Aimless.
A single word that encompassed everything Kirsten Potter was. She was without direction, floating around in the midst of reality. No dreams, no ambitions, no hopes, no wishes. She exists, and merely exists.
Kirsten Potter sometimes wondered why they even tried. They, because she obviously wasn't one of them. In the end, it was pointless, wasn't it? After all their sweat, blood, and tears, ultimately they would achieve nothing but death, which awaited them on the other side. All their efforts for naught. Life was pointless, because it would always stop. What was the point of the story when you knew how it ended?
"Girl! Are you awake yet?"
Kirsten Potter didn't live in No.4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging in Surrey. She lived in the cupboard under the stairs, seeing only a shadow of the outside world. Whenever Dudley came home from school, whenever Vernon came home from work, whenever Petunia ordered her around, she wondered if the world really was like this. The cupboard under the stairs was the only world she knew. It was dark, cramped, and Kirsten had decided earlier on that she did not like it. But she was fine with it.
Complacent. That was the word that Kirsten picked up from Vernon as he was shouting through the phone. In a way, she was complacent. Because what was there really to fight for? Sure, there were some things she favored over others, but they weren't worth fighting for.
Or maybe she was lazy? Kirsten didn't really know anymore. She didn't have the will to do anything. The cupboard wasn't too bad of a world afterall.
Suddenly the door was open and her world lit up. Vernon was there, a walrus of a human, with his face twisted in an angry expression. His eyes narrowed, his face and neck turned purple, a vein on his forehead bulged. "You heard what I asked you, girl?"
"Yes uncle."
"Not uncle. Vernon. In no way are we related."
"Yes Vernon."
Everyday was the same routine, and she had no qualms with it. Vernon wakes her up, she moves out to cook breakfast, help Petunia prepare dinner, receive her bath and change of clothes, then she'd return back to the cupboard beneath the stairs. It was rather straightforward and simple, something Kirsten appreciated.
The only people in her life were the three Dursleys, and sometimes Aunt Marge and her dogs from hell.
Vernon Dursley was the proud director of a company called Grunnings that sold drills in front of the local bakery. The first thing Kirsten noticed about him was that he looked very similar to the picture on Dudley's book that said walrus. He was big, round, too much neck for her liking, and always constantly grumpy about everything. He also loved to take his stress out by bullying Kirsten, which she did not appreciate in any way. She learned early on that as long as she followed whatever they told her, her life was much easier with less nonsensical spanking.
Petunia Dursley, based on the television shows she'd listen to whenever Dudley or Vernon watched, was a housewife. She was more of a crossbreed, with the face of a horse and the neck of a giraffe. Petunia was also similar to her, in the way that they both looked feverishly malnourished. She liked watching television drama and reading books.
Then there was Dudley, who bullied her more often than Vernon. He was, in a way, a Vernon in the making. Petunia seemed to encourage this metamorphosis by constantly feeding him cookies on an hourly basis. Dudley, Kirsten also came to realize, was hopelessly stupid. Or maybe she was just smarter than others her age, she wasn't really sure.
She only ever saw shadows of the outside world. Sometimes she wasn't even sure if it existed. But she was sure it did. Because why would Vernon come home ranting about workmates, Petunia back from a stroll across the neighbourhood with a new bag, and Dudley enthusiastically talking about his friends (which by his description, seemed to all be a stupid and dense as he was).
In a way, she felt that she should be concerned with her apathy at being mistreated. From her understanding gained from listening to television, it was borderline abuse. Not abuse, but barely. She also learned that calling nine-one-one was a good idea for children being abused, but the last time she tried that she was almost fed to Aunt Marge's dogs. She never tried again.
She never knew her parents, not even their names. The only thing Vernon told her was about drunks and a car crash, leading her to believe she was an indentured servant paying back the debt from her parents ramming their car into some unfortunate wall. The only thing she had from her family was her name: Kirsten Potter.
Sometimes she imagined what they looked like. From where did her raven black hair come from? It now flowed down to her knees, with the Dursleys refusing to take care of it. But then again, they never seemed to care about anything related to her, so no biggy there. How about her skin, which bordered alabaster? And her eyes, which swirled around with an intensity she never felt. Who gave that to her?
