RISING

-Part one of the story-

Oh, how the house burned. Tohether with us.

My name is Irina and today I am turning nine years old. A day like any other. Nobody cares but to me it’s an important date. Another year of suffering and pain. Will I ever break free from this?

My mother died while bringing me into this world. My father has been drinking heavily ever since, in an inability to accept her death. He found a new woman very quickly, probably picking the first available one he stumbled upon and since then my suffering begins. That woman whom I should call stepmother is an evil woman. She used his weakness and passivity to establish absolute dominance in our home. Loading him with liters of alcohol every day so he would be subservient and practically useless to her(he had money, that must have been the reason for their “love”), and abusing me both mentally and physically(she couldn’t have children so why not harass someone else’s).

I feel sorry for everything that happened. Primarily because of my father. I don’t consider him a bad man even though by his deadness he contributed to my torments. It can be said that he essentially died on the very same day as my mother. From then on he was just a shell, physical. Mentally he was no longer really present. That is a small consolation to me, such as it is.

I got my first severe beating at only three years old, when I found a picture of my mother in the basement that my father had saved. My stepmother found me gazingly looking at the picture. Did the pain from the beating I got further strengthen my memory of that picture? A beautiful, cheerful woman, with long golden hair, green eyes and a gorgeous smile. She was happy in that picture. By the date when it was taken it was most likely the day she found out she was pregnant. Would she be laughing and be so happy if she knew she would die bringing me into this somber world? My stepmother tore up the picture and burned it in the fireplace. The memory of every detail of the picture remained stored in my memories forever. In these nine years countlessly many times I wished to join my mother but some defiance forced me to continue living. To see what will happen and where it all leads.

Most of the time I spent in my room which was actually a dark basement in which the only light source was a small gridded window that was level with the garden in front of our house. In the morning the chirping of birds would wake me up, bringing waves of tears to my face. The birds sounded so happy and free while I languished in all my misery. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t grateful. I mean to the birds. That chirping of theirs was one of the reasons why I got up from my uncomfortable bed which actually consisted of blankets that were supposed to reprsent a mattress and a few dirty t-shirts that served as a pillow.

There is one thing for which I can be grateful to my stepmother. She was considerate enough to allow me to get one new book to read every month. That started somewhere from my sixth year. She didn’t condescend to teach me how to write and read. I was self-taught. Now I realize how much of an achievement that actually was for me. Of course, as clumsily as I could learn by myself. Only later did I learn to write correctly and understand every word I read. The irony is that the very fact that my stepmother gave me books to read led to her bitter end. But slowly. I will get to that. The events that turned fate in my favor started on the day of my ninth birthday. That’s why I started writing beginning from that day. And that’s why I am now returning to that day.

*****

I was woken up by silence. The absence of any sound from the outside. The pain in my back only heightened the impossibility of continuing to sleep. I am massaging my stiff neck. I need to go to the toilet and I am locked in here for at least another two hours. My stepmother told me that today I will be helping her around the garden. An opportunity to see a little bit of the outside world, after more than two months. To really, take a deep breath of fresh air with full lungs. It seems I will have to pee into a container, there’s no way I can hold it for another two hours. I was hoping that the old wooden desk clock had stopped working. That it is actually ten o’clock in the morning, and not eight as it shows now. But ou well, the hands are moving, everything is fine with it. Happy ninth birthday to me.

While I was finishing my minor physiological need my attention was drawn by a commotion that was heard in the garden, right at the gridded window in the corner of the basement. Tiny voices whispering something to each other. I heard one voice say: “Yes, I think it’s time, throw the letter in.”

Through the opening of the grid a small hand inserted something that looked like an envelope, which landed with a thud on the dirty basement floor. I quickly closed the lid of the container that served me as a toilet bowl, tied the drawstring on my cloth tracksuit and ran to see what kind of envelope had arrived for me. And from whom, that was just as important. Nobody had ever written to me, nor delivered anything to me in a similar way.

On the envelope it said only “for Irina”, without the sender’s name. Impatiently and somewhat clumsily I opened the envelope almost tearing the letter that was inside. In beautiful, red, cursive letters it was written:

“Dear Irina, we know about your pain and suffering. We have been watching you for a long time. Your struggle does not go unnoticed. We are with you. So many times you thought – If only this would somehow, sometime end. Whatever the price may be. Those are your words. Thoughts actually, but you get the point. How do we know what you think? Do we read your mind? Yes, although not in the way you would think. Ha, strange play on words – we read your mind but not in the way you would think. Anyway, let’s get to the point. There is an way out. An end to your stay in that dark basement. We will come for you and rescue you, no problem at all. The only thing you need to do is agree.

What will happen if you don’t agree? We really don’t know. This is a one-time offer. There are many candidates and you are our priority. You are young and practically a blank piece of paper, without any experience. That kind of energy is what we need for what we intend to achieve with you. Do not be afraid, we have no bad intentions with you. Absolutely the opposite. Of course we won’t reveal anything to you now, you must agree first.

What will happen if you agree? We come for you within a few days. We pick you up and go. With one little catch. We are not responsible for your parents. If they are nice everything will go smoothly. If they are not nice, well, we won’t be either.

Think about it, but not for too long. Your stepmother will soon enter your hovel and force you to work with her in the garden. Under no circumstances, absolutely NO WAY must she see this letter. Not only will you get a nasty beating, but the whole deal falls through, we pull back and that means you stay there maybe until the end of your life.

If you agree, chop this paper into as small pieces as possible and eat it. Yes, it sounds strange, but that’s the way. If you don’t agree just pass it back through the bars.

With much respect and love,

TDK”

I read the letter five times, so that I would be sure I caught all the letters, understood every word. I wasn’t the most literate, one could say. I measured myself by my feeling. Deep down I wanted to leave and I felt no negative feeling, nor fear reading the letter. I will feel sorry for my father, a little. For my stepmother not at all. She is the reason why I want to leave. Why it is the most normal thing I can do to leave. At any cost. Let her die, as far as I’m concerned.

A thud and yelling were heard. Stepmother woke up and proceeded to treat my father to juicy insults, like every morning. She was probably angry also because of the fact that she had to look at me this morning. It was sickening to her ego that she needed my help.

I didn’t have much time. I tore the paper into pieces as small as possible. I looked at my palm, which was full of tiny pieces of paper, closed my eyes and swallowed everything.

Just before the basement door flew open with a bang.

-End of Part 1–