• Chapter One
    A is for Appraise, something I never got...

    The pictures out the bus window flew by as I stared blankly. I hated the bus ride home. Hated it. No, it wasn't because of the smell (though it did reek), but it was the worry. The growing worry of getting home. I didn't want to go home. I never did. Home was a scary place, it was so scary. I was the second to last stop on the left onto a road called 'Willow'. The bus rolled to a slowing stop, letting off a boy older than me who I didn't know. He gave me a look, then headed down the stairs. The door closed.

    I was shaking. I always shook. If I wasn't careful, my teeth would rattle, too. But no one ever seemed to notice. I loved school. Fourth grade was amazing. I loved Mrs. Washburn, she was so nice. But whenever she took notice to my bruises, I'd have to lie to her, saying either “I tripped” or “I was playing football and it hit me in the eye”.

    If only that was true.

    The pond came into view. Sparkle Pond, they'd call it. It literally glittered in the sunlight. It was the main thing on Willow Road. I felt the pressure start to well up inside me

    (o god i'm so scared)

    as she dropped off Sarah Desmund, the girl right before me. I started to panic, as I always did, and started taking in deep breathes. My house came into view

    (o please make her miss it somehow please)

    and the bus started slowing down to a stop. The door opened. I slipped on my backpack as I gave the bus driver a smile. She smiled, too,

    (no no no tell me i'm not home and i'm at school)

    as I stepped off onto the dirt driveway. The bus then drove down the rest of the road. I stared, heart-broken, then walked up the half-rotted steps of the trailer that I called 'home'. Seven days, I'd turn eight. Seven days... I didn't want it to come.

    Every birthday was the same, and I hated it. It scared me. I opened the door after unlocking it, hearing glass smash onto the floor. He was drunk again. I hated it when he got drunk. He always took it out on me. Why? I couldn't even remember what I did.

    “AMELIA!”

    I flinched as he yelled my name. Daddy was always scariest when he was drunk. I put down my bag. Maybe today, he'd see that I was scared and he'd stop hitting me. Maybe. But I knew, I knew deep down, Daddy probably would never change. Never.

    “AMELIA CARLSON, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, YOU WORTHLESS SCUM?!”

    “I'm over here,

    (oh god please save me and take me with you)

    Daddy.”

    He seemed to smash another glass bottle, coming out of his room and looking at me. His eyes are what scared me the most. I tried to look down, but I couldn't seem to look away. They were filled with hatred, sadness. He blamed me, all the time, for Mommy's death. He said the same things, almost like clockwork, as if he never had said it before. But I knew. I knew every single time. It was embedded into my memory, and I couldn't get it out.

    He took another bottle out, one of perfect shape, and walked towards me. I stared back at him with frightened eyes. Fear was more than likely readable on my face, but that didn't make him stop from moving towards me. He grasped me by the collar, the glass bottle coming down in a large arc. It crashed onto my head

    (ow ow i will not cry but o it hurts so much i'm so sorry daddy i'm so sorry)

    and I could smell the whiskey mixed with blood dripping down my hair. Glass shards were scattered on the wood floor, some still containing tiny bits of whiskey. I could hear hysterics, but I couldn't tell if they were from me or from him. There was a moment of silence then, him still grasping my collar so hard it hurt, as it continued. I noticed it was me, and tried to calm it down a little.

    “Does it hurt?” he asked. “Does it?!”

    I nodded furiously. It hurt a lot, and if I lied to him, it would only make him angrier.

    “You are good for nothing, killing your own mother, you worthless scum,” he continued. “If you were never born, if you never happened, she would still be alive today, but no, you came, and killed her. And yet, I still seeing you smile from time to time. Do you think she was smiling when you killed her? DID YOU?!”

    He picked me up, dropped me, then kicked me hard on my back. I screamed, I couldn't help it. I wanted to run. But to where? Nobody liked me. Nobody ever liked me. I was pathetic, worthless, unwanted, unneeded, uncool. It was what he said, all the time, and what she said, too. “She” being the voice inside my head, the curse I deserved from killing Mommy. She spoke to me from time to time, telling me almost the same things Daddy did, but she was much more cruel in words. She couldn't hurt me. Not like Daddy.

    “Get up!” he nearly screamed. “GET UP!!”

