lips, shaking her head urgently. Fear passed over her face for an instant, then it hardened and her scrambling grew feverish. "No. How about we don't invite him. Not today, not anymore."
But her parents had always loved Flippy. He was a powerful influence to younger children like her, kind, protective, and reliable he was their main babysitter for her. So why was her mother suddenly giving him the cold shoulder? Even worse than the cold shoulder, her voice was hating and snappy, a tone she hadn't heard her mother use towards anyone.
"W-why? Is he doing something today?"
"No. We don't talk to Flippy anymore, and you know why?" The flicking of her wrist that held the fork grew rapid, hand stiff on the pan handle. "We cannot trust Flippy. He was a good kid when we first met him, I thought he cared about you, but then he pulls a stunt like . . . It's unforgivable."
What was she going on about? Her mother was starting to sound as confusing as the people on the news, and Flaky didn't like it.
"I never thought he would think of hurt—" Her frenzy of mashing and scrambling the breakfast food had paid off, the cooking dish slipping from the stove and hitting the ground with a loud clatter.
Flaky jumped back, screaming as the burnt eggs dropped in all directions, while the woman stared warily at the open flame. Turning the stove dial off, she grabbed a broom from the pantry and swept up the food that would need to be discarded now. "We don't allow him in this household and you shouldn't be wondering about him anymore."
"But why don't we—"
"How about you go play outside while I clean this up?" The grown woman smiled painfully, setting the broom aside and grabbing the child's hand. "Maybe while you're playing you can think of something fun for all three of us. Wouldn't that be nice?"
She let herself be pulled from the kitchen, blinking against the dim light that light up the hallway leading to the front door. On the walls were pictures of the three together, but they were blurred, unfocused, and smudged with black soot. The adult stopped by the door, taking the time to wipe away the dirt and grim that looked like had built up over years from a family portrait. Forlorn and guilt traced her features as she stared at the happy group, then it left as she set of back down on its stand and opened the front door.
"Sit somewhere on the grass, under the tree if you want, and think really hard on something that we can do. Remember, it has to be fun, appropriate, and try to put some thought into it!" Her smile fled as she pushed her daughter out into the yard with more force than necessary. The door swung shut, leaving Flaky alone outside, and the padlock was heard being locked.
Trying the knob, Flaky found that it truly was locked. She had just been so cheerful and nice . . . what had happened? Seated on the grass and poking her bare feet, she tried deciphering what her mother had meant by not talking to Flippy anymore.
Flippy's Flippy though, he couldn't do anything. I know Mommy still likes him secretly, why wouldn't she? It's not like he told her something rude, I don't even remember the last time he came over.
The fact that she didn't remember when her favorite babysitter visited was startling, as she always cherished those memories of laughter and happiness, but that was only part of it. Now, while she was trying to uproot his last visit, she was finding out that she couldn't remember what happened over the past month. Or week. Or even day. The only events she did remember were the ones that had recently occurred, those being her awakening and her mom acting strange.
In itself that seemed out of the ordinary, not just her mom acting out of sorts, but it felt as though she was going through a repentance of time. It could just be her overactive imagination at work, resulting in Deja vu, but she felt the stirrings of uncertainty in her stomach.
She looked past the swinging open picket fence that went around the perimeter of her house and down the empty street. Usually the street teamed with children, all of which she had befriended. They would frolic together, playing jubilant games that were intended for giggles and delighted squeals, and simply be kids. She took pleasure in sitting on the sidelines and watching, but it was still entertaining. Though with the street this empty, a plastic bag floating through the wind like a tumbleweed, anyone would have thought all the houses were vacant. Hadn't been occupied for years. A ghost town.
Wait though, there was a living individual going through the streets. It was—"Pitch?" Flaky asked aloud. The grey furred pit bull had exited a yard whose grass had wilted and changed to brown, but seeing her, he started barreling to her. The dog's tongue swung out of his mouth as he ran past the gate, of course he would ignore the no trespassing sign. Before she could reject any of his affections, the pit bull had already given her a hearty kiss, slobber slicking back her hair and dripping down her cheek.
"Ew," she squeaked and shoved his head down, "n-no Pitch stop it! Get down! I don't want any k-kisses!" He didn't understand the meaning of no, apparently, for he delivered another slobbery lick to her hand. Wiping it on the grass, not even the look of pure joy for no real reason and the way his eyes looked in different directions could cheer her up.
"Why are you here? Did Flippy let y-you off your leash again?"
Pitch didn't reply, unless she could count his hind leg scratching a flea behind his ear a response.
"Well, at least I have you to h-hang out with me," Flaky smiled optimistically. That was, she smiled until he got up, eyes looking straight as they did when he was serious. Haunches rising and growling, he trotted to the locked down and pawed it, growl turning into a whine.
