Amabelle lived a more strange and disturbing life than she- or anyone who heard her tale- could fathom. Orphaned at three, adopted again at ten, you would’ve thought the sob story ended there. No, Amabelle’s life was much worse than this black-and-white tale.
Amabelle’s adoptive parents were stern, self-centered, and cruel. They were the type of folk who shouldn’t have kids. Amabelle knew from a young age that they weren’t what parents were supposed to be. They weren’t kind or accepting. They didn’t aim to turn her into a productive member of society.
As Amabelle grew from a child to a young woman she, as expected of any young adult, began maturing. She started reading more violent books about war and betrayal. These concepts interested her as a sheltered young lady. She would read most anything, as long as it wasn’t praising the cult-ish church she was trapped in.
One day, her father found these books. In his rage at her un-ladylike acts, he hit her. Amabelle cried out to her mother, hoping for some consolation but got a cold, tight-lipped frown.
So Amabelle hid her books. She snuck out to the library after dusk to bury her nose in another adventure novel or western story. The librarians knew her by name, and would have selections picked out of the new arrivals. They’d hand her a new romance book with a warm smile, watching as her face lit up.
It seems obvious that her parents would find out about her habit.
Her father had gripped the novel he had found hidden under her bed so hard, Amabelle was fearful he would crack the spine. His face turned a mottled red, and his eyes showed nothing but evil.
Her mother grabbed her by the arm, sitting her in front of the TV. “If this is what you want,” she hissed. “Then you’ll get it. Now, we’re going to have some family time, and you’re going to pay attention.”
The screen flickered to life as her mother grabbed something bright green and shiny from the counter. Amabelle’s head whipped forward at the sound of- screams?
The TV was flashing with gorey images of red and flesh. The actors- victims? were being cut up in all sorts of gruesome ways. She felt her eyes water at the disgusting imagery before her. She turned her eyes away, and felt a sprinkle of water hit the side of her face. She flinched so hard she nearly got whiplash.
Her mother sat, staring at her with a sickening grin. Amabelle’s eyes trailed down her arm to the spray bottle clenched in her grip- the same one used on the dog.
“Be good, girl. Or I’ll punish you,” she mocked.
Amabelle sat on her hands to keep them from trembling, tentatively looking forward towards the wet gore on screen. She tried so hard to think about something else. Did she have homework? What sports teams were going to play?
She cringed as a more forceful gust of water hit her face. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, immediately focusing back to the screen. She didn’t want to get hit- or sprayed- again.
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