    I did so, but he suddenly collapsed. I waited. And waited. I heard a snore come from him. He passed out from drinking. I stared at him for a long moment

    (thank you god for watching over me for once)

    and ran into my room. I looked at the clock. Four o'clock. I glanced at my backpack. Homework to do, dinner to cook, dishes to wash, room to clean. It was a basic routine I had in my head. I picked up my bag, noticing I had very few books in there. Little homework, that was good. I opened it, digging out a science book. We only had to read the chapter. Nothing in Math, or English, or in Spanish. I sighed, content, and began reading. Being in fourth grade ahead of all my friends was amazing. I surpassed everyone. But it still didn't seem enough

    (ha ha look at him he is asleep with the fishes i wish he was dead)

    to please Daddy.

    I turned the page, and suddenly my head had a sharp pain

    (oh no here she comes)

    that I knew of too well. My twin sister. I heard the story before, from Daddy, and it went sort of like, “Your mother was supposed to give birth to twins, yet you killed her before she had the chance, so I think now she resides in your head” or something like that. A sudden cackle that only I could hear came after my thoughts.

    “So, Amelia, how's your pitiful, pathetic life, hm?” she asked.

    “Go away,” I begged.

    “But, oh, dear Amelia, I can't do that to you!” she sneered. “After all, we're one in the same body. Can I come out now? I want to taste the air 'outside', if you don't mind.”

    “No,” I thought. “Go back to sleep.”

    She did so. It surprised me a bit, she never did that, but at the same time, I was very thankful. I skimmed the highlights of the text, picking up the only important parts of the chapter, then closed it with a heavy thud. I got up, tying my hair back, realizing I was still drenched and reeked the smell of whiskey. I must have been zoning to have not noticed.

    Instead of doing the dishes, I decided promptly that I should more than likely take a shower. I stepped into the bathroom, staring blankly into a mirror. A girl stared back at me, her sorry, sad blue eyes looking back into mine, her face deathly pale with few freckles, her black hair limp and damp from the whiskey and blood that clung to it. It took me a moment to realize it was a reflection of myself.

    I wanted to hit the mirror. Everyone else was so pretty, so loved, so taken care of, and I was left behind tasting my own blood. It made me sick. I wanted them all to die, all the ones who abandoned me to fall into the dirt. To get hit by glass bottles, I wanted to know how they'd feel about it.

    But no one abandoned me, in reality. There was no one else left in my family, except my uncle Koga (who was in Japan) and my step-brother, Matsuryu (also in Japan). I never learned how to ever pronounce their names, it all seemed profound to me. They lived so far away... There was no one to save me from this hell.

    I was

    (i should be dead)

    doomed. Doomed to live in this cursed existence for the rest of my small life, and I knew it. I knew it all along. I smashed the mirror, the blood running down my finger tips. It felt warm, yet so cold and alone at the same time. It made little sense to me. Blood was the colour of life. Life was warm. Yet here it was, being cold, and I couldn't understand.

    Why was I so unlucky? I shook my head. I am lucky. I'm alive. I have a house, I have food, I have clothes. I'm alive. Shouldn't that be a good thing? Then why did it feel all wrong? I wanted to die. I stared at the shattered fragments of glass, seeing my face among it. The blood dripped down onto several of the pieces, but that I paid little attention to. My reflection was the worst. I hated myself.

    Just like everyone else did.

    I felt myself begin to cry. An empty hole was filled with a black pit, never to be fixed. I couldn't trust anyone, not even myself, to my own thoughts. I was deathly afraid of myself. What I could do. What I could become. I could become my Daddy. I could wind up dead one of these times when I come home from school. I was afraid.

    But that wasn't the issue here. I could take a shower later. I agreed upon that thought, fingers still dripping blood, walking and stepping over Daddy to wash the dishes. The bubbles made me laugh, especially when they mixed with my blood. It was a crazed, a maniacal laughter that wasn't even my voice. It was her voice. I fought the urge to let her out, letting her go back to sleep. The water filled near to the brim as I put glass cups and plates in there. It only took me fifteen minutes tops to do them, and I managed to beat my own record. It only took me five.

    Satisfied, I washed my hurting knuckles while proceeding to wipe them dry. The blood eventually became clear with the water, showing me that it had stopped. I wiped several cups when I heard a car drive by, pulling up to our house.

    (oh no)

    I made sure Daddy didn't hear, the grabbed the check off the bookcase. It was the landlord, of course. I burst out the door, smiling, and handed it to him. He stared at me for a long moment,

    (what is he looking at come on look at me like that again see what happens to you)

    faked a smile, then took it from me. He patted my forehead, looked at me again, surprised, and saw that his hand was now smelling of whiskey.

    “Is your father home?” he asked politely.

    (even if he was i won't let you touch him you filthy old man)

    “Yes, but he's sleeping,

    (i know you threaten him all the damn time and threaten to hurt him now go away before i kill you too)

    Mr. Seers,” I smiled.

