Tavern 4

Darkness, once something she was so scared of, it now surrounded her, caressed her and kept her safe from the rest of the world. Despite the chill and the quiet, the aching quiet, it was here, and only here that she ever felt safe anymore, safe but thankfully never truly alone. Her green eye's peered through the darkness, straining to see the pale and wane face of the boy she knew was staring back at her. She didn't know his name, and wondered if he even remembered it, after all he was younger than her by a good two or three years, but having said that, she knew she was the true youth in his presence.

She woke suddenly, still the darkened room, still the chill that made her lungs feel sore, but the silence was broken with movement. Fear of a different type filled her briefly, just for a second that he had gone back on his promise. Light painful and bright cast deep shadow monsters on the wall. When her eye's had adjusted themselves to the bright illumination she saw the young boy standing over her. She couldn't ever stop from staring, her throat going dry at the sight. Never once had he spoken, not to her, not to them, and as far as she knew not to nobody. His blue eye's coldly followed her gaze, she was amazed, as always at the strength in those eyes.

“My name's Michael,” he said suddenly, and just his voice had her in tears. If she could have, if her body could have responded, she would have hugged him, cried at him, strangled him? She wasn't sure. His voice, innocent with all innocence lost, it took her to the past, the past she missed that she had hated more, she thought, than life itself. The fighting, the pain of it tearing her life, family and soul apart.

“What are you scared of?”

She stared at him, watching him stare at her. She could feel his eye's on her tears, as she knew he could feel hers on his scared face.

“Scissors,” she answered. He nodded, understanding, absently stroking his hand with the missing fingers. She had to know, she had to ask,

“What are you scared off, Michael?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from breaking, “I need to know.”

Again the small nod, as if he knew this question was coming,

“They can take it away, all away, but I'm not scared of them no more.”

Morning, cold and bright, and she was alone. She knew she hadn't got long before they came, and with Michael gone, she knew she was in for a rough day. They didn't like tardiness, and she didn't like punishments. Opening the wooden door to the small shack, she ran across the hard concrete to the building, hoping they wouldn't notice. When she saw the sickly white grin from the window, all teeth with no face, she knew trouble was here. She wished she had known what that smile meant first time she had seen it, when she was hungry and begging on the cold streets of the city. She often wondered if she would have died if he hadn't come for her, and she often wished that she had.

He stood above her, way above her, his very presence like some twisted figure of bloated power held within a slick sticklike frame. His grey eye's bore holes through her, revealing a gateway into a mind of sickness and death. Outward, smart and somehow chemically charismatic, inside, cancer and sickness. His smile was practised all for show, his hands manicured and picked clean, his soul dark and stained. The first blow caught her by surprise, cleaving through and hitting her straight on the cheek. She yelped and collapsed at the blow, her face, already swollen and red, then came the boot. She gritted her teeth as the blow caught her in the stomach, causing her to desperately hold in the vomit. She curled into a ball as the blows continued, before suddenly stopping. She stayed where she was, scared of more blows. Inside a voice was screaming at her, so loud she couldn't hear it properly, outside, just laboured breathing, as her attacker calmly adjusted his tie, smiling more sick than ever before.

“I hope you haven't forgotten our talk,” the voice, calm and measured, understated yet somehow frighteningly powerful, a voice she feared more than all of the beatings.

“That's okay mother, I don't think I've broken her,” he smiled, “At least not this time.”

“Good, today is an important day, and we have much to do, clean her up and have her do her chores, quickly.”

The work part wasn't to bad she guessed, it was mainly mopping and cleaning, at least it was for her, she never knew what Michael done, he was upstairs in her room with her all day. Once she had sneaked up the stairs and listened outside the door, but could only hear some chat show blearing out on the television. She swept in a hurry today though, the salon was closed, but she didn't want the son to forget his promise to mother in a hurry. Sweeping the hair out and then cleaning the mirrors, the hair salon front that housed this tortured existence, allowing her one glimpse at freedom. However the doors where locked, and she had no where to go, and who would the police believe some kid runaway, or some ‘respected member of the community', something they had drummed into her, and she knew to be true. Besides he was only in the room next to hers, and he would hear her if she tried to break a window or something.

