Scarlet

         The piercing shriek of the kettle shattered her daydreaming session. Yet, it was a challenge to move from her perch on the cluttered window seat; mostly due to laziness and knowing she had at least an extra hour to spare before her duties called.

         A rare breeze caused the fading lace curtain to brush against her heated cheeks, and she sighed. If she closed her eyes again - which she did anyway - she could almost ignore the city’s symphony of late afternoon traffic, ecstatic children dancing around the fire hydrant to wash away the summer sweat, gossiping wives sharing tales out of windows or porches over the powerful smells of tobacco and goulash, and the cool hip kids blasting the latest hits from their portable radios.

         “Try Wiz today,” her radio blasted happily. “It’s the best laundry detergent to give you that sparkling fresh feeling all day! Your laundry will never be the same!”

         She could attest to that.

         “Ouch!” She sat up with a start and rubbed her forehead, where something had plunked her unceremoniously.

         “Sorry, Ada!” was the passing apology of the laughing kid dashing away, with the culprit – a baseball – being tossed in the air again.

         Taking that as a cue to get moving, Ada swung her legs off the window seat and straightened out her cotton dress with steady strokes.

         One, two, three, she counted in her head.

         Once satisfied, she paced to the kitchen to get some ice for the lump that was sure to form soon.

         However, as she opened the ice box, she recalled that the fridge was still not fixed and nothing was left. She hoped Selina would purchase another bag on her way home, but Ada wasn’t holding her breath.

         With hands on her hips, she assessed the small space that made up their apartment. It was just big enough for the kitchen, which could only host two people inside of it at any given time. A dining area, with its red Formica tabletop and peeling edges as well as four chairs, was right next to it. It led to what could be passed for a living room space, only said space housed a small television, a weary recliner with a hideous paisley cover, a wooden footstool, and a narrow cot – pushed against the wall.

         That little corner was her bedroom.

         She was at least grateful for the beige plastic curtain, with its blue pelicans in flight pattern, which provided some semblance of privacy, and as she sat before what could pass for a vanity dressing set - if one ignored the chipped paint (it must have been pink at one point), and the cracks on the mirror – trembling hands reached for the familiar ointment. She had lost count of how many times she had to rely on the now twisted tube, but it almost always did the trick.

         The bruises were almost always gone after a couple of days anyway.

         It just had to be right in the middle of your forehead, didn’t it? She chided herself, while her fingers caressed the red bruise.

         At least this time, she couldn’t blame anyone else for it.

         My fault. It’s my fault, she repeated over and over as her fingers continued its absent-minded motion across the bruise. It's always my fault. It’s always been my fault. I’m too slow and stupid. It’s what she says. So, whatever happens to me is all my fault.

         She seemed to fall into a drunken stupor; perhaps melting into the uncomfortable stool as she stared at the distorted reflection before her. It shifted and contorted into something menacing. Her lifeless brown hair began to lift ever so slowly; an unseen and unfelt breeze creating a swirling motion that caused it to weave around her face, over and over and over again until she could see nothing and shecouldnotbreatheandittightenedandtightenedandtightenedandthreatenedtochokeher-

         “Typical! I come home to a mess and no dinner ready as usual!”

         Ada stood up with a loud gasp and in the process, knocked down the few items she could call her own.

         She fell to her knees to gather them quickly; desperate fingers searching for everything before they were taken and hidden as punishment. Once Selina had denied her a brush for almost a month simply because she had left it on the dining table.

         “What the hell are ya doing? Get off that floor and get me something to eat!”

         “Sor-sorry, Selina,” came the flustered reply. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

         She sensed and smelled the woman now looming over her. There was no escaping that choking scent of cheap perfume anyway. Ada winced as she felt the heel of Selina’s shoe press upon her right hand; just deep enough to cause the usual wave of pain.

         “Jaysus Christ. Look at you,” the woman sneered. “And what happened to ya forehead, eh? Bumped it into something again, ya blind rat?”

         Ada gave a feeble smile. “Yeah, that’s what happened. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m so clumsy. Sorry.”

         Selina made a noise that was between a snort and a sigh of exasperation before lifting her foot. She marched to her side of the apartment, which like Ada’s was protected with a curtain. She sank on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and began to peel out of her stockings.

