Abigail
Abigail
Gloria Kitchens
New Degree Press
Copyright © 2019 Gloria Kitchens
All rights reserved.
Abigail
ISBN978-1-64137-274-9 Paperback
978-1-64137-275-6 Ebook
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Author’s Note
I started writing this book one afternoon in my Postwar Japanese Literature class. Attempting not to fall asleep, I opened my notebook and started writing. Not really in any particular direction. But I knew that there was some story inside me that was just waiting to come out.
I had no idea what my writing would turn into, but as I continued, I realized that many of my ideas already showed themes that I wanted to see in young adult fiction. I wanted to see more characters that not only looked like me but also felt like I did sometimes. My story really came from my own interests. I’m very inspired by Isaac Asimov’s writings and it’s just incredible to me how he can pack such massive and believable worlds into such short stories. I mainly like the way he accounts for tiny details such as changes in social dynamics due to external factors. I can appreciate how much thinking went into the world he created and the people that inhabited that world.
After several weeks of writing with no clear aim, I finally figured out the kind of story I wanted to write and the type of characters I wanted to create. I thought about the kind of characters and plots that I liked the most. And those were mainly Disney princess plots (and most people would agree that those are the best). A couple of my favorites are The Princess and the Frog and Moana. So, what I did was find a list of some of the most common traits of all Disney princess movies. This included a character to be saved, a hero, a sacrifice, a destiny assistant, and some sort of conflict. When I finally had this outlined, it was easy for me to see what kind of roles I wanted my characters to take.
After that, I was inspired by the idea of heists when deciding what the main conflict/struggle would be. I really enjoyed the idea of the characters having to be highly skilled at one thing and being quick on their feet when things don’t go exactly according to plan. But I really liked the idea of giving my main character, Abigail, something that she has to figure out that she’s good at and then eventually use that to her advantage. The main messages I want to get across through my story are that sometimes you just have to trust the people around you, which is something Abigail struggles with throughout the story. I also wanted to express that “being good” isn’t as black and white as it seems. Sometimes you have to make do with good enough.
Chapter 1
Dripping all over the floor, from the girl’s mouth to the floor, a sea of blackness fell out of her convulsing body. The blackness seemed to lie there, eyeing her while she sat right above it staring at herself. But she didn’t only see herself. There was also a man. His lips twirled up on one side, creating a serene smile that deepened his laugh lines. As her eyes traveled to his other side, the difference was almost ghastly. The corner of his mouth was turned down into a frown much farther than it ever should’ve gone.
She reached for her sides and realized she was wearing a skintight dress. One that hugged her just right. And that accentuated all her curves. She let herself get lost in the man’s eyes. The entirety of them gradients from black to white and back again made them look so utterly flat without the depth of color she’d expect to see on a person’s face. And then right behind the man, she saw a little girl, inching her head over his shoulder to see.
Immediately, the girl felt her body freeze up with recognition. A wave of familiar guilt washed over her, trapping her. It seemed to be more than mental because as she went to move her arm, she realized that she couldn’t. She was frozen in a crawling position, looking over a pool of black with nowhere else to look besides at her own sins.
Suddenly, the man lunged at her. His arm extended out of the water, coming straight for her unguarded neck.
“Why’d you kill her?” the man spat out, leaving black droplets running down the girl’s cheeks.
It didn’t seem like he wanted an answer to his question. He started tightening his grip around her throat. All the girl could let out were short ragged breaths that eventually trickled to nothing when he closed her throat so tight that she couldn’t take in anymore air or at least get rid of the air that was suffocating her. And the man finally released, still keeping his hand on her neck, wanting to show that he could at any moment start this torture again. Suddenly, he pulled her forward and plunged her down into the sea of black with him and the small girl.
The girl woke up feeling tiny legs on her. Ants trailed over her thin, frail body, waking her up from yet another nightmare-filled sleep. Her body was too weak to ever wake up from them. It felt like she always needed to see these nightmares through to their end. Her mind seemingly good at conjuring up only the most grotesque and regretful memories but not able to grant her anything lighthearted, not even for one night.
Her fanciful mind would make it impossible for her to sleep peacefully. Each night was more restless than the one before. And the one last night was the worst of them all. It was the type of sleep that only came with tossing and turning and left her legs covered in scrapes and bruises from the cold, hard floor that made her already dark legs even darker in an unevenness to which she had grown accustomed.
The ants traveled along her without a care in the world. Some found paths on her right leg with others continuing up to her shoulder, not daring to crawl up to her face just yet. It was as if the ants knew of what was soon to come. They were just waiting for her to keel over and tear her apart bit by bit bringing every piece of her, back to their fat, writhing babies. Even the smallest of creatures found some way to survive down here. For them, it was as simple as finding the next meal. For the girl, it was behaving well enough to get the next meal.