She called for him once, then twice, and he ignored her, standing on his hind legs and barking at the door. "Pitch, Pitch stop it. Y-You're going to get me in trouble." Grabbing and pulling on his collar turned out to be futile, the heavy set dog refusing to leave the door. What was wrong with him today, he hadn't acted this weird since he had swallowed a bird and it caused some internal issues. He had even nipped her hand, growling warningly, when she wouldn't stop pulling him.
"What's wrong . . ." She sighed, passing his suspicions as the typical stupidity of an animal, and put her hands on her hips.
Flippy's dog had been barking for minutes now, but her mother nor father had come out to silence him. The two weren't keen of animals, not even the fish that had been her first pet, and any other day they would try to silence the animal's noises. Usually it was having Lumpy come and take the thing to a pound where its real owner would find it.
Flaky's stance dropped slowly as she considered the thought of a threat inside the house and Pitch trying to warn her; to warn her parents. "Okay, I'm trusting you on this one." She grabbed the handle, flinching and crying in pain at the burning sensation in her palm. It was first icy, heating up instantly and enveloping her hand in a fiery grasp.
Pitch whined lowly as she tumbled backward onto the concrete path, tears pricking at her eyes. Nudging her arms away, his wet nose found her curled up palm. Flaky whimpered as the canine's tongue lapped the raw skin, cooling it immensely and causing some pain to subside.
Her stare going back to the handle, she saw the glowing metal, red radiating from it, and realized that a blazing heat was the only way it had turned into a burning object. Only a blacksmith would use metal that heated in his shop, bending it to create weaponry or decorations, and she wondered why. . . .
Flaky's eyes grew to comedic sizes at the amount of black smoke billowing up and out of the house's chimney. That could only mean—
Yellow and orange flames shone through the shut windows, reflecting onto the grass and the girl sitting on it. The curtains that her mother had been so fond of fluttered in the living room as they were steadily consumed by the growing fire. They were eaten away in front of her, turned to a pile of ashes that were scattered and swirled inside on the unreal breeze.
The cloud of smoke that was gathering around the house thickened as the flames reached an open window. Ashes flew freely through the air, settling on the grass and in her hair. This wasn't correct, but it all felt so familiar. Had she witnessed a fire before? Up close? If she hadn't, then how could she picture the singeing heat so well, seen the smoke going up like towers in the sky, and feel the scratchiness in her throat?
This had all happened before, but when was what she didn't know. Pitch barked at the fire but dared not go as near as he had before. He might have been a dumb dog at times, but when there chaos at hand he knew to sit back and enjoy the ride. How he would enjoy this ride was unforseen though.
Flaky was lost in the crackling and bellowing warmth, finding the at these flames danced rather than stood still like the others. She could almost make out pictures in them, the faces of her parents popping out on the bright colors. They were smiling. Yes, smiling. Their faces distorted in happy grins that looked similar to screams of pain.
Those weren't pictures, she found that she was looking through the darkened window at the two forms who were screaming inside. Her mother's burn had grown to cover her whole face now and her eyes were shut as she screamed in agony, her long brown hair burning away with each passing second.
Her house was on fire. This happened already. When, she didn't know. House on fire. House. Fire. Parents. Fire. Alone. Fire.
The gravitation of the situation weighing down on her finally, Flaky stared horrified as a wall of flames leapt up to block the two adults from her view. ". . AHHH!" Her sharp shriek echoed through the desolate neighborhood, it being followed by three more abrupt cries as she covered her mouth.
"N-NO!" Eyes shutting, Flaky scratched at her face and pinched her arms to wake herself up. Anything to get out of this nightmare. "NO! NO!" Nothing was working! Pitch had stopped trying to pull her away by the sweater, hesitating before running away from the towering house.
The roof beginning to cave in, she knew it was time to leave. I need to get help! I need to help them! I need to—I need to do something! Were her frantic thoughts as she ran from the glowing lawn.
The black smoke from the house had stretched across the sky and hidden every inch of blue, casting everything into a ghostly night that smelt of gasoline and ash. The sun was nowhere to be found, only the smog filled atmosphere. Houses, abandoned houses, passed her as she fled down the street. Flaky called out for Pitch, whistling for him through tears, but the dog was long gone.
Surely she couldn't be alone, not really. Dark windows and empty car ways begged a differ, contradicting that she was the only individual in this world. It wasn't a world, it was the hell that her mom had told her about before. That was it, pain, misery, and fire everywhere was how she had explained it. She hadn't said she would be alone, she had left that out. Why?
Her short legs ached and protested against her, screaming to slow her pace. She couldn't, because though she had ran at least two blocks, she still felt the imposing presence of the collapsing house behind her. It was following her wherever she went, never losing her, falling behind, or gaining in. As though she were running on a treadmill, she might think she was moving, but the cruel reality was she was stuck in the same place.
