Fairytales Aren't Perfect

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

             Melody was floundering.  She was unsure of the little girl’s sanity, but also of her own. Was it possible that magic was the cause of her uncertain feelings the past few days? Was it the explanation for the giant ogre and the boy, too good looking, to be real?

It was simple. Yes, yes it was. For Melody, magic seemed to be the perfect explanation -- a real fairytale.

Melody sighed and thought about her last few days, if this was what a real fairytale was like than she wasn’t so sure she liked them all that much. During the past week, one single damn week, she had been stomped on, prodded, and stabbed with a dose of magic.

The little girl beside her was chattering happily to the small dachshund, Crumbs. The small dog had settled in the small gap between Melody and the little girl. The curls on the little girl’s head spiralled down her back in a fashion that Melody recognized from her childhood.

There was absolutely no doubt in her mind who the little girl was. From her large blue eyes and curly blonde hair, complete with the small dainty nose that drove Melody insane to this day, it was as if she was looking through a mirror of the past.

Melody was sitting with Melody. Albeit she was a smaller and much cuter version of herself, this didn’t seem weird, it was peaceful.

“So Melody,” Melody began, watching the girl quietly, “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m hiding.” She answered simply, patting Crumbs.

“What are you hiding from?”

The little girl stopped petting the dog and looked straight at Melody, small tears welling in her eyes, “From Mommy.”

Melody felt her heart break, and then she knew for sure this was her younger counterpart. How could it not be? Melody herself remembered the feeling of utter loneliness and not even her mother could comfort her.

Refusing to look at the small girl, Melody stared at her hands trying to talk past the break in her voice, “Why are you hiding from her?”

The little girl was silent for a moment before answering: “Because she doesn’t love me.”

Melody definitely couldn’t look at her now because she was lying, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, it’s true. She’s told me a couple of times and she forgot my birthday,” Melody winced internally at the sound of a frown in the small girl’s voice, “She didn’t start forgetting my birthday until last year. I didn’t like my sixth birthday. Daddy wasn’t there.”

Melody knew for a fact that the little girl wasn’t completely telling the truth. Her sixth birthday was when her mother had started hitting her. Melody closed her eyes and sucked in a thin breath at the memory. It was the year where everything had changed. One year after her father’s death, Melody had finally been told her father was dead and wasn’t coming back to save neither her nor her mother. She would live through her mother’s punishments until she could leave.

Melody suddenly remembered her eighth birthday, and the scar on her ankle to prove it. Her mother, drunk, had lashed out at her with a knife she had been carrying. Large sloppy tears welled in Melody’s eyes as she looked away from the girl, she hated crying over this. She could cry over anything else, but not this. 

A disturbed silence hung in the air of the small island before Melody felt a small warm hand touch hers. Despite herself, Melody felt herself gasp at the form of comfort. It felt odd coming from someone who actually seemed to care.