Abigail

The orphanage’s motto was “no child left here will feel anything less than loved”. That motto used to hold true until I came along fourteen years ago. I was known as the “impossible case”. No nun, no child, no family could ever overlook it. The left side of my face, where there should be blood vessels pumping through plump, warm ivory skin, was displaced by scarred void. The inhuman part of me that everyone couldn’t ignore. At first, I noticed their glares, their scowls, and their frightful squints toward me. Then I heard the whispered hisses. What was I? Was there some witch’s curse forcing my flesh to deteriorate and sprout out into various black warts? Some days I’m rancid. On others, I’m repulsive. Most of the time, I’m disgusting. Every day, I’m reminded that no one would choose me. I mean, really, who would want to adopt, let alone go near someone like that? She’s a monster.

But you did.

My Abigail. I wonder, do you remember last night? Do you remember me the same way sunflowers remember to face the sun? Because I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Once the nuns were done parading me around the adoptive families, showcasing to everyone how much better the other bright-eyed, wonderlit children were compared to a freak like me, they threw me back into the empty kitchen where I slept every night. The click of the lock to the kitchen sent me through the motions. I dragged my feet over to the spare white tablecloth tucked away in the tiny crevice of the pantry. Next, I laid it flat between the wood stove and the jug of oil. Then, I plopped down and rested my head against the sides of the stove. While no embers were fueling it, the leftover warmth was enough to feel a sense that in some other world, this would have been someone’s shoulder. The cycle would have continued for the 5141st time if it weren’t for you. You clicked open the lock and let the kitchen hinges creak open. Your long, golden, threaded hair hit the moonlight’s glaze as you beamed together to form the shape of a shooting star. In that moment, I made a desperate wish for you to just stay a little longer. But I knew it was hopeless, so I made the most of the moment and stole glances at your delicate fingers as they sweep through each lower kitchen cabinet.

Before I knew it, your sapphire irises locked with my dirt-covered eyes. I averted my gaze and went to investigate the wall’s wood grooves instead. I prepared myself to hear the oak door shut, and the lock clicked back into place. Instead, I felt a soft plop next to me. I heard you split the dinner roll you found in the cabinets in half as your gentle hands tapped on my shoulder. When I turned my face away from the wood grooves to ever so slightly meet yours, I saw something I had never seen before. It wasn’t a frightful squint; it wasn’t a scowl. It was a smile. You handed me half of the bread into my trembling hands and whispered your name. Just as softly as you whispered it, your warm fingers slowly caressed the outskirts of the mucky void latched onto my face.

With your hand fully melted onto my skin, my hand fell onto my chest. The others called me inhuman, but you made me aware of the one thing that makes me the same as the others, the one thing that made me human. My heart. The beats were a small scatter of ants, then the ants morphed into the rattle of paper spills in a tin can. Beats after beats hammered into my ribcage. Followed by another, and another and another, until I felt nothing but the stampede of galloping horses. As my trembling fingers went up to intertwine with your hand on my scarred face, the kitchen door burst open.

“What in God’s name are you doing here, Abigail? You need to be up and early for the noble families tomorrow.”

The slender nun’s voice stung my eardrums. She then stomped over, held you up with one bony arm, as her other hand held onto a flickering oil lamp. I just met you, and now they were going to take you away from me? With shaky legs, I brought myself up from the now cold wood floors and ran to the kitchen door. I cried out for you, I shouted. I clawed at the door with my fingertips pierced through with splinters. I slammed it, bashed it, and if I could, I would tear that door down bit by bit. But it was no use. The lock was already clicked into place, and I was alone again. But I won’t be for long.

Tonight will be the night you and I will escape this hellhole together. I let the same slender nun from last night drag me by the wrist to the kitchen. In her other hand was her oil lamp. Before she can slam the oak door shut, I yank her inside. It’s funny, I always thought they were these indestructible creatures, but this nun was as malleable as clay as I wrench her wrist closer toward the wood stove. The same wood stove that has served all these children bowls and bowls of fresh carrot and pea soup. While I would shove any, if any, thrown-out mushy slop down my throat. So, I return the favour and shove the nun down onto the wooden planks as the aroma of the jug of oil I kicked over latches onto her body. With a quick lunge, I shattered her lamp into the oil.

