The Station Girl

Chapter 1

I don't remember much from the first few years of my life. To be honest, I don't think many people do. One of the earliest memories I could remember, if I thought really hard, consisted of the sound of kids screaming and people yelling at them to be quiet. A much easier sound to remember from those days was the distance rumble and shrill cry of what I would one day learn to be trains.

The sound of the trains soothed me, and the people who cared for me understood it. Sometimes, the far away sounds would be extraordinarily close to me. I can only surmise that a warmhearted person would occasionally have mercy on me, and carry me to the train station. It's strange how such loud noises could lure a young baby to sleep.

The first thing I remember that I can actually visualize is a memory I don't like to recall. It must have greatly impacted such a young me, I think I may have been around three, for me to remember it well over a decade after it had happened.

It starts at such an inconspicuous place. I sat in a small, metal tub of lukewarm water. The kind that a young child would much rather be out of than in regardless of how dirty they were. Still, it was something all us kids would be forced to do once a week. If one of us was particularly filthy, they would harshly clean them and then escort them off to the bad room. Those were the only times that the water would be changed between children.

That day, I was the child who was incredibly dirty.

My skin was raw and red. Especially my back. I couldn't see it, but I felt the pain that radiated throughout my body. And when they had given me one last, quick rinsing, I caught a glimpse of the red tint in the water.

It was the angriest they had ever been toward me. I recall glimpses of when they aimed their god like anger at other children, but never me. Not until that moment.

They didn't bother to dry me off. All they did was throw a small, brown dress, that was much too big, on me and escorted me away from the kids that waited for their turn in the bath. My little feet could barely keep up with their long strides, and I often fell down. Each time I did, they jerked me back to my feet, and yelled at me to be quiet when I yelped out in pain.

I knew where they were taking me. I had never been in there, but I knew. My little heels dug into the wooden floors beneath me, but it did nothing in terms of slowing me down. I cried out to them to stop. I would be a good girl! It won't happen again! Please, don't take me to the bad room! I pleaded, and pleaded in a way that only children knew how to.

It only made them angrier. They led me down the stairs, the tugs on my arm growing rougher the longer I protested. And I did my best to protest. I pleaded at them. I dug my heels in. I even tried to claw at their large, formidable hand that engulfed my tiny one. Everything I did, they ignored. Each time I acted out, they had to restrain a bit more anger.

Maybe that's why I was the one to stay in the bad room longer than anyone else.

They threw me in there, and I landed on the floor with a thud. I could hear the laughter from behind the door as they closed it. I think I even heard one of them say that I deserved it. The beam of light grew narrower and narrower. I reached out to it in desperation. I cried out for them to not leave me here in the bad room.

And then the light was gone.

The room was almost entirely dark. I couldn't even make out any objects in the room. There was but one single thing that I could see. A small rectangle, high above my head. Had I not been in such inky blackness, I don't think I would have ever noticed it.

It was a window. Little light came in through it, but it was enough that it could be seen amongst the darkness. I don't know how long I had cried out before I saw it. Long enough that when I did notice it, it was with great relief. Had it not been for the slight brightening and darkening of that window as the day passed, the passage of time would have been invisible in that room.

I fumbled my way to a wall with wet cheeks. When I reached one, I sat against it, knees hugged to my chest. I shivered. I sniffled. I clutched at my knees, waiting for something to happen. All the while though, I kept my eyes glued to that one window across from me.

Many things were hidden in that darkness that I could not see.

Scurrying. Squeaking. Rummaging. Sounds that frightened me as I drifted off to sleep. Sounds that scared a cry out of me when they came to close. Sounds that belonged to creatures who boldly came up to me in the dark. But there was another, constant sound: the sound of buzzing.

The incessant, constant sound of buzzing. It filled the room. It came from every corner, from above and below me. Above all else though, the smell of decay. I couldn't escape it - it filled my nose, and slipped through my mouth. I gagged on it, eventually fated to add the smell of my own vomit to it.

There was a slot in the door, a thing I distinctly remember for having been caught off guard by it the first time it creaked open. I'd instinctively cried out and scurried away blinded from the light and noise that its opening had brought with it. Still, I'd looked behind me in time to see a small tray with a glass and some bread on it before it was swallowed by the gloom.

I cried out thank you to the departing steps. Or at least, I think I did. By that point, the window had gone through a single darkening and lightening cycle, and my emotions had been numbed. All were gone except the ones that relied on instinct, and it was instinct that had me jumping at the tray for a drink and food.

Five more cycles went by like this. The tray stayed in the room with me until the next day, where they would silently demand it's return if I wanted that cycle's food. It didn't take long for me to learn to comply. Whenever I wasn't eating or drinking, I sat curled up against the wall to watch the window.

I was let out half way through the seventh cycle. I came out despondent, eyes cast down to the floor and saying nothing. For this, they patted my head and told me I was a good girl. They asked if I would ever be bad again. I slowly shook my head no.

I was changed. My days in the bad room had taught me two things:

Never risk yourself for another, and never let people know how you truly thought.

****

A/N: So, if you've made it this far, I'm going to go out on a limb and say something caught your attention. Yes, yes, I know this is only the first Chapter/2nd part, but you can never start too early, right? :D

Any who, regardless of if you think you'll keep reading this or not, I wanna know: what was it that caught your attention? The cover? The summary/blurb? The prologue? Leave a comment letting me know about it and anything else you're thinking!