Vermillion

Sofia stretched her little pink fingers out as far as she could. Each joint felt right in place.
Her skin felt comfortably tight. She sighed softly and she pulled her deep red blanket up to her
chin. She felt warm and good. She had nice toys neatly placed all around her room. Her walls
were a pale pink. The drapes over her double window were sheer white. Her ivory clock said it
was almost four in the afternoon. Three stuffed animals accompanied her on her bed. They were
an elephant, a monkey, and a toucan. They were good for her when she could not sleep.
Sofia and Mother lived in a townhouse all by themselves. There was a kitchen and a
small living room downstairs where Mother slept, then up the creaky, wooden steps was Sofias
room. Mother stayed downstairs most of the time, but sometimes she would go up to Sofias
room to tidy up because she loved Sofia very much. Sofia loathed this. Each time Mother
stepped on those creaky stairs, Sofia would jump under her blankets and her face would turn
white. Mother would come in and smile and say, I love you, beautiful and then she would
move Sofias toys all around. The toys were already in their perfect places, but Mother moved
them anyway. Sofia loathed this.
Mornings in the townhouse were not good. Mother would cook a big breakfast, with eggs
and toast and bacon and sometimes she would put out cereal and milk. She would yell out,
Sofia, its time to eat breakfast, beautiful and then continue to set the table or cook the eggs.
Sofias eyes would shoot open. Most mornings they would be bloodshot because she usually
only slept for an hour or two at night. When she would wake up and hear that it was breakfast
time, she would usually just lay there and blink her dry eyes. But she knew that she would have
to get up eventually, because Mother would keep calling.
As Sofia stumbled down the creaky stairs, Mother would turn around and smile and say,
Hello, beautiful, come eat. Sofia would sit in her pink chair and look at all of the good food
Mother had cooked. But that is all she would do. Mother would ask, Sofia, why are you not
eating, you havent touched a thing, and Sofia would begin to cry because she did not want to
pick up the fork or the spoon. She really could not. Each morning, Mother would get angry.
She loved Sofia so much. She only wanted her to eat her breakfast. But Sofia could not pick up
the spoon or the fork, so Mother would scream at her and say something like, You ungrateful
bitch, or This is why you will never have good friends, and she would send Sofia up to her
room for the day.
Mother loved Sofia so much. She thought that discipline was the best kind of love. So if
Sofia did not eat her breakfast, she was not allowed to leave her room for the day. She did not go
to school. She did not play outside. She did not watch TV in the living room. Sofia never ate her
breakfast.
Sofia was the happiest in the afternoon. She had all her toys, her three animals on her
bed, and she was allowed to spend time with herself. For the most part, Sofia looked out her
window through the sheer drapes. If it was sunny, or cloudy, or snowy, or whatever, she loved
the way it looked. She would remember times long ago, when she would play outside with her
friend Anna. She remembered how she would get so tired from playing all day, and how her
cheeks would hurt from smiling all the time. Those thoughts made her smile, even now. But
then she would feel sad because she could not remember how the hot sun or the cold wind felt
on her skin. It was then that she would tear herself away from the window, and think about her
toys.
After Mother had put her toys in all the wrong places, it would take Sofia hours to put
them back. It wasnt that she couldnt decide where to put them, it was just that she did not like
to touch her toys very much. She would have to gather all her strength just to move one doll to
another side of a shelf. It would go on like this for hours, all throughout the afternoon. But
Sofia did not mind. The afternoon was her favorite time of day. It always got better and better.
Nighttime was bad not only for Sofia, but for Mother, too. There was the problem of
sleep, because Sofia was never able to close her eyes at night. But worse than just not being able
to sleep, Sofia would scream at the top of her lungs. She would not just scream as most little
girls scream. Sofia would scream a scream of pain and agony. Tears would flood her face all
night. Her entire body would be boiling hot, then become cold with sweat. She would throw her
arms every which way when she was in her bed. She would kick her legs so hard that her hips
would hurt. She would throw her head back into her pillows, so that sometimes her neck would
pop in a way that would make her whole back numb. Sofia would scream so loud that you could
probably see it through her pitch black room. Mother loved her so much; she would not allow
Sofia to have to lights on past 9 oclock. She just wanted her to sleep. The darkness made
everything worse. Sofia could not see a thing, she couldnt hear a thing. She could only
concentrate on the blinding pain that shot through her whole body, from her hands down to her
feet, up through her brain and out her ears. Mother loved her so much, she just wanted her to
sleep. So she would not give in to Sofias screams. She would stay downstairs all night, and turn
up the music loud so she would not hear. She would lock Sofias room and put the key around
her neck, so she could be sure that no one would get to Sofia besides herself. She would spend
the night preparing special soap to wash Sofias blanket in the morning. She knew they would
be covered in her beautiful daughters blood. She knew there would so much blood.
 Sofia watched her ivory clock tick, with each second shorter than the last. It was drawing
near to six oclock, which was dinner time. Dinner was the worst time of the day. It always
happened at six. When it was five fifty-five, Sofia began to cry. She did not cry a loud cry, she
only sobbed quietly to herself. She stretched out her pink little fingers and it felt so good even
though her palms were so sweaty and uncomfortably warm. When it was five fifty-nine, Sofia
closed her eyes.

