JINX in JEOPARDY [fred w.]

vii. no shadow is that scary !

NO SHADOW IS THAT SCARY !

. . .

The man placed his palms on either side of her porcelain face, thumbs stroking her soft cheeks, and she sensed his rough hands scraping her skin like sandpaper. There was nothing loving about her father's touch; it wasn't gentle, it wasn't caring. His grip on her face was firm, as if he was attempting to mould it more to his liking, like clay beneath his fingertips. As if he was God, and she was but an object, inanimate, merely waiting for him to blow life into her lungs and manipulate her choices for the remainder of her life.

It would be an understatement to say she was frightened of him and of what he could do.

She was a prey, and well aware of it too. She was the prey where he was the predator, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike, trapping his target, toying with it, parading it around like a trophy to be won. But he was too self-assured, too haughty, and it was his greatest weakness.

He took pride in a battle he had yet to fight.

If there was one thing she'd learned from her mother, it was to always be aware of your own weaknesses. Once you knew what they were, you could overcome them. This beast of a father had not heeded that advice as he should have, and there would come a day it would turn out to be his downfall.

His fingers were digging into her skin, leaving purple marks wherever they came in contact with her face. Her hands were hanging helplessly at her sides, the itch for them to resist having vanished a long time ago.

'You are a useless piece of dirt,' he spat at her. 'Scum just waiting to be crushed under one's shoe.'

His face contorted into a look of disgust, eyes blazing in fiery anger, forcing the poor girl a step back. His fingers moved from her face to her upper arm, snaking around it in an iron grip. He jerked her after him and briskly paced in the direction of the dreaded cellar. She squeezed her eyes shut, already knowing what was to come when she was welcomed by the familiar musty scent and dry air that made her throat feel sore and her lips chapped.

She would never forget the sneer on her father's face as he violently tossed her on the stone, spat at her demeaned figure and locked the door behind him. All that lingered was the metallic taste on her tongue and the echoing of muffled whimpers, heartbreaking sounds unfit for one so young.

. . .

Indirectly, one could say it was her own screaming that woke her up that morning. Technically, it was her screaming that woke up those sharing a dorm with her, and it was them that had disrupted her restless slumber by jerking at her shoulders.

She'd naively cherished a hope that maybe, now that she was staying in a safe atmosphere, her dreams would miraculously vanish. The nightmares, however, had a mind of their own and were not too keen on moving on to the torment of another living soul. Avery would not get the chance to say goodbye to them just yet.