She awoke. Her naked body laying itself bare on the concrete floor in the basement, cold and bruised. Two thin and naked babies lay on the same floor as what she did. She felt like she was drowning in her own blood when she looked around to see the once magnolia room now red. Her hands were sliced, as well as her arm and face. She attempted to grasp the children but they were out of reach. The dark man entered the basement, cradled one of their children in his masculine arms. Silently, he left the room and never again did he look back, to ashamed of the mess he created.
. . . . .
The finger marks on the window spoilt the view: of the dying trees and the not so red roses. The weight of all their possessions was too much for the wagon to take, the once gleaming Mercedes. The road was inconsistent, as though it had not been ridden for years. The trees made Indie feel captured, as she travelled in the car with the strangers. She felt out of place: like fish without water.
The car halted, as they arrived in their court yard. Indie stepped out of the car, and everything in her path was so overwhelming to her. It looked so diverse to the A4 piece of she was shown. Out stepped the others; her step mother, Geraldine with her bitch of a daughter and Indies’ father. Indie’s father walked to the front door, he did not seem prostrated by the magnificence that he was encountering. Indie followed his steps quietly, like she always did. He was at ease with the house, he knew everything and everything knew him, despite this being his first visit. She found it peculiar that he unnervingly used all that was once left by another family.
Indie carried on her search through the house and lead herself up stairs. She examined all the bedrooms, contemplating which one was to be hers. The corridor which held the doors was narrow and dark, without a window. Sunlight gleamed through a crack in the door, which she followed. She got closer to the door and the texture on her feet became harsh. She fell through the door, to discover her feet bleeding. There was glass over the floor. The blood that was on the floor seemed to be a lot, just for her feet. She thought nothing of it and cleared it up.
The rooms in the house were large, and there were just so many. Each one fully furnished with elegant furniture: Antique, but ultimately beautiful. Everything was saturated in dust and dirt; obviously the family whom lived in the house previously had left suddenly.
Geraldine grabbed Indie by her neck, and pushed her down the corridor, without saying a word. They reached a small stair way, behind what would have been presumed to be a cupboard. The window was minute and the air was weak. The walls were grey and the atmosphere was noticeably cold.
“Here you will sleep. This is where you belong”
Indie did not reply to her generosity, usually Geraldine took things from her but never gave. The room was fabulous; so small it was hard to move, the air was sickening, the smell of neglected waste and the tiny window that was covered in bars. The best way to describe this room was a concentration camp, one held by the dictator himself, Hitler. It was poor and neglected, but Indie had no choice.
Geraldine carried on, “This will be your bedroom. I do not expect to hear one word from you and only wish to see your face when dinner is served. If I were you Indie, I would stay out of our families’ way!” She turned her back and walked down the stairs.
Typically, this rejection from a family would upset a girl of fourteen, but Indie was special, she was not hurt by her witch of a step mum. Indie lay on the floor, thinking of all the things that she would accomplish when she could leave the house. Her mind was disturbed by the scent which penetrated her nose. The smell was strong and unknown.
She searched the room to find the problem. She lifted the carpet, and what she saw managed to take her breath away and cause her to collapse on to the floor. What she saw was wrong. The red stain underneath the carpet, reminded Indie of her mum, despite never having met her: she died whilst giving birth.
Indie recovered the stain and tried to forget about it. There was no point explaining it to her dad, it was sure to be her fault. She fell asleep, there was no reason for her to stay awake.
. . . . .
A few weeks passed, and isolation from the world in their house became unappealing to the extent of complete boredom, and at feeling very close to insanity. The only amusing thing was talking to her friends on the telephone occasionally, of which was listened to by Geraldine in the case that her mouth were to slip and she were to insult her step mother, god forbid. Their voices had changed, as though her friends were strangers. To Indie, it felt like she was talking to voices without faces: like herself.
Night grew rapidly on the house, and the view outside Indie’s window was the shadows of the trees. She had never considered how concealed she felt in her bedroom, a feeling of claustrophobia. The creaking of the small stairs was consistent, which infuriated her. Tonight she could not block out the sounds in her head, the wind, the trees, the stairs . . . the door.
She eventually nodded off to sleep, this only lasted the majority of two hours. She was awoken by her fanatical senses. She felt uncomfortable where she lay, the dark drown her vision. The moon shone through the pathetic excuse for a window, and as Indie’s eyes adjusted, she saw a petite silhouette of a woman close to her bed.
The woman drew closer to the bed, nearer to Indie. Indie began to slide back into the, under she felt the cold, hard wall. The woman reached to take her hand; Indie felt out of control and clasped the woman tightly. The woman led Indie out of her bedroom door, and walked down the stairs.
Indie was so scared, she could not refuse or even talk. She just followed the woman to wherever she was leading her.