Sofia, beautiful, its time to eat dinner, called Mother.

The toucan fell from her bed to the floor as Sofia jumped from the sound of her mothers
voice. Inch by inch, she got out from under the covers and she stood up on the hardwood floor.
Time was of the essence because she knew that the longer she waited, the angrier Mother would
become. But Sofia needed to take a minute to look at her bedroom door. She thought it was
beautiful. The way the bronze doorknob looked against the white door and the soft-pink walls
was like sunshine and snow all at once. It was tranquility. It was bedsheets without bloodstains.
It was the afternoon. It was ecstasy in anticipation of the tempest. It was bliss on a mountain.
Mother shrieked and pain shot through Sofias hands. She opened the door quickly and
lost every drop of whatever it was that she felt before making her way down the creaky stairs.
She could not feel her body. She felt as if she was only a floating head, moving through deep fog,
hopelessly lost. Sofia entered the kitchen and she saw that Mother looked disturbed. Her hair
was in knots and it stuck out every which way. Her eyes were bloodshot and her pupils
consumed her. There were pockets of drool around her lips, and some on her shirt. Her arms
were red with scratch marks. Sofia was sickened at the sight.
She sat down in her pink, wooden chair, where an empty plate was in front of her on the
table. Under the plate and strewn all across the table and the floor and the counters were thick,
black towels. It seemed to Sofia that there were only three colors in the whole world at this
moment: the black sea of towels, her pink chair, and the big, ivory plate. Mother, stumbling a
little, began to make her way over the Sofia. Sofia began to cry and her fingers began to tremble.
Her hands were placed on both sides of the plate, in a symmetrically perfect way. She wanted to
move them, but she could not. She wanted to run back up to her toucan and her elephant and
her perfect door, but she could not. She was paralyzed. So when Mother placed her cold, white
hand on her daughters boiling hot fingers, all Sofia could do was scream. She knew that she
could not run away, but she could send her voice flying to anywhere in the universe, so she
screamed. Mother pinched Sofias left pinky in between two of her fingers and lifted it just
above Sofias head. Sofia tried to think of anywhere else but here. She tried to follow her voice
to Japan, to Venus, to Iowa or to wherever it was going. But when Mother clamped her sharp
teeth down on Sofias pinky, she could not escape the pink chair in which she sat. Blood flowed
from where her finger had once been. Mother was not worried, because she knew the black
towels would soak it all up, so she was able to enjoy the fragile bones and the salty skin of her
daughters pinky as she chewed it all up. Even after just one, her eyes became whiter and her
hair looked less ratty. Mother squeezed Sofias left ring finger, and then bit down hard. Sofia
screamed still. She screamed so loud and for so long that she was on the verge of passing out.
But Mother needed her awake, she needed her to feel the pain and to watch her eat, so she
slapped Sofia right across the face as hard as she could. One by one, Sofias fingers disappeared
and more and more blood flooded the kitchen. Finally, after Mother had eaten all of her fingers,
including her thumbs, Sofia fainted and fell to the floor, where her hair was consequently
covered in blood and bits of bone and skin that Mother did not like. Mother felt and looked
much better, so she walked over to the refrigerator and got out some meatloaf for Sofia to eat.
Mother shook Sofia hard so she would wake up. Dazed, she sat upright on her pink chair
and hung her head low.

Look at me, beautiful, said Mother. I brought you meatloaf and some milk, so you will
be healthy and your bones will be strong.

Sofia looked up at Mother and noticed that she had a fingernail hanging from her lip.
She looked down at her purple hands that had no fingers, and she vomited all over the ivory
plate. Then, she screamed.

Oh dear, you pitiful angel. Let your mother take you up to bed. It will make you feel so
much better, I promise, said Mother.

Mother cradled Sofia like a baby, and while she screamed, she was taken and placed in
her bed, right next to her animals. Her bleeding hands dirtied her sheets, but Mother promised
that she would clean them tomorrow. She knew just the right tricks. Mother moved a few of
Sofias toys around, so that they would make the room look a little more pleasant. She loved
Sofia so much, she just wanted the best for her.

Goodnight, beautiful, said Mother. I love you so much.

 Mother shut the door, stepped down the creaky stairs, and turned up the music loud so
that she could not hear Sofia screaming. Sofia writhed in pain. She shook this way and that.
Her whole back became numb because she threw her head back so hard that something in her
neck popped. She was drenched in cold sweat. Her hair was matted and it stuck to her face.
She clenched her teeth so tight that she felt her jaw would shatter and break. She flung her
hands around, trying to grab anything, but she could not. Her hands just slipped over
everything she touched, smearing blood in vermillion grandeur. After some hours, Sofia lost her
voice and her senses altogether.
Mother listened to music downstairs. She particularly liked the violin parts in the
composition that was playing just then. After her favorite movement, she decided it was time to
go to bed. She had big plans for Sofias breakfast in the morning. She loved her daughter so
much.