The girl wobbled to get up, shaking the dust and grime off her hands. Not that it would make her hands any cleaner. This was just one of the many futile actions that she couldn’t stop every time she woke up. She would get up and adjust her sheet on the cold floor as if she was making her bed. Then she’d end by fluffing her raggedy pillow, leaving it at the top of her sheet.
Slowly, the girl walked over to the wall taking the place right under the clouded window. She could hear the steady drops of rain hitting against the window and end with a plop when the water fell into the puddle the girl assumed was growing right below the window on the opposite side. The girl let herself get lost in the sound of the rain, suddenly realizing how thirsty she’d become. But Mother hadn’t brought her anything yet. The girl figured it must not have been eating time. It was hard to tell what time it was down here, especially when it rained. The sky darkened just enough to where it sometimes fooled her into thinking it was night.
Just as the thought of Mother left her mind, a door opened in the distance. It sat along the path that led straight to the girl. The steps grew closer with each passing second and she’d decided that she’d rather be caught asleep than
awake.
The girl had learned to be wary of those steps years ago. Their tempo holding varying fates. The careful, measured steps concealing their anger until she came face to face with them. And then there were the quicker, careless steps that weren’t exactly excited but more so in a hurry. They were a godsend bringing food or water with them. They wanted to get lost without too much interaction. But the steps, making their way toward her, were somewhere in between the two. Not walking too quickly but also very determined. They kind of meant a mix of both too. We must have company, the girl concluded.
The girl made it back to the spot where her pillow lay, attempting to fake that she was asleep, but she was too late.
“I could already hear yeh shufflin’ abou’, sweetie.” Mother was taunting the girl. The girl almost thought it was quite funny. As if that hag could ever raise anything sweet or innocent. Mother leered at the girl through the bars of her door frame. “Get your arse up. You’ve got a client to make yourself pretty for.” When the girl didn’t make a move toward the door, Mother unlocked it ushering her forward, “Come on then. It’s your big day.”
The girl got up, again wiping the dust off her hands, and followed Mother’s orders. She’d learned a long time ago that it was safer to just do what she was told, though sometimes she did forget those teachings. Just a few weeks ago, the girl tried to snag an extra piece of bread out of the kitchen cupboard, before having to come back to her cell. She was so hungry. And just as Mother was about to open the cell door, she ordered the girl to raise her arms up. When she did the sad piece of bread fell from between her arm and her side and rolled onto the floor. Mother didn’t even hit the girl; she just didn’t feed her for another couple of days.
Leaving the room, the girl felt almost sad to leave the ants without any food to lust over. But she couldn’t deny that company was pretty exciting, especially since she’d be away from Mother for a few hours. Looking back toward the ants crawling over her sheet, she wanted to say, Don’t worry, I’ll be back real soon. Then you guys can feast. Leaving the ants with just a little more hope that they’d continue surviving. Falling in line behind Mother, the girl began walking.
It was such an odd feeling. Walking. Walking farther than her room would ever allow. The girl hadn’t walked this far in weeks. And she was already feeling a little freer outside of her cage.
They made it to the end of the hallway, to the stairs that led up to the main level. Mother was first to begin the climb. Each step giving a very distinct creak as she ascended. The steps didn’t seem that special to Mother. She trampled them, not really caring if they gave way under her. Mother was already halfway up, and the girl didn’t want to fall too far behind.
The girl began her ascent. The stairs barely made a sound compared to the last time she made this trek. She’d lost more weight. It was something so obvious that she didn’t need the stairs to tell her that. She felt her bones protruding more and more in her dingy, white gown. It didn’t surprise her anymore. Another sign of her continuous weight loss was quickly making itself more apparent. Not even halfway up the stairs, the girl’s legs were struggling attempting to make the climb that Mother seemed to make so easily, even at her size. But the thought of leaving the basement was even stronger than the aches and pains she felt as she continued up.
After some time, she finally made it up to the wooden opening where Mother waited, seemingly unhappy with the girl’s untimeliness. Before Mother could even utter a threat, a tall figure came into view behind her.
“Ah, so this is who I’ve been waiting to meet.” The man seemed to surprise even Mother. She definitely didn’t want anyone seeing the girl in such poor shape. Before Mother could push him away toward the dining room, the man reached his hand out to the girl. His dark trench coat was damp and the pungent smell of it pierced the girl’s nose. It took all her strength not to cringe at the sudden assault her nose had experienced. The girl reached her hand out to meet his with no sign of hesitation, wanting to seem as put together as possible even if the first sight he got of her was in torn up rags that looked like they’d hugged the floor on more than one occasion.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Abigail.” The girl was taken a little by surprise. Sometimes she forgot that she had a name besides girl. Mother had made it a rule to never use names in the house. It seemed that Mother had undergone the same shock, wincing a bit at the sound of a name she refused to acknowledge.
