Daily Life (Prologue P1)
"Stop trying to help me!" A distraught girl had yelled in dry breaths, looking down from a very very high hilltop, the person behind her shedding his own tears out of fear. "Why? Why are you trying to help me?!"
The day everything changed began like any other, in a seemingly typical home, where a seemingly normal mother named Sally Green was making breakfast. Although she was now in her mid forties, Sally was still an exceptionally beautiful woman with long feathered blonde hair and expressive hazel-green eyes. Her bubbly personality and the air of charm around her never failed to draw the eye or brighten at least one person's mood per day. She hummed a little tune as she fried a myriad of eggs on the stove, then turned to another frying pan and flipped over her pancakes before popping two pieces of bread into the toaster oven. "Amina! Breakfast is almost ready! Could you go wake Juno and Marcus and then grab Holly?!" She called, voicing ringing throughout the house as she peeled the eggs off the skillet. "Okay, Mom!" A sad sounding voice called back. "I will." "Also, make sure Juno has his work outfit sorted before you urge him down here!" She added. "We don't want a repeat of the day you forgot his pants." She hummed as a mental flash of her half-naked husband walking out the door with a half-asleep expression seared through her mind. It wasn't until one of the neighbors noticed that he came back angry. "Yeah, yeah." She suspiciously peered around the corner and watched as the young adult padded up the stairs. The robotic undertone beneath her voice pissed her off but she wouldn't let her get to her today, she then added some butter to the pancakes and expertly flipped them onto a plate. Not long after, a sleepy-looking Holly came down riding on her brother's back, then came Juno. "Morning, honey," Juno drawled, walking over to the fridge and pulling a beer out of it. "What's for breakfast?" "Pancakes with cheese omelets!" She cheerfully told him, hastily walking over and giving him a peck on the cheek before returning to what she'd been doing. "Sounds good, our lousy daughter had forgotten to clean my work shoes again so you know how that went." Sally hummed, not exactly wondering why Amina had not shown up yet but at least that's why. He must want to also enforce that again, he's usually out the door by now with only a cup of coffee and toast. "Sit down at the table." She told him. "Morning, Mom," Marcus croaked. "Breakfast smells good." "Well, I want my boys to go out and have a good day," Sally drawled, grinning when he flopped his snapback cap over his shaggy blonde hair. "Can't do your best on an empty stomach, trust me." Holly, a child of only four years old, rolled her big green eyes when her brother put her in the high chair.
'My lovely family.' She thought.
'My wonderful boys..,'
'My loving husband.'
'My dear sweet son'
'My lovely little girl'
The good mood that morning was overwhelming. For once, everyone seemed to be responding pleasantly with each other and the typical banter was accentuated with laughter and merriment. They were all a bit tired, due to waking up so early, but despite that things were still rather pleasant. But then, Amina walked into the room shaking her hands free of water. With her usual depressive self, Sally's smile turned into a deadpan scowl and the illusion of her happy family shattered into a million pieces. Amina. The daughter. Her rosy pink hair was messy and sticking out in every direction even though she'd obviously run a comb through it twice, and her pale purple hoodie draped loosely over her torso, looking too big for her body. Sally eyed her in disgust: she was wearing the same tattered black jeans, those ugly dark grey tennis shoes, and that awful floppy black beanie she'd kept practically glued to her. It had faded so much that the crocheted bees on it had lost their shape, and the color was practically grey. Sensing all eyes on her, Amina hefted her tattered backpack on her shoulder and slinked over to the kitchen sink, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard, and with deft motions, she filled it with water before downing it. Sally watched as she repeated the process twice, then rinsed out the glass and washed it. Turning around, Amina looked straight at her. Sally kept the hate off her face, but that didn't make it go away from her heart. She loathed it when Amina looked at her, since it was like her eyes constantly conveyed that everything was her fault. Their color and shape and expressiveness mirrored her own in almost every way, but the things they expressed always pissed her off in the worst sort of way. She reminded him of her ex-husband. She always found ways to look down on the world, even from her low station in life, but Amina had never looked anywhere but up at the sky, away from the world around her, wistfully, wanting more than she already had. Wanting to go places far away from where she really belonged, like she could reach for places higher than her own pitiful station in life. And a part of Sally knew she could do it. Being from a past lover she didn't have the genes of her present husband, she had talent with music and singing. She was good with her hands. She was smart. And Sally resented all of it. Those long-lashed almost cerulean eyes held absolutely no reflective sheen. No feeling. They looked dead, and even when she smiled a bit, there was nothing