It was a day like any other- filled with the silvery light of the shrouded sun beyond the cover of fog.
A young girl in her late years of single digits walked on the pristine streets of the northern district, heading to the familiar place she calls home.
She was such an innocent girl.
Subtle joy and dread flashed through her peach eyes like a duet of light and darkness, as it had been for all the life she was able to recall.
So many times did she turn her caramel-covered head to a random distance, longing for a place- anywhere else that she could go. And indeed there was some, but going to such places came with consequences.
Whether it was her happiness or her mother's, the decision was always split between the two, and the latter almost always won. On the days it didn't, there was a brief respite before the price was paid.
Today was a day where she decided to chain her desires and boorishly return to her respite.
Brown hair fluttered in the wind freely while the girl walked to her house.
It would have been a day worthy of glee... if only she wasn't feeling like a trapped mouse.
But what could she do? That's how life is. Might as well learn to accept things and move on.
The small journey didn't take long, and her destination soon came to sight.
It was a modest house- not one belonging to the hood or any impoverished area, but not exactly to the wealthy northern areas either. The place was indeed in a well-off area, but also near the periphery of the slums. The Northeast city was overlooked in its normalcy of a neighborhood, but was where most of the unassumingly ambitious lived.
Her household was no different in that aspect.
Entering the humble hold, she looked around uncautiously. There was nothing much to surprise her, but the least of wariness wouldn't do any harm. Seeing that there was nothing of concern, she continued further into the reaches of the hold.
How weird the place was.
Light filled the rooms, but there was no splendor. Sounds reverberated, but the rooms were suffocatingly silent. People lived within, but the whole thing felt dead.
Truly just a day like no other.
Then, she came across her one and only companion in the cold hearth. A frail woman with the brown hair she inherited. How pitiful of a person she was. Her eyes looked like a lifeless lake.
It was such a shame, or better said, a pity that this person was her mother.
Rather than come into an embrace, the girl was the one to provide it. Wrapping her tiny arms around the listless husk, she tried to provide any warmth at all.
"Mother, please raise your head. Even though everything seems dark, maybe if we look for the light, a glimmer will find us back."
None of the people her age talk like this, not at school or outside of it. What a weird state of mind it was, she couldn't find the word to describe it.
Her actions were not a talent, they were an acquired skill from timeless efforts.
And while she had no idea if her actions had any effect at all, she tried again and again to bring the slightest smile to her mother's face. But how would she know if all her hugs and consoling were producing any warmth when she had none herself?
Well, might as well try. If she were truly stuck at the bottom of the abyss, then where else could one go but up? It's hard to go even further down.
So she embraced the frail woman, or perhaps clung to her in desperation.
The sun mercilessly set, and the darkness unwelcomely came.
Inside, the house felt even more lifeless, as if it were a corpse robbed of its innards, only leaving a repulsive exterior.
The young brunette ritualistically turned on the lights, hoping that the light would be of some aid. It was a shame to see that there was no early arrival- that could only mean one thing.
An hour or two passed before the door dreadfully opened, the creaking of the movement cried forebodingly.
He came in.
Unrighteously riotous footsteps thundered in the modest cage of her abode. The smell of all sorts of alcohol pervasively filled the air.
The morbidly obese man entered the young girl's sight.
One regret that she had was the inheritance she got from him. Her peach eyes were reduced to innocence from the original.
No, instead of the harmless peach, the dreaded man had the eyes of a flaring sunset that threatened to burn everything down with its fall. It was nearly poetic how the eyes reflected the person bearing them, and those who were close enough to be affected.
He looked at the lymphatic husk of his wife.
"Where the fuck is my food?"
She didn't respond.
Then the fire ignited. He clenched his fist with a threatening intensity.
"You useless bitch!"
The woman looked at him with her sullen blue eyes.
"You bastard!"
He turned his head to the sound. The girl had yelled at him. She dared to have yelled at him?
Watching his head turn, the young brunette felt a dreadful omen of wrath tugging at her shoulder. She hated doing this, but what else could be done? If she just watched as her mother died at his hands, she would be left all alone.
And that simply couldn't do.
He raised his fist and drunkenly approached.
So she did what had to be done.
The girl ran throughout the house, oh how she fled.
She was such a miserable girl.
...
Half-listening to her mother, the brunette held her man close.
On his face was as much shock as there was pain. He wasn't expecting anything nearly as painful from a well-off woman like her. The man named Mark was only experienced with the problems local to himself.
A question formed in his head. Turning to look at the brunette in the eyes, she could see his pity.
"How did you escape?"
The brunette smiled. She brought his body closer.
"I guess you could call it a miracle."