The Search for Freedom

Lil

"Help! Help!" I shouted.

I sprang out of my bed and realized that everything was just a bad dream. My room's door screamed decrepitude, and I saw my mother walking towards me in her old pajamas. The wooden bed was cracking when she sat down on it. "Why were you shouting? Is there something wrong?" She queried.

"Nothing, I just had a bad dream and it seemed real," I replied.

"Dream? It's the first time that you've had a dream."

Perhaps I shouted because I had never experienced having any dreams before. I always slept well every night, and I sometimes took a nap in the afternoon. Was there something wrong with why I had a bad dream?

I remembered the old man who gave me a bluish cloud. He was the only weird thing that happened. He told me it was a power, but it seemed to have no effect. He might be fooling me too, and that didn't have any connection with my dream. He could be insane and was only trying to turn me into a monkey. Did I look so weak that many people were underestimating me? I knew the only problem was with them and not me, but I was also a fool who let them break down my wall. "Do you want to sleep again?" My mother directly looked at my eyes.

"Maybe not, it's already morning." I stood up and walked towards the door. "I should help you prepare our breakfast."

My mother followed me to the kitchen, where I helped her chop the meat so that we could cook food for our breakfast. I could not forget the old man who was so serious in every word he said. I could not decide what to believe: if he was crazy or if he was not.

He was the one who made those bullies disappear, and nobody knew where they were sent. Their parents were searching for them, which started last night. That man was so powerful that he suddenly disappeared without a trace, as what he did to those bullies. Did I need to find more evidence to know that he was serious?

"Aw!" I exclaimed.

The dark red liquid spouts out from my finger when I accidentally chopped it with a sharp knife. I covered it with my shirt so that the bleeding would stop. How unlucky I was. I knew it was my mistake because I was thinking about many things at the time, and instead of chopping the meat, I had chopped my finger.

"Oh Lil! What happened?" My mother asked me in an appalled manner.

"Nothing, I just wounded my finger." I replied with a happy voice, but the truth was that it was a voice of fighting against extreme pain. I closed my eyes and lips with a bit of force and pressed my injured finger against the cover of my blue shirt.

"Your face tells me that you feel pain." She glanced at my finger.

"It's just a little wound; let it heal itself." I told her though, though I could not stop myself from whimpering. I did nothing but hold my breath.

"Don't be stubborn; I can see some blood on your clothes. Let me see your finger, so that we can heal it." She took my hand.

"Look! It's not just a little wound that will quickly heal. Don't move it, or your finger will be totally detached from your hand."

I did not say anything, but looked down at my feet and did not move. I could see a thick, red liquid dripping down the rough floor.

"I had already told you not to help me in preparing food, but you still did. Now look what happened to your finger. You will surely regret it if you had totally cut that!" My mother scolded me while I was looking for something.

I noticed my finger gradually healing itself while she was looking for any textile. The pain I felt had gone and everything came back to its normal condition. It was so cool and I could not believe it! I seemed to be a vampire in a movie (Blade), that however someone would cut my body, it would heal itself!

My mother went back towards me with a long strap that reached the floor. She held my hand and was appalled by what she saw. "Where's your injured finger?" She asked in a curious manner.

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She also took the other one and searched carefully. She scrutinized every part of my hands and was puzzled because she saw nothing but my normal hands, with five fingers each, mauve nails, and the rumpled center on each of my fingers. I did not want to lie to my mother, but I also did not want to tell the truth for an unknown reason. She still would not believe me if I told her the truth, because even I could not believe it.

"Injured finger?" I pretended not to know. "What are you talking about? I don't have an injured finger."

"But I saw it clearly just a while ago," the mother defended. "It's impossible that your injury would disappear like that!"

How could she say the word "impossible"? I knew that there were many impossible things she could do besides what happened to my finger.

I mumbled, "Sorry ma, but you have just wasted your time."

As I continued chopping the meat, I didn't worry if I could chop my finger with the knife that glittered when struck by the light from the lamp, especially since my hand had the power to heal itself alone.

Meanwhile, my mother could not move on from what happened. She sometimes glared at my hand when I wasn't looking at her. I had already finished chopping the meat, and I left her alone in the kitchen to take a bath.

From the window of my bedroom, I could see the sun starting its journey in the sky. I donned my blue shirt and trousers, looking at my handsome reflection in the broken mirror.

High nose, short and straight black hair, brown skin, mauve lips, and high eyelashes. I was wondering why my eyes had bluish flecks, though my parents both had brown, round eyes with black flecks.