         “I dunno know what you do all day around here,” she complained. “I work hard all the time to try to put food on the table, and ya can’t even do the bare minimum. You’re getting more useless as you get older. Jaysus!”

         Ada tuned out the usual tirade and stumbled to her feet. She placed the items back into place and carefully made her way into the kitchen to prepare supper.

         “Ya wanna know what I think?” Selina’s voice bounced toward her. “I think you just pretend sometimes. I think you know just what the hell you’re doing, Missy.”

         Ada’s heart clenched at the accusation. “That’s not fair,” she muttered. “Why would I lie to you about that? After all these years…ouch!”

         She winced and rubbed her forearm where the hiss of heat accompanied the painful sensation of the curling iron on her skin. She shrank away from Selina’s cigarette-clogged breath, knowing the woman was staring right at her as if hoping to see something within those widened blue eyes.

         “Huh.” Selina spat in disgust. “Christ! The shit I have to deal with around here.”

         Later that night, in the blissful silence broken only by Selina’s snores, Ada lay motionless beneath the thin duvet and stared at the ceiling with its brown water-stain spots.

         They began to move, at first in seemingly random motion, until headlights from a passing car created an ethereal and luminous glow on the ceiling. The stain spots gathered, in haste, as if to capture the moment; only to blossom into the shape of a rose that took her breath away.

         She lifted her arms; ignoring the latest darkening mark on her right forearm to match the one on her forehead. She was desperate to capture the rose, but as the car passed on, the light dimmed and the spots returned to their ugly patterns.

         “Not fair, Scarlet,” she whispered. “Just for a little while. I want to see more things. I don’t want to go back to the dark.”

         “You know I can’t stay out for too long. It’s why she thinks you’re pretending.”

         Ada turned her head.

         Now sitting at her vanity dressing table was a young woman about her age, dressed in a blue nightgown that glimmered in the subdued darkness. She was brushing her thick brown hair, which looked healthy and so very pretty. Her blue eyes were filled with warmth and understanding as they met Ada’s filled with tears, and with a sigh, she put down the brush and motioned for the other girl to make some room.

         Ada did as she was told and together, they stared at the ceiling; hands clasped upon their chests.

         “I am the you from before, remember?” Scarlet explained gently.

         “I don’t want to remember,” Ada hissed and squeezed her eyes shut.

         “And that’s why you became that way,” Scarlet continued relentlessly. “You had to find a way to stop the hurt, so you chose to remain in the dark. You no longer wanted to see…”

         How it was all her fault.

         Selina had brought him home. One of her best clients, she claimed. He was drunk. Selina had run out to get more beer. He was drunk. Ada had done her best to remain quiet – as Selina warned whenever she brought home her ‘guests’, but he was drunk. He had stumbled around the tiny apartment, bumping into things, until the curtain was thrown aside.

         Oh, lookie what we have here.

         He was drunk. She had tried to run away, but he was strong. Too strong. And his breath stunk like beer and cigarettes and she tried to shout, but his hand covered her mouth and nose and she couldn’t breathe, and his other hand was ripping at her dress and clawing at her legs and between her legs and her eyes got wider and wider while he slurred drunk nothings into her ear.

         The pain was agonizing. She might have passed out. She was only twelve.

         She would awaken to blood on her sheets, shattered bottles and broken furniture, and a slumped Selina over the Formica tabletop with dried tear streaks on her bruised face. She had dared to tiptoe over, legs trembling, belly and groin aching, clutching onto the tattered remains of her nightgown.

         Please help me, she had begged without opening her lips; a bloodied hand reaching out to shake Selina awake. Please…help…me.

         Help had come in the form of a shriek of horror from the bleached blonde with pure rage in her green eyes.

         Don’t touch me, you slut! You dirty stinkin’ slut! Look what you made us do!

         Ada must have passed out again for when she came to, she was in the neighbor’s apartment – cleaned up and bandaged. They never dared call the police. Things would only get messy and so much worse.

         Two weeks later, it happened again. Selina was sure she had been in love with that one, but he had other ideas. At least, that one had been smarter with the way he went about things. He moved in with them and –

         You better not say a damn word to ya Ma, or I’ll make it tough for ya. You didn’t see nuthin’, understand?