Abby could feel the man’s eyes looking past her, as if he was trying to peer into the dark abyss of the basement. Trying to get a glimpse of the girl’s own hell. Then, he started looking at her. His eyes slithered up and down her small figure. She couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or aroused by her condition. His face surely didn’t let any emotion slip out. But his eyes never left her after they released each other’s hands.
Mother quickly interrupted his gaze. “Why don’t yeh wait in here while she gets freshened up.” Mother closed the basement door locking it behind her, wanting to avoid any questions about what Abby was doing in the basement in the first place. Almost reluctantly, the man followed Mother to the living room, having one last glance at the girl.
Abigail walked upstairs, falling into the familiar routine of guests in the house. This time, the steps came a bit more easily as she was getting a little more excited about finally getting clean. The carpeted floorboards comforted her bare feet, a sharp contrast from the frigid, unforgiving basement floor. She missed life upstairs. But she knew that it was only a fleeting pleasure, because as soon as that man brought her back here, she’d be begging to return to the safety of the hungry ants.
The hall at the top of the stairs was dimly lit. The dull light made the burgundy carpet look almost blood red. The girl had imagined her blood matching the floor, flowing from her body and sinking into it. It’d really be hard to tell if anyone died up here, she thought. The girl smiled to herself and continued down the hallway. She was looking for door one...two...three. THREE! That’s the one! She wanted to skip to her “other” room, but wisely decided against it given that she could barely walk.
Without missing a beat, she strode, as well as she could, across her room grabbing her little black dress and her black see-through tights from the closet. Then she made her way to the dresser and opened the top drawer taking out a pair of panties and a bra. 36C. The girl doubted she’d still be able to fill it out like she used to.
Taking all the clothes she’d gathered, she left her room and walked across the hall to the bathroom. The cracked tile floor chilled her feet, sending a shiver up her spine. She quickly drew a bath, putting her hand under the faucet, checking the water so it was just hot enough to wash away the weeks of dirt on her body.
The girl started undressing, first taking off her panties. Stale brown spots littered the crotch area and gave off a nauseating smell. The girl then took off her gown, all while looking at herself in the mirror. She took a good long look at her reflection and could barely recognize herself. Her cheeks had sunken in further, her collar bones jutted out, her breasts sagged. Her hands trailed over her midsection, feeling every rib poke out of her thin skin, and then fingered through the messy bush that covered her nether regions.
It was time for her to become a “proper lady,” as Mother would’ve put it, adorning a mockingly sweet English accent strikingly different from Mother’s gruff one. Reaching under the sink, the girl grabbed a razor and a bar of soap setting them near the bath. The girl dunked her head in the warm water, letting her braids soak up every soapy drop. She then wet the razor and began removing hair from every crevice of her body. All that was left were coarse hairs floating around in the murky water.
Draining the tub, the girl left remnants of her presence with a dark brown ring around the tub. It felt so good to finally be free of the grime that she lived in. The girl let her hair dry while she unraveled the braids on her head. She’d never really learned how to style her
nappy curls. One time, she did see a model on a magazine cover. She was so gorgeous, and her puffy hair filled half the page. The girl had tried to emulate this style every time that she went out. And each time she got a little closer to her desired look.
Her hair certainly wasn’t as long and thick as the model’s, but it reached down below her collarbone when she washed it and it went out even more when she braided and brushed out her hair. Mother had never tried to teach her how to style it, granted Mother’s hair was much different. It was short, stringy, and only tangled on her worst days. Abby’s hair got tangled constantly. She could never figure out why Mother hadn’t considered this when deciding to keep her.
The girl let her puffed out curls rest on her bare shoulders. As soon as she strapped on her bra, the girl noticed two huge gaps between her breasts and the cups. She stuffed the void with wads of toilet paper, much like any pre-teen girl would, craving to be a little more well-endowed.
A hard knock came at the door. The girl replied, startled at the sudden noise, “Y-Yeah?”
“Hurry it up in there will yeh. Don’t wanna keep the man waitin’ any longer than he has to.” Mother continued in a whisper from the other side of the door. “If yer real good with this one, I’ll make sure to save yeh an extra helpin’ of meat an’ spuds when yeh get back.” The girl’s stomach rumbled at the thought of the creamy mashed potatoes that could potentially fill her stomach.
“I’m almost ready. I’ll be down in a second, ma’am.” As Mother walked away from the door, the girl quickly threw her dress on and struggled to pull her pantyhose on, accidentally ripping a gaping hole through the middle. “Fuck…”
Throwing them to the side, the girl put on her heels, the skinny heel raising her up a couple of inches. Just enough to make her look longer while also not towering over anyone else. It was the one thing she’d tried to help if she could. It already felt way too long between when Mother came upstairs and when the girl destroyed her clothing. Before leaving the bathroom, the girl took another good long look at herself, taking in the little bit of beauty she had preserved.
Abigail Page 1
