Silent Tears, chapter 13
Normal P.O.V
Skye smiled as she heard Billie Joe's scream. Billie Joe had been cleaning the attic, and it looked like he'd just found Skye's little secret. No, not the spider colony, he found them weeks ago. Skye's new little secret, the one she'd only had for two days now. Skye stroked Bob, her hand warm in the python's tank.
"SKYE!" Billie Joe yelled. It was a common thing to be yelled at nowadays. Skye smiled innocently as he ran into the room, a gerbil tank in hand containing a fat, white gerbil, not unlike Spiff...
"Skye, what was this doing in the attic?" he asked as reasonably as he could. Skye pulled her hand out the python's tank, closed it and whipped out her notepad. She scribbled furiously for a second then held up the note.
'It's Spiff, your point being?'
"Skye, you fed Spiff to Bob. What is this, Spiff 2?"
Frantic scribbling. "No, it's Spiff 1. I found the old gerbil tank weeks ago, when I had to clear out my spider colony. When I was left alone, I grabbed Spiff, took him to the attic, put him in the old gerbil tank and fed Bob one of those dead mice we have to feed him."
Billie Joe groaned, Skye was smart, not intelligent, smart. Scheming little bitch.
Billie Joe's P.O.V
Why does Skye keep outsmarting me? It's just not fair, goddamn it. Tre's always been the scheming one, he's smart when it comes to playing pranks on people. I think Skye could give him a run for his money though; she had me for one thing.
More frantic scribbling on Skye's behalf. She holds up another note. 'I did feed it.'
I survey the 15 year old sitting on the sofa in front of me. She's 15 and I'm not sure she's six yet. She's so much like a little kid it's almost unbelievable, and yet at the same time, she's so mentally developed it scares me.
She sits there, white hair framing her white face, large red eyes, heavily outlined with eyeliner. Little smile on her face, a crucifix decorated with skulls at her throat. A picture of innocence, a picture of evil, a picture of loneliness...My daughter.
***
*Skye's P.O.V*
2:00 am - It's time.
Operation - Scare the living shit out of Billie Joe.
I get out of bed (I was reading if you have to know.) I pad quietly across the room and pick up my penknife from my suitcase.
I shudder as I hold it, my mum used to cut me with the very blade, she tied me to the railings on the stairs and ran it along my arms, telling me I was a stupid girl, a freak of nature, a vision of the devil...
Very religious, she was, my mum. She read the bible every spare moment, was always touching the crucifix at her neck and muttering prayers. That was all everyone else saw, I saw more. She believed in the devil too, she believed he was the only force of evil in this world and that any freak was spawn of the devil and should be destroyed.
Imagine the shock she got when she gave birth to her very own freak of nature.
When I was six I stopped talking and Dad buggered off with some blond tart.
That was when mum started to hurt me, she'd drink, then cry then she'd tell me this was all my fault because I was an evil child, I brought bad luck. If I shook my head, she'd hit me until I cried and managed to whisper that I was an evil child and that I didn't deserve to live, just like she said. When I started to nod, I started to believe it myself. At first I nodded, just because I thought that if I nodded, she wouldn't hurt me, but she still hit me because she said she had to get rid of the devil.
When I was seven and I was getting changed for P.E one day, my teachers noticed the bruises on my chest and stomach, they thought I was getting bullied at school because my mother was such a holy woman, they believed she would never lay a hand on me, let alone hit me.
They reported the findings of the bruises on my person to my mother, she made me move school.
After that, she started to drink more. She thought I couldn't see, but I'm not stupid, I see a lot more than people think. One night, she caught me watching, she shouted at me and hit me until I cried, when I started to cry it made her angrier. She tied me to the stairs with my skipping rope, took a penknife out the kitchen draw, flicked up the blade and ran the point down my arms until blood ran.
She started to do that at least once a week, and before too long my arms were covered in scars, I started always wearing long sleeves; for fear that anyone would see and blame me again. I started to dread doing anything because I had started to get bullied at school, kids were calling me freak, pushing me over and whacking my had against the concrete playground. So I skived, I started living life on the edge, I skipped school and hung around in back alleys, not bothering to feed myself, just reading.
Then, several weeks before I turned eight, dad returned, he'd ditched the blond tart, and I thought I'd be happy again, no more pain, no more blood, no more bruises... But two days later, they were driving me to school, I was in the back seat and they were in the front, and Dad crashed.
I woke up a few days later, only to be told that mum had died earlier that morning and dad had been killed instantly in the crash. My mum had left me a note, the one note that's affected me, the rest of my life.
'I'm proud of you. My daughter of the devil, my baby freak.'
It's just what everyone's been calling me my entire life, but knowing my mum was proud of me has been the one thing that's got me through to 15.
I'm a freak and I sure as hell know it, six different adoptive parents, although they could change me; five resorted to violence in the end. I'm spawn of the devil and I will never find eternal peace with god. I only cut myself because that's what my mum did, and maybe if I cut enough, god will take pity on me and make me normal.
I'm a bitch, a whore, a retard, a psycho...I'm Skye.
I grip the knife handle hard, hold out my arm, the scars on my wrist glinting in the moonlight. I place the small silver blade on my wrist and push down hard...