         She understood.

         And understood.

         And understood several times over.

         She couldn’t tell you exactly how it happened, only that she had been staring at the ceiling – with those ugly water stain spots; his breath hot and heavy as he continued to grind above her weary body. She marveled at how the spots seemed to move closer together while wondering why there was a strange black cloud forming around them. This cloud was consuming the ceiling; eating away at the streaks of light struggling to break through, and when there was only a speck of it left –

         This feels nice.

         Ada curled into its cold warmth and remained there.

         “Whaddaya mean you can’t see?” Selina had shrieked the next day. “How da hell does anyone get blind overnight? You ever seen anything like this, Johnny baby?”

         “Nah, she’s a weird one, your daughter.”

         Yes, I am weird, and I am slow, and I am stupid, but it’s better here. In here, I can’t see your ugly faces. In here, I can imagine a world where only your voices sound like echoes that I can choose to ignore if I feel like it. In here…

         It was lonely sometimes.

         Hence, the creation of Scarlet named after her favorite female character from one of the few movies she’d ever seen.

         Scarlet could hold her hands and comfort her when she needed it the most. Scarlet was strong and smart and quick on her feet. Scarlet could say all the things Ada couldn’t. Scarlet could fight back and call Selina ‘Mom’ – something she hated to hear because it was a reminder of a mistake made with a man, she once loved with all her heart. Scarlet could rebel and sneak into Mrs. Robinson’s apartment where she would learn how to read and write without Selina’s knowledge. Scarlet could fix a bit of rat poison in Johnny Baby’s coffee and watch him turn ashen and spasm on the floor while Selina screamed in terror until his shakes stopped and he foamed at the mouth and all was still –

         “You know what you have to do if you want to get out of the dark,” Scarlet whispered as the first rays of sunrise cast a numinous glow over their prone figures. She stared at the ugly purple bruise on her forearm, the fading rosy indention on her right hand, the tender swelling on her forehead and sighed in patient exasperation.

         “You know what you must do,” she repeated with more fervor.

         “I’m afraid,” Ada sobbed even as she allowed herself to be helped to her feet.

         “I know you are,” Scarlet cajoled. “But this has to be done, my dearest. You’re a woman now, and I’m sure everyone will understand.”

         The blade glimmered in the muted darkness of the kitchen. Ada’s outstretched hands received it from Scarlet, as a knight would his sword, and then grasped its handle. She paced – ever so sure – toward the drawn puke-green curtain and opened it slowly.

         There she lay, sprawled like a bloated starfish with drool spewing out of her opened mouth. The leopard print lingerie barely covered her heaving breasts and her generous thighs seemed to jingle with every breath she took. Ada felt her resolve begin to waver; for despite it all, this was still her moth-

         “No,” Scarlet hissed into her ear, her cold fingers guiding Ada closer still. “She stopped being that a long time ago. Remember that.”

         Ada was surprised at how easy it was; almost akin to slicing into the plump section of a chicken. Perhaps a part of her would have liked to see Selina begging for her life or crying out in suffering, but goodness knows after years of listening to that horrifying sound, the silent gurgle of her blood spewing was more than enough.

         The knife would, eventually, slip from her drenched fingers to the floor.

         Scarlet was gone.

         She walked to the window seat, where a rare breeze caused the fading lace curtain to brush against her heated cheeks, and she sighed. She closed her eyes and listened to the city’s cacophony of early morning traffic, eager children racing for their school buses, gossiping wives sharing tales out of windows or porches, and the cool hip kids blasting the latest hits from their portable radios.

         “Wanna get rid of tough stains?” her radio blasted happily. “Then get them out with Wiz! The super detergent is guaranteed to leave you feeling fresh and clean all day long!”

         She smiled as she lifted her lashes, and as she blinked slowly to adjust to the powerful rays of sunlight, Ada knew she was going to have a very wonderful day ahead.





--------------------

Word Count: 2536
Written for: "Tales Shown, Not Told Contest" 
Prompts ▼

Genre Prompt: Horror/Supernatural. There's something scary or spooky going on.
Words Prompt: Write a story using the words ethereal, numinous, and glimmer.
Character prompt: The protagonist has at least some symptoms of either a dissociative or delusional disorder.