She paused for a second, leaning heavily upon her broom, facing the door, ready to restart if he turned around the corner. She had already had her beating for the day and wasn't really after another one. That's when she heard the scream, followed seconds later by the crash. She started brushing again, hoping that she wasn't the target for the frustration. He rounded the corner, his thin figure making straight for her. She couldn't help notice he was paler than normal, his cheek red with a small line, scar cut into the flesh. It seemed as if Scissors had turned on her own son.

She was dragged by her wrist, it twisted around and turning white. She hurried to follow, trying to keep her feet up the stairs. He paused at the top, and gingerly knocked on the door. She had never been up here before, she worked downstairs, Michael worked upstairs. The room was smaller than she had thought, pink lace hanging off the walls and Jenny Jones blaring out on an overloud television. Scissors was standing there in front of the door, the sharp metal scissors that earned her name slapping against her palm, covered in the thin glaze of red.

"I'm sorry mother," he wined, hurt and slime filling his voice.
She didn't even look at him, but instead turned her black eyes down to her,
"Clean up, and quietly," she pointed to larger pool of blood on the floor, way to much for such a small cut. It took a few seconds for the impact of it to sink in. When it did, the name that escaped her lips was barely a whisper. Even so it was enough for scissors to hear it.
"What did you say girl?"
She refused to answer, trying to stare at the floor.
"You answer when I speak to you girl, or else you suffer the consequences."

She screamed when Scissors took her finger.

That night was the loneliest she had ever known, even when sleeping alone on the streets, she had at least seen humanity, here, there was none. The tears she cried where bitter and threatened to choke her, and when sleep finally came, her soul could not accept rest. Even in her dreams she screamed and cried and lamented, all for a boy she had hardly known.

Even morning did not bring release, and for weeks she now had to cope with both her normal workload and that of Michaels. She hardly noticed, part of her had died with Michael, and she felt numb inside, no pain, no hurt, just nothing. Even the fear had gone.

"She's to young, we need another."
"Another?"
"Yes, another, she's not able to do all the work"
"Maybe if you just punish her more"
"Punish her more, You foolish boy, If I punished her too much more, she'd be useless"
"But, Mother,"
"Don't you start that, your the one who broke the boy, I want him replaced, soon"
"But"
"Another but and your gonna be the one who loses a finger"
"Yes Mother"

Darkness, once something she was so scared of, it now surrounded her, but it no longer caressed her and kept her safe from the rest of the world. Her green eye's peered through the darkness, searching for something, anything, to kill what was inside. She had gone through this for weeks now, yet her finger hurt in the cold, and her heart hurt in the dark. Nothing was left, except for this night it was different. Her eye's settled unsteadily upon a pile of rags in the darkness, rags that had not been there before.

She slowly watched this chrysalis of humanity unfold, and a girl, older than her, but with eyes so much younger, blue like the ocean, gazed up at her.

She wanted to say something, to smile perhaps and tell her that it would be okay, everything would be okay. But she couldn't lie to her, or to herself. She found herself remembering Michael, wondering if this is what he had felt.

"What are you scared off?"

She watched the girls eye's as she stared at her hand. When the girl failed to answer, she told her the rules that had let her live, holding up her broken stumps where fingers once lived.

"Show them no fear, Show them no pain..."

Nothingness, a wall of simple protection from reality, to seal yourself away and protect the real you at the expense of your humanity... It had always been the safest thing in her life, a simple lesion she had learned on the streets... It's amazing at how little it takes to knock that wall down and to leave you vulnerable again.

Scissors had been aggravated all day, and was having a fit about her appearance. She was commanded to comb her hair, a simple task, but one that almost always led to a beating. If she pulled Scissors hair then she would be beaten, but to lax meant she was lazy.