The houses had fallen away, leaving her in a barren field of nothing. Soot covered her clothes and the ashes were being pulled into her lungs with every wheeze, and soon she needed a break least she faint from oxygen deprivation.
Flaky's small frame was racked with coughs, the ashes scratching her throat and filling every breath. Around her was nothing but black grounds and falling debris, pieces of portraits and photos that had been destroyed in the fire. There wasn't a Pitch, either parent, or signs of civilization. If this was a dream, a nightmare, why couldn't she wake herself up? Flippy had always said that if she needed a wakeup call she should—
Flippy!
She could always think of him and he would show up, he had promised her that he would . . .
"F-Flippy," Flaky whispered, peering around the landscape for the army man. "F-Flippy, I'm scared and alone, I need you. P-please be here, I need you, I d-don't know what's going on . . ." He still wasn't there, had he broken his promise? She had trusted that she would be able to call on him at any time, and he would b-be there.
"Flippy p-please." The last call died on her lips as she lost hope, giving up and facing the terrifying events by herse—
Two hands came from behind her, covering her eyes, and a strong chest pressed to her head. She reached up worriedly and felt the leather gloves, then the scraggly material of a sweater as she moved upward. Could it be? Her cries had been answered, and her protector was here. "F-Flippy?" asked Flaky quietly. "I-is that you?"
"Yeah," came the deep response, deeper than she remembered it being. Then again, her mind could have always made alterations to dream Flippy. "It's me."
"I-I was s-scared," she said, feeling an onslaught of tears coming, "and I d-didn't know what to do. M-my house, my p-parents, f-fire—"
"It's okay, Flaky," he cooed softly, hands still covering her eyes. "Don't worry about that now, I won't let anything happen to you."
Trembling, she pulled down his hands and turned to his embrace, burrowing into his sweater. "F-Flippy." He smelled of peppermint, musk—copper? Ash . . ? She sniffed again, connecting the smell to that of ash. It was falling all around them, it didn't mean anything that he smelled of it too. But copper?
Growing as stiff as a wooden plank, she craned her head up to him. Going from the chin up, she noticed something drip from it and land on her cheek. Warm with the same coppery scent. She hadn't time to think of it, seeing how she was speechless once reaching the shark toothed smile he sported. "F-Flippy?" Then, there they were.
The eyes that glowed as much as the fire itself, shining with a cold amusement at her shaken look. They weren't Flippy's, she didn't know whose they were.
But she knew that they were hungry, the man wanted to eat her.
xXx
Flaky's eyes shot open as she bolted up in her bed, screaming at the top of her lungs. "FLIPPY! FLIPPY! FLIIPPYY!" She shrieked murder, trying to unravel herself from the entombment of her blankets. Images of fire, ash, and golden eyes flashed in her mind as she thrashed in the bed, desperate to escape the hold he had on her. "N-NO!"
The door was kicked open, another scream from her, and the light was switched on. Flippy stood in the doorway, bat in hand, in his boxers and t-shirt. He was expecting a killer to be in her room; what he got was a struggling Flaky.
"Flaky?!" Once sure there was no murderer in sight, he dropped the bat and ran to her. Her screaming hadn't stopped and he feared that she had hurt herself, but there weren't any external injuries, so it could only be internal. "Flaky?! Flaky, calm down, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Does something hurt inside of you?"
Finding it necessary to stop her screams for fear that the neighbors would think of calling the cops, he firmly pressed his hand to her mouth. It stopped the cries, but the look of an animal being inspected under a microscope was still in her face. Chest rising and falling but the child taking in no real air, she looked at the room in horror.
"Flaky," Flippy said calmly, "what happened? Why are you screaming at three in the morning? Does something hurt?" He took his hand back, putting it on her arm instead as he heard he batted breaths.
"I-I thought t-that I saw—it w-was real and—" Flaky, face scrunching and a sob retching from her chest, threw herself into the open lap of her soldier. "F-f-fire," she cried, pressing up the closest she could against his firm body. "I s-saw fire."
Flippy's face filled with relief that she wasn't feeling internal pain, but the word fire . . . He put his chin on her forehead, making shushing noises that he knew calmed her. "Flaky, it's fine, it was all a dream. I'm here now and I won't let anything happen."
That was what he had said in her dream, and it was a lie. If he hadn't let anything happen to her and had the full intent of being her protector, why had her mind morphed him into such a terrible looking monster?
xXx
Sooo this is where the rating might go up just a bit, but this is definitely not T worthy so I'm just saying. Confused? Yes? Well I hope you are!
Glad I updated this, was fun to write C: And yes, I do believe that both of Flaky's parents are brunettes . . . don't ask me why. Maybe because I believe that only Flaky (and Splendont) can have red hair?
Let's go on elevator adventures! WHEEE! *takes Crystal and Boony on boring elevator ride (this is rated K plus so I can't kill either of you xD)*