As the woman carried on walking, the rhythm of her pace and the warmth of a strangers hand made all of the fear in Indie’s bodies diffuse out of her. The more they walked, the more pleasant the woman seemed and Indie began to feel comfortable in her presence.
They stopped in front of the mirror, which lay at the bottom of the stairs. They had noticeable similarities. The woman covered Indie’s eyes, whilst doing so Indie felt a gentle breeze circulate her feet. She opened her eyes and stared at her self in the mirror. She was speechless. She looked so beautiful. There she stood, infornt of the mirror which had only reflected painful images. Covering her naked body was the elegance of the ruby red gown, laced with sparkling gems. Around her neck she wore the most dazzling diamond necklace. She looked absolutely gorgeous.
The woman already wore a white chiffon dress with matching gloves; she looked so beautiful and fresh. The woman carried on walking; Indie followed her to the lounge. The large room which was once undecorated, became fantastic. The tall ceiling was decorated in gold and red, and everything about the room was breathtaking. Everything was like a story tale, so beautiful.
The curtains fell to the floor, and the band began to play. The elegant men and woman filled the room, and before she could see what she was looking for, people were dancing, drinking and laughing. Everyone was dressed in their finest outfits, and everyone was good-looking.
Indie found she was alone, trying hopelessly to think about what was happening. A man was staring at her. He came and took her hand. They started dancing; they did not finish for hours. Without saying a word, they danced the night away. The music had finished, and the people left as quickly as they came, but still they stood dancing. Hours must have passed as they had swayed to the music they made in their imagination. He let go and headed to the door, all he done was smile, he said no good bye.
She sat on the floor alone. Piercing cries filled her head, she noticed the woman who brought her here, in the corner crying. She held a small child, maybe a few days old. The woman held on to it so tightly. The baby was still and silent. The sheets which covered it were rapped tight all over its body, even its head. Indie realised that this baby was no longer present in this world.
The woman stood up, kissed Indie gently on her cheek and walked to the basement. Indie waited a few minutes and followed her. Indie could not see anything it was so dark.
“Hello . . . Hello. Is anybody here?” whispered Indie.
The light of the moon cast shadows on the floor, not enough to see anything clearly. Indie was not scared anymore and wanted answers as to what had just happened. She searched for the light switch, tripping over items as she felt the walls. Her feet became wet and moist, everything she touched was damp. She felt something on the wall, she fiddled about with it for a while and eventually the light came. She looked down at her hands and feet, to see they were covered in blood. Everything was covered in blood, even the ceiling. She was too scared to turn away from the wall. Indie stood there and hugged the blood soaked wall, she wanted to wake up. She closed her eyes and began to walk to the door, she did not want to see. Light is not always a blessing. She kept her hands on the wall to feel her way, but she tripped. She fell over a cold and heavy object. She smacked her face against the floor, her nose began to bleed. She stood up and ran, but no matter how fast she ran she did not get any closer to the door.
She gave up and led on the floor. She turned around to see what she had tripped over. A woman led dead still on the floor with her head buried in her arms, her blue body was naked and covered in blood. Indie crawled to reach the woman and help her. Indie pulled her onto her back, pushed the woman’s hair out of her face. She gasped for breath, what she saw was sickening. The woman was the lady that took her hand and made her look beautiful: The same woman who looked so similar to her. The bundle the woman carried before was led next to Indie. The baby was dead along with its mother.
Indie sat and cried, rocking in her own arms. Comforting herself: as she had always done. She blocked all sounds out of her head.
Geraldine found her there. She was so mad. She hated Indie but this was the time when it had to be dealt with. Indie had always been a secret to the families surrounding Geraldine’s, and she needed to be gone. She wanted no one to know Indie, as she had always been an outcast. Indie was so dark skinned, dark haired and dark eyed: Geraldine and her children were pail and thin. Indie was too good for her family and that’s why Indie was discriminated.
Geraldine crept up behind Indie, with a racket in one hand and a picture in the other. She sat down behind, as if there was no blood anyone and as if this basement’s scene was normal. Geraldine gave Indie the picture, of Indie’s father with a woman. The woman was the lady who led on the floor, black and blue. The picture was happy, so very happy.
“This is your bloody mother, she ruined your father, and she deserved to be in the situation she is now. You are so like her!” Geraldine could not keep her mouth shut.
She grasped the racket tightly in her hand. Geraldine stood up behind Indie. She lifted her arm back and swung through the air. Indie fell to the floor.
. . . . .
Indie stood up, she tuned to face Geraldine but she had already left. She turned to help her mother. Indie picked the woman off the floor, but she stood up. The woman faced Indie, and held her child in her awaiting arms. Indie had never felt so belonged in her whole life. The baby began to cry, Indie placed the baby in her arms and uncovered the sheets. The blood had cleared from the wall, and everything was perfect, absolutely perfect.