The slender one says something to me. Maybe it was an apology, or a plea for mercy, it was hard to tell over her blood-curdling scream as she was lit aflame.

A grin spreads over my face while I watch the flames consume the slender one’s crumpling body. The grin turned into a chuckle. She looked like the burnt remnants of the leftover mushed peas in the pots. I let out a soft giggle and throw the remaining oil around the room to start the digestion of the kitchen. Behind me, I hear the clatter and chatter of the other nuns stumbling upon this scene. They scream the same way their sister did. When I turned around to face them, they had already scattered like cockroaches. I follow behind to the melody of their distant shrieks.

Before me was the orphanage’s main hall, turned from a hollow vase to a bustling market with nuns in every direction. My cheeks strained from the constant grin plastered on me as I watched some grab barely awake kids, while others ran to grab their belongings in their rooms. I was going to find you. I skipped toward the bedroom to the beat and rhythm of everyone’s screams. I swiped away at the smoke forming, like slicing my way through thorns toward my princess. My shooting star. My Abigail-

One of those barbaric nun snatches my hair and pulls me back. Back toward the kitchen that has almost been fully consumed by a fiery blaze. I try to push her back, to pull myself from her iron grasp. She doesn’t budge. She continues to drag me as I lose my balance. I scramble across the floor, my knees scraped against the rusty nails that held the oak boards together. With a hiss, she screeches.

“Die like the monster you are.”

We near closer and closer to the flames. Close enough for the flames to kiss my forehead. I struggle to yank myself free as my breath comes out faster and faster. Please, Abigail, help me. A splash of your golden hair appeared scattered with star dust, and blended beautifully into the flaked ashes of the hallway walls around us. You pulled me away from the fire as the nun grunted and ran to the exit. Finally, finally, finally I can be with you again. A half cry escapes me as I stumble into you with my arms wide open.

“Abigail, we’re finally free, you don’t need to go to some family you’ll hate, you have me, we’ll have each other.”

I tumble further into you with gleeful little gasps. My hands find yours, and I guide them back home onto the voided side of my face.

“We’ll figure this out together. Maybe we can go into the countryside, we can steal for food, we can sleep under the trees, and we’ll finally be without the kitchen’s lock, and without the nuns. Finally, it will just be us.”

As another string of cluttered words leaves my mouth, I can’t help but take you all in. Even as the kitchen erupts into a fiery blaze, leaving behind black soot in its wake as it starts to infect the wood hall, I see how your eyes still had that same glint of sapphire, but only this time do I notice how-

“Did you do this?”

You croaked out, you must be as overjoyed and overwhelmed as I was. I smile at you.

“Of course, what else could I have done? This was the only way for us to be together.”

Your hands become liquid against my face as you let it fall from my face and hang by your side. I squeak out.

“What’s the matter, Abigail? Do you need to grab something before we leave? I’ll come with you if you want.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, your sapphire eyes squinted into shards of glass. At first, I noticed that just for a moment, you had that same frightful look that everyone else gave me. But surely the smoke is playing tricks on my mind. Surely this is just from fear of our future together. I go to grab your hand in mine and try to ease your worry with an amorous stare.

“I know you’re scared, but together we can-”

Then I heard Abigail’s whispered hiss.

“You-”

A support charred wood beam shatters close behind us. But Abigail’s final words were louder.

“You monster.” 

My fingers twitch over to my blackwarted spore-filled void. While Abigail tumbles backward toward the exit, another beam collapses behind me. Yet I held my ground. I slap my disgusting fingers and yank at my cheeks. Could I even call it cheeks? Is it even flesh? What cursed me with this cursed black scar? Why couldn’t I just be normal? Why was Abigail running away? Why? Why? Why? Eventually, Abigail’s figure disappears into the exit and becomes nothing more than a speck in the ashes. The nun was right. I will die here like the monster I am.