Chapter Text
A loud clatter thundered through the house. The plate smashed and pieces shattered over the ground, screaming in rage after being banished to the floor. Loud footsteps ensued after the smash, as if summoned by the loud noise. They shook and trembled the architecture, and fiending rats scurried around to hide above in the attic. The footsteps were loud, supporting a large mass of muscle and meat. They were menacing. Harsh.
The wooden planks creaked under the weight, whining and whinging under such pressure. The man stomped and stomped through his house, a tall, frightening looking home. It wasn’t frightening in the sense it was dark and haunted. It was menacing and powerful, with bones littering the overgrown garden and a rotting dragon head skewered onto the spike above the large arched entrance. The man of the house marched through the unsteady building. The worn imprint of boots marked an often-used trail through a dim hallway and to a distant door. The man growled, narrowing his eyes as he approached the wooden door.
There was a girl. She bit her lip and rubbed her arm nervously as she heard the daunting footsteps approaching. Her room was dimly lit by a single candle, casting eerie shadows on worn-out furniture and faded tapestries. The girl’s mind raced, searching for a way to navigate this situation. She couldn’t remain hidden in her room; the man’s anger was palpable, like facing a wild beast.
Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear with a trembling hand, she took a deep breath, attempting to steady herself so she wouldn’t pose as weak in front of the man. There was something that had driven her to stay in this god-forsaken place, it was something she could hardly explain to herself. Maybe she felt like it was a protection, or maybe she was still hoping deep inside her heart that she may one day prove herself and receive even an ounce of love.
The wooden door swung open, revealing the large figure of the man — her father. He was broad-shouldered with a shadowed face, anger etched into every crease in his forehead. His eyes locked onto his daughter, and the room seemed to suffocate the girl with tension and fear.
“Raca, stupid girl; what did you do?” his voice rumbled like a distant roar of a furious, erupting volcano.
You breathed in slowly, trying to steady your racing heart. Your fathers stare burned your body like a rapacious fire, eating at every inch of your flesh. “I don’t know, Father,’ you mumbled, feeling a wallowing, angry heat in your stomach.
The man’s brows furrowed and his features darkened. “You know what you did wrong.”
You sigh internally, feeling a slow and bubbling concoction of fear and anger churn inside your stomach. Why were you cursed with this man as your father? Though, you wouldn’t wish him upon anybody else.
The man's face twisted into a contorted snarl, his rage growing stronger as you avoided his eyes and didn’t speak.
“Raca, this is why I named you worthless.” he growled, before continuing in his unprecedented anger. He took an unsteady breath, “the dishes, they were dirty.”
You gulped, staring at your hands. “I washed them, Father.”
Your father slammed your door shut with such force it made the house quake. “After everything I've told you,” he fumed, his voice trembling with anger. “After every punishment, you still can’t manage a simple task?”
His voice felt like a raging earthquake, his presence a chronic virus. He was a plague — a horrible, despicable man. You fiddled with your fingers anxiously. “I don’t know.”
“I DON’T KNOW?” he screamed, punching the wall.
You flinched, gritting your teeth. His voice. His powerful, commanding voice echoed through the room. His voice felt like the lick of a flame — surrounding you — suffocating you.
“Why are you such a horrible person!?” you screamed, clenching your fists into balls. You could feel tears prick the corner of your eyes. Why did your anger always turn into crying? Oh, gods.
The man’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly. You were fueling his fire, and he was about to burst into flames.
“Do NOT, speak to me in that tone,” he growled, his dark eyes flaring like wildfire. “You-”
“-Let me guess, I’m not good enough?” you interrupted, “it’s not like you’ve told me that at least a million times!” You were crying now, tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. “Next time you make me cook dinner, maybe I'll poison your food and you’ll die like the greedy man you are!” you shrieked, anger burning in your glassy eyes.
That’s it. You’d done it. You had ignited his fire to its maximum — you had tipped him over the edge.
The room was silent with tension as your fathers face twisted with a mixture of murderous intent and disbelief. His face was shadowed by the dim lighting of your room, but it only made him more menacing. You gulped, waiting for something. For him to throw something. Strike you. Yell at you. But nothing came.
You looked up at him, and you felt your heart drop. His eyes, they stared at you. You could almost hear the many ways he was planning to hurt you, tear you apart, defile you until you weren’t recognisable — physically and emotionally. You could feel a suffocating lump in your throat. You could almost feel his hands around it. Gripping tightly. His dirty fingernails tearing into your flesh, piece by piece pulling the strings of your skin away. Your body temperature heightened, becoming hot and suffocating. Your heart pounded and whined, begging for you to flee, to run while you still could. But you stood your ground — you would not let him tear you down and push you around any longer.
Your father’s gaze before into you, the oppressive silence lingered in the room like a dark cloud. The weight of his rage and your own defiance hung heavy in the air.
“Raca. You useless girl,” the man spat.
You winced at hearing your name. It felt like a harsh breath of fire lapping at your face, greedily consuming every ounce of identity in you.
“You disappoint me, child.”
You looked at him with sarcastically raised eyebrows. “You disappoint me too, father,” you replied coldly. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly, his eyes burning with rage as he stared down at you. You glared at him back with ferocity, raising your chin up. Your father let out a deep, heaving breath. Suddenly, a sort of switch flicked on inside you, and you instinctively grabbed your sachet containing some of your things.
Suddenly, there was a loud, ear-piercing sound that made you flinch. Your window shattered to pieces, broken shards of glass scattering across your wooden floor. Your fathers gaze burned you as he stood with his fists clenched, one of which was dripping with blood. Panic crept into your face, the sight of blood making you feel like hurling. Your heart raced, mind buzzing with thoughts. He won’t hurt you anymore — you wouldn’t let him. “I needed some fresh air, Thank you Chief,” you said snarkily, standing tall even though you were shaking. He gritted his teeth, before his fists swung at you. You shrieked internally and ducked, before kicking him in the crotch and making a break for it. “Go to hell!” you yelled, a surge of adrenaline pulsing through your veins as your heart pounded vigorously; you were breaking free.
You dashed through the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the building. You could hear your fathers enraged shouts pursuing you relentlessly. But you ignored them, pushing yourself forward as you gritted your teeth. You wouldn’t let him control you anymore. You would be free from him, free from everything. The exit of the house loomed in front of you, practically waiting for you to burst open its hinges. But you needed to hurry, your father was following. His footsteps chased after you, sending chills running down your spine. The door drew nearer and nearer, before finally you burst through the door, a large, relieved grin coming to your face as the cold air of the night engulfed your sweat. Freedom. At last.