Brat
On Sundays
Ishka thought she was a good girl, the best daughter that anyone could have. She was obedient to a fault. She didn't mind being screamed at whenever she did something wrong. And it wasn't because she was scared of the belt or the spanking. That was just discipline. She was attentive because she wanted make her parents happy.
Though sometimes, they'd joke around and tell her that they got her from the slums or that they picked her up from the garbage outside the house. Although she was used to hearing those jokes for years, they still stung, piercing her heart and filling it with more anxiety and disquiet. However, it was slightly different this time around. Faintly, she could hear their voices from two rooms away. So she lied still, fingers gripping the sheets, breathing as silently as she could as she strained to listen to their conversation.
No, she couldn't cry right now. But tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, teetering over the edge, and she helplessly struggled to prevent them from falling just like her world just did. If they didn't want her, then who would?
Though sometimes, they'd joke around and tell her that they got her from the slums or that they picked her up from the garbage outside the house. Although she was used to hearing those jokes for years, they still stung, piercing her heart and filling it with more anxiety and disquiet. However, it was slightly different this time around. Faintly, she could hear their voices from two rooms away. So she lied still, fingers gripping the sheets, breathing as silently as she could as she strained to listen to their conversation.
"I don't want her anymore if she's like this."
No, she couldn't cry right now. But tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, teetering over the edge, and she helplessly struggled to prevent them from falling just like her world just did. If they didn't want her, then who would?