Skye smiled as she heard Billie Joe's scream. Billie Joe had been cleaning the attic, and it looked like he'd just found Skye's little secret. No, not the spider colony, he found them weeks ago. Skye's new little secret, the one she'd only had for two days now. Skye stroked Bob, her hand warm in the python's tank.
"SKYE!" Billie Joe yelled. It was a common thing to be yelled at nowadays. Skye smiled innocently as he ran into the room, a gerbil tank in hand containing a fat, white gerbil, not unlike Spiff...
"Skye, what was this doing in the attic?" he asked as reasonably as he could. Skye pulled her hand out the python's tank, closed it and whipped out her notepad. She scribbled furiously for a second then held up the note.
'It's Spiff, your point being?'
"Skye, you fed Spiff to Bob. What is this, Spiff 2?"
Frantic scribbling. "No, it's Spiff 1. I found the old gerbil tank weeks ago, when I had to clear out my spider colony. When I was left alone, I grabbed Spiff, took him to the attic, put him in the old gerbil tank and fed Bob one of those dead mice we have to feed him."
Billie Joe groaned, Skye was smart, not intelligent, smart. Scheming little bitch.
Billie Joe's P.O.V
Why does Skye keep outsmarting me? It's just not fair, goddamn it. Tre's always been the scheming one, he's smart when it comes to playing pranks on people. I think Skye could give him a run for his money though; she had me for one thing.
More frantic scribbling on Skye's behalf. She holds up another note. 'I did feed it.'
I survey the 15 year old sitting on the sofa in front of me. She's 15 and I'm not sure she's six yet. She's so much like a little kid it's almost unbelievable, and yet at the same time, she's so mentally developed it scares me.
She sits there, white hair framing her white face, large red eyes, heavily outlined with eyeliner. Little smile on her face, a crucifix decorated with skulls at her throat. A picture of innocence, a picture of evil, a picture of loneliness...My daughter.
***
*Skye's P.O.V*
2:00 am - It's time.
Operation - Scare the living shit out of Billie Joe.
I get out of bed (I was reading if you have to know.) I pad quietly across the room and pick up my penknife from my suitcase.
I shudder as I hold it, my mum used to cut me with the very blade, she tied me to the railings on the stairs and ran it along my arms, telling me I was a stupid girl, a freak of nature, a vision of the devil...
Very religious, she was, my mum. She read the bible every spare moment, was always touching the crucifix at her neck and muttering prayers. That was all everyone else saw, I saw more. She believed in the devil too, she believed he was the only force of evil in this world and that any freak was spawn of the devil and should be destroyed.
Imagine the shock she got when she gave birth to her very own freak of nature.
When I was six I stopped talking and Dad buggered off with some blond tart.
That was when mum started to hurt me, she'd drink, then cry then she'd tell me this was all my fault because I was an evil child, I brought bad luck. If I shook my head, she'd hit me until I cried and managed to whisper that I was an evil child and that I didn't deserve to live, just like she said. When I started to nod, I started to believe it myself. At first I nodded, just because I thought that if I nodded, she wouldn't hurt me, but she still hit me because she said she had to get rid of the devil.
When I was seven and I was getting changed for P.E one day, my teachers noticed the bruises on my chest and stomach, they thought I was getting bullied at school because my mother was such a holy woman, they believed she would never lay a hand on me, let alone hit me.
They reported the findings of the bruises on my person to my mother, she made me move school.
After that, she started to drink more. She thought I couldn't see, but I'm not stupid, I see a lot more than people think. One night, she caught me watching, she shouted at me and hit me until I cried, when I started to cry it made her angrier. She tied me to the stairs with my skipping rope, took a penknife out the kitchen draw, flicked up the blade and ran the point down my arms until blood ran.
She started to do that at least once a week, and before too long my arms were covered in scars, I started always wearing long sleeves; for fear that anyone would see and blame me again. I started to dread doing anything because I had started to get bullied at school, kids were calling me freak, pushing me over and whacking my had against the concrete playground. So I skived, I started living life on the edge, I skipped school and hung around in back alleys, not bothering to feed myself, just reading.
Then, several weeks before I turned eight, dad returned, he'd ditched the blond tart, and I thought I'd be happy again, no more pain, no more blood, no more bruises... But two days later, they were driving me to school, I was in the back seat and they were in the front, and Dad crashed.
I woke up a few days later, only to be told that mum had died earlier that morning and dad had been killed instantly in the crash. My mum had left me a note, the one note that's affected me, the rest of my life.
'I'm proud of you. My daughter of the devil, my baby freak.'
It's just what everyone's been calling me my entire life, but knowing my mum was proud of me has been the one thing that's got me through to 15.
I'm a freak and I sure as hell know it, six different adoptive parents, although they could change me; five resorted to violence in the end. I'm spawn of the devil and I will never find eternal peace with god. I only cut myself because that's what my mum did, and maybe if I cut enough, god will take pity on me and make me normal.
I'm a bitch, a whore, a retard, a psycho...I'm Skye.
I grip the knife handle hard, hold out my arm, the scars on my wrist glinting in the moonlight. I place the small silver blade on my wrist and push down hard...