    “Is that so...,” he seemed to look at me with doubtful eyes. “Okay, then. Oh, Amelia, how is school going for you? I heard you made top marks again in your class.”

    (no no no it's not good enough)

    “Yep! I guess I did!”

    He smiled at me, walking back to his car and waving. I waved back, too, watching as his car disappeared around the bend and down the hill. A sudden gust of wind came through. Right, a storm was coming soon. I walked back inside, watching the dark clouds begin to pile up. Dishes were done, homework was done... I heard a distant rumble of thunder. Rain. I hated rain. It always made everything so sad. The black clouds, they were useless to bring happiness. In a way, they reminded me of myself. I took out a blank piece of paper, in my daze, and scribbled,

    “Amelia 'Black Cloud' Carlson”

    while folding it up and putting it in my box, along with several other of my favourite things. I stared blankly at the piece of paper, then closed it. I made up my own saying:

    “Nothing good comes from a black cloud”

    and smiled half-heartedly. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be useful. I wanted someone to say I did enough, and that I can relax. I wanted someone

    (i'm a loser)

    to appraise me, for once, and not demean me like everyone else did. Sometimes I would dream of that day to come. I felt my appetite die off when the clouds started to drop the unpleasant rain which came from the hovering black clouds.

    “Nothing comes from a black cloud,” I whispered to the window, then turned off my light. “Nothing.”

    I felt myself grow very tired, to my surprise, but I still had stuff to do. I needed to clean my very unorganized and unclean room. But no matter what I'd do to clean it, it always still seemed tainted to me. My very presence in a room tainted everything and anything, even people. My eyes fluttered open and closed, picking up the trash and random items, likes clothes hangers and thumbtacks. I listened as Daddy's breathing seemed to turn into grumbles

    (ha ha ha you can't wake up such a shame you are to blame for mommy's death not me you moron)

    as my thoughts turned to little rhymes. I couldn't believe my own thoughts, like they were betraying me. I loved Daddy

    (ha ha ha)

    to death, though he didn't seem to do the same. It dawned on me then that 'she' wanted to come out. I fought her down again, and she fell dormant. My thoughts

    (phew)

    were my own once more.

    I resumed to picking up my room as the night sky was filled with flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder. They drowned out my thoughts, they drowned out my slightly high-pitched voice, they drowned out my humanity.

    With the room cleaned up, I sighed and relaxed. I was tired, and my back and feet screamed in protest to do any more cleaning. I gave into their demands and collapsed on the bed. Seven days.

    I hated time. Why did it always bring my birthday around? I wanted for either it or me to disappear, neither of which seemed to be happening soon. I wanted to scream and yell at the sky, for betraying me with the illusion of time, but I was too tired. I stared out the window as the pattering sounds of the rain slowly fell. I scrunched my face in disgust. Even the word rain sickened me. Nothing should be so saddening, nothing more than me.

    I sighed deeply. Sleep was always a problem. It never came to me easily, and it didn't help that I was slightly hungry. The dark circles around my eyes showed the problem. They were almost one with my eyes. The term Mrs. Washburn used was 'insomnia' or something like that. It meant sleep deprivation. Yeah, I could definitely use that term.

    I watched as the rain started to downpour. The feeling of loneliness started to set in more so as I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest.

    (rain rain go away come again another day)

    I was getting anxious more and more as time passed. Would he wake up? And, if he did, would he come down to hit me some more? Most likely. But he drank so much, I doubted he would wake up anytime soon.

    I started humming to myself a song my Daddy once played yesterday, near top volume, and I could remember the lyrics. They were haunting, but I sang it anyways.

    “...Drowning deep in my sea of lonely...”

    The rain seemed to have no end as it fell harder. The wind was enough to rip off the shingles. It was like a hurricane. But hurricanes never really occurred in the state of Maine. I didn't understand. I couldn't understand as another loud clap of thunder echoed throughout the road and the house, even.

    “...It seems what's left of my human side is slowly changing in me...”

    The room was illuminated by the bolt of lightning that came before the next clap of thunder. It didn't scare me. I didn't really understand fear, unless it was associated with Daddy. Then I knew what it meant.

    “...Looking in my own reflection when suddenly it changes...”

    Time seemed to just die as I slumped over, sleep finally consuming me. It had been a while since I last slept, but I was grateful for it to come now. I uttered the last lyrics that came into my head:

    “...You've woken up the demon in me... ...”

    and I fell asleep while the thunder echoed once more.

    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX