Chapter 2:
Avery Elizabeth Thompson was a girl of little words. She was pale, fragile, skinny and constantly afraid that she could do something wrong. Her beautiful blues eyes have lost the sparkle a long time ago, and now remained completely blank. All in all however, people would say that she was a gorgeous young girl. Wavy, long, dark hazel hair, a nose every woman would envy her, high cheekbones and a smile, which could light up a whole room. How to smile, however, she forgot a long time ago and her once rosy cheeks were now pale.
Things have not always been like that for sixteen-year-old Avery. The first six years of her life had been relatively happy. She had been adopted by Erica and Hank Thompson at the age of two, who weren't able to have kids on their own. They moved to a little semi-detached house to Litchfield and for the first time everything seemed to turn out well for little Avery Elizabeth.
She was a really smart, outgoing and a witty little girl, who learned quickly. At the age of four she read her first book and she absolutely loved kindergarten and couldn't wait until she would be able to go to school. She loved to play the piano, which Erica and Hank bought her for her fourth birthday, and more than anything did she love to sing. Her teachers in nursery school told her adoptive parents that Avery was one of the most intelligent kids they have ever had and she definitely was the star of the class.
But things didn't last like that very long. When Avery was six, her adoptive mother died in a car accident, on the way to pick up the little girl from school. At first she was confused why nobody would pick her up and after waiting hours for someone to get her she decided to walk the 10 km's from Litchfield Elementary School to her home. When she finally reached her house the first thing she received was no "Hello how was your day" but a slap in the face from Hank for being late. Avery had been devastated when she found out the truth from Hank and that was the moment the real misery started for the little girl.
Hank made her responsible for his wife's death and alcohol became an escape from reality for the man. Violence became part of Avery's life like the Amen in a prayer. From the early morning until the late evening she tried her best to make everything right, so that Hank wouldn't get angry. She cooked, she cleaned, she washed, she went to the market, she tidied, she did everything to escape the punches of her adoptive father. Some days were good, other days again were bad, and she constantly had to make up stories why she had bruises all over her body. She tried her best to cover it up with make up, so that nobody would find out the truth. 'Cause what should she do. She was a sixteen year old orphan, and better to have a real roof above her head than to live in a foster home, at least that's what she thought. So the centre of her life became Hank and to do everything in her power to please him.
"Here she was" Avery thought, while flipping through the very beginnings of her dairy, when things had still been happy and rosy for her. Her very first entry was on her fifth birthday, October 8th. She had been so excited over the fact that her parents had bought her her first book by Hermann Melville. Sure the fact that her first book by Melville was Moby Dick was definitely a cliché and probably everybody did it but it didn't matter at this time. It took her nearly a moth to read the whole book, because it was way to difficult for a five year old to read, but she had all the time in the world. When she finally finished it, she could hardly remember what the book was about but one thing she remembered for sure.
The feeling she had when she read about the narrator's emotions on the sea. She imagined how it felt to sail along the ocean, the feeling of the breeze in her face and the freedom, which tousled through her hair. Up till now she dreamed of the freedom she would hopefully find one day. Sometimes when Hank's abuses got too unbearable Avery would stand still for a moment, take in her surroundings and close her eyes. She would feel the soft wind stroke her hair and she would imagine how it felt if her real mother would caress her face. She would look at the diamond glints of the snow in winter and imagine what her mother looked like. She would feel the soft rain and cry bitterly. These tears were the only form of solace for her and nobody except herself would see those tears. At moments like these she sometimes felt connected, maybe connected to her mother. She had a warm, sparkly feeling in her gut and for a break of a second she experienced what it must feel like to be loved. Avery Elizabeth was once a happy child full of life and joy, but had become only a shadow of her former self.