She set about her task with the nervousness Scissors demanded, Scissors was watching another one of those chat shows on the blazing television about teenage pregnancy and was throwing her usual crass comments about the girls on the screen. She tried to keep her eyes on the task, but her eye's wandered to the sharp metal Scissors on the edge of the old woman's chair. Normally she looked at them with fear,,, but something in her was yelling at her to grab them and slice the old woman's throat. Unconsciously she paused her brushing, and was startled to see Scissors herself watching her in the mirror, and she felt the guilt wash over her in a wave, and knew that the old woman knew of her thoughts. She waited for the blows, or maybe even the removal of another finger, but was surprised to see Scissors smiling.

She was finally led back to the shed by Scissors a lot later than normal, and while the day had been long, she was glad that she had received no beating at all, something that was getting rarer and rarer. As the door was opened the sight and smell that greeted her forced bile up her throat and her stomach threatened to empty itself.

On the pile of rags that served as their bed lay the green eyed girl, she was broken and bleeding, numerous gashes covered her fragile body, her arms, back and thighs all stained red, her right ear hung swaying off of her convulsing form.

"Remember this girl, I know what you where thinking, and you will be next if you abuse our hospitality." Scissors said behind her in venom dipped monotone, "Have a good nights sleep girl."

She had stayed with her all night, and it wasn't until dawn that she finally passed over, her blue eye's finally shone no more, leaving her again alone. However this time all had gone, no wall to hide behind, the pain tore her apart in some wave of emotion. It smashed over her, left her crying, scared and sorry.

In the morning the door was opened by him, smiling and smirking. She closed her ears off as he told her in sickening detail how he had performed his task on his victim. It's effect was the exact opposite of what he wanted, he wanted her subservient, she realised, but instead her soul was reborn in painful fire. She would have her revenge.

"Why didn't we just kill that one, mother?"

"Because you fool, she is the best one you've ever found, she works hard and takes it all, Still we must take care, she could get rebellious, I want her spirit broken."

"Dangerous, hah, she couldn't do anything, she's to young and weak, still..."

She set about her chores, again twice as much as before, but the work didn't effect her now. It took them a while, watching her silently. She did as asked, nothing more, nothing less, for her plan to work they had to trust her.

Finally, they began to believe her spirit broken. They couldn't know the silent prayers at night to a blue eyed boy and girl that filled her with anger and pain.

As she mopped the floors downstairs she saw her chance, finally they had left her alone, unobserved, the time was now. It was risky but she could do it. She pulled on the telephone cable, tearing at it, finally pulling it from the wall. Quickly she emptied the bucket of water down the sink. Searching she found what she was after.

The next bucket she mopped with stank, and if Scissors or her son walked in she would be crucified, but she still had time, and she mopped the floors faster than she ever had before.

When he walked in she stood there stunned for a minute, although she had know he could walk in any minute, she was surprised when he actually did. His smile dropped off his face immediately the smell from the white spirit she had soaked the floor in assaulting him. In just a single large pace he grabbed her by her hair. His face was twisted in anger, inhuman, the mask finally disappearing. The first slap crushed into her cheek, and she was sure that her jaw was broken. She knew he was going to kill her this time, and even Scissors wouldn't stop him.

She realised she still had her hands on the bucket, and almost unconsciously threw the bucket into him, splashing them both with the white spirit. He screamed as it tore into his eyes, blinding him, staggering him. She pulled free and lit a match.

"I'm going to kill you bitch" he screamed.

"Go to hell," she said, no emotion in her voice, and threw the match at his feet.

Scissors heard screaming even over her blazing television set. She stood up realising something was wrong, even before she saw the thick black smoke coming up from under the door. She opened the door, Scissors in hand, but she was recoiled by a wall of flames, the entire stairwell. The white spirit coated floor had turned the entire place into a blazing inferno of hellfire. She ran to the telephone, and dialed, screaming at it when she realised it was dead. The room was now on fire, with no way out. Scissors screamed, but it was too late.

Above the flames three figures, two with blue eyes one with green danced in the smoke.