there and it made Sally smug. Keeping her low was the only way to win. "Morning, Mom," Amina quietly greeted, speaking in a tentative tone. Almost hiding the swell from a hard slap, the one from Juno today, ..it'd go away before school. "I'm going to school now." "You're not gonna eat breakfast?" Sally sarcastically inquired, turning away with stiff shoulders; the mood in the kitchen had darkened to the point of being smothering. "It's pancakes and eggs." "No, but thanks," Amina murmured, hefting her old backpack. "I'll get breakfast at school." When she turned to go, Juno abruptly stood up and swaggered over, grinning nastily. "Hey, Sweetie," He drawled, in a sickeningly sweet tone, clasping his hands and innocently looking down at her. Her body visibly jumped but she turned with an expression of confusion, blinking a few times at the use of the nickname, and Sally watched as a spark of uncertainty and faint hope made those dead eyes come to life a little bit. A smirk built up inside her. Juno had got a big stickynote out his pocket. "See what this says?" She looked at it and nodded. "Don't forget to put out your outfit?" She squinted her eyes to read the tiny writing, when he tapped the paper. "Oh your shoes...it's just that you wrote it so small I-!" "What?" "I'm sorry father!" She bowed, and sure enough, Juno grabbed her hair and roughly jerked her head up. She squeaked when she was thrown off balance, dead eyes squeezing shut from the force of his hand on her hair, and flailed. "Dad, stop!" She cried, swinging her arms. "Let go! I'll read it better! I j-just need glasses!" Everyone, even Sally, laughed at her wish, but when she quickly stood up and backed off, he thrust an antagonistic finger in her face. "HAHAHAHA! You're an idiot if you think I'm wasting money on you!" Juno cackled, cheeks flushed with mirth. He hated her with his whole heart, as she wasn't his kid. He hated looking at her face, and everything she did. He sometimes did these things on purpose just to see her reactions. Just to fill her with fear of being punished in some way. "It's better to watch your pathetic attempt to read clearly!" Sally watched, waiting for a reaction, for something. But there was nothing. When her daughter lifted her eyes, she was looking at him with no expression, irises lacking any and all reflective sheen, emotionally dead from the inside out. Irritation once again filled her and she went back to eating, not bothering to look back up when Amina rubbed her face free of regretful tears and left the kitchen running as her father shouted one last thing. "And remember, if you cause any kind of trouble, you're out of here!". Sally wished she would disappear for good one day, by actually doing something like that or at least...when she turns 18 and is kicked out.
Amina was tired.
She didn't even leave the house yet, her daily threat given to her just made her more anxious. She left the kitchen, ignoring the sounds of the happy family resuming as she headed for the bathroom. After shutting the door, quietly, she turned the sink faucet on, hastily taking off her backpack and splashing her cheeks with cool, clean water, then she grabbed the soap off the shelf and scrubbed her skin, disgusted beyond words. Not with his actions, but with herself, for trusting him again. Doing so was stupid, but she couldn't stop herself from trying... and it really, really hurt, every single time, since it always turned out this way in the end but with different methods of tortures'. After years of enduring this same situation over and over again, she should have gotten the hint and learned not to trust him... or, to at least not feel the heartache. But she did. She did, each time. She had already known what to expect from the beginning, so it shouldn't have hurt at all. So, why did it? Once she was clean, she grabbed her backpack and turned to leave, but saw herself in the mirror. She instantly winced. Cerulean eyes that were much too large for her face stared back at her, framed by ridiculously long eyelashes... wisps of her messy pink hair framed her lightly freckled cheeks, looking—as always—like an old ragged curtain that had once seen better days. Too thin of a nose made her face look a bit squashed, and her lips were way too full for. One of her worst features was her skin, though, without a doubt: she was so dark that she looked like she was sick with some incurable disease, or like she'd been out in the sun too long. Slowly lifting her hands, she combed her fingers through her hair, ignoring the numb sensation on her head. Her bangs fell across her eyes, but she pushed them back and stared at the thin, white scar along her skull. After so many years, it was barely even visible anymore... just a faint discoloration, really, but the reason she was always hiding it wasn't because she thought it made her look ugly, like everyone thought. It was because every time she saw this scar, she remembered how she'd gotten it... And the words that had been spoken to her that day. "Shut up, Amina. You were a mistake." She winced and roughly dragged her hat back on, turning away from the mirror. She was ugly. Unwanted. Unloved. With deep breaths, she trembled as she held the sink counter tightly, her thoughts going haywire again, she had to calm down and put up that front again. She huffed in wait and lifted the sleeves of her hoodie. 'Just three or four seconds..' And got out her trusty razor blade.