The scar however was the most peculiar of them all. A lightning bolt, almost perfectly symmetrical, but Kirsten did not want to believe that someone carved it up using a knife when she was little. Either it was a birthmark, or the aftermath of the car crash.
She was a fragile thing. Horribly malnourished, she could picture herself on top of the stickmen she used to draw. She had hair that flowed down behind her knees, still wavy and fluid despite the length. Whenever she changed, she grimaced when she could see her ribs through skin, when she realized that her face was too gaunt for people her age. On television, she never saw children as thin as she was.
Then again, maybe the world outside never existed. Just an idea. Were there really lush green trees and vibrant flowers? Did cars, trains, and planes really exist? Contraptions able to go beyond human limits? Did the school that Dudley said he went to really stand? And was Grunnings a place?
What did their house look like from the outside? Was it really as beautiful as Petunia always claimed it to be? Were there really neighbours who got along well with the Dursleys, as hard as that was to believe? She had so many questions of the outside world, but she couldn't find it in herself to escape and run away.
She already had so many opportunities. The time the family left on a vacation, whenever Petunia was asleep and the male Dursleys were out, on Dudley's birthday, so many chances. Yet she couldn't find it in herself to care. She was definitely curious… but she didn't really know why she didn't try. All she had to do was peek into the curtains, look through the door hatch, it was simple really.
She was curious, but not enough. Not enough for her to care. Because as it was, she was fine. She was still alive, albeit in bad shape, but she was living. It wasn't too bad either, considering she received two meals a day, was given chances to use the bathroom, really she was okay with living the rest of her life like this.
What was a dream? What was ambition? Kirsten never understood it. Contentedness she understood. Complacent was what she was. But why strive for something better? It was moot. It wouldn't make you different from anyone else, wouldn't it? And if you did strive for yourself, what was the point? Because it would only be temporary.
The end justifies the means. All humans die, no matter the means.
She was happy. She was content with how she was living. So what if she was seen as nothing but a burden to the Dursleys? She didn't really care what they thought about her. She was content with two meals a day, forever living in the cupboard under the stairs, never seeing the outside world. It was fine.
No matter what happened (unless she died), her curiosity would be satisfied. Because soon they would kick her out, they would lose the house, or maybe Dudley would get married. As long as she lived long enough, eventually she'd see what everything looked like outside. There was no need to be in a hurry.
And maybe that was the scariest part. Because she had no ambition, there would be nothing changing about her. She would be stagnant, forever unchanging, never improving, never declining. But she couldn't find anything wrong with that. Because she was fine with how things were.
"Hey Dudley." Kirsten called out, curiosity sparkling in her green eyes. "What's school like?"
Dudley ignored her, choosing to continue staring at television while munching on his cookies. This was one of the times when Kirsten was let out of her cupboard, since she had to clean up after the crumbs he would be dropping all over the couch. It was Sunday, meaning she'd be back at the cupboard after this.
"Hey Dudley, what's school like?"
Dudley turned to her, staring at her for some time, before answering. "I'm watching a show. Go away freak."
Freak. If not girl, her name was freak. Freaks were unusual. Freaks lived in cupboards under the stairs. Freaks were never given cookies to eat. She was a freak.
"But I'm curious." Kirsten said. "If you answer me, I'll stop bothering you."
Like Dudley knew what curious, or bothering meant. Something she wondered if people her age, if they did exist, were really this dumb.
Dudley seemed to think about it for a while. "Hm… fine. School is boring. They give us homework. We have to study. But then I have friends. That's the part of school that's not boring."
And just like that, Dudley turned back to staring at the cartoon on the television, hand grabbing for another cookie.
"Okay."
With that, Kirsten stepped down from the couch (she had to jump), before running into the back of the kitchen for the towel.
School… school had others? Other children like Dudley. And school was where children like her were supposed to learn. School sounded interesting. But he had friends, meaning other kids that liked him. Why would someone be his friend? She certainly would not be interested in becoming friends with him. It was a hassle. And it wouldn't make a difference would it?
The couch was now empty, the only sign of his presence being the warm depressed seat with crumbs all around the area, under the pillows, over the couch, onto the carpet. With the wet towel, she began looking for them one by one, dabbing the rag to pick up the crumbs that would attract roaches if not taken care of.
The cupboard beneath the stairs... it was the only world she knew. Kirsten was fine with that.