Fiona .

The sun rose from underneath its horizon and , cautiously as if cynical , casted its golden rays . Life was bestowed to entities the rays fell upon and slowly , the earth began to awake - like yesterday , the day before yesterday , and the day before the day before yesterday . Routinely , so routinely in fact , she was no longer cognizant of the beauty of daybreak or how she used to anticipate and often , admired with awe .

Gradually , the amber rays crept into her district , and entered the dust-coated window pane of her room unhurriedly . Anyone who passed by her house would have sworn it has been abandoned for eons , if not for the frequent , or almost habitual , clattering of flying cutleries or the racket of furniture being thrusted around the house . As the sun extended its reach , she lugged the tattered remains of what seemed to be a blanket over her face , in an effort to shield herself from the merciless rays of the unfeeling sun . Within moments , her room was a bitter shade of yellow .

How unfair , she thought , I have never wanted this to happen , but again , do I have a choice ?

Light seeped into her swollen eyes , evoking memories from the night before . Unconsciously , she knitted her brows in fury and the creases on her eyes deepened . Fear had kept her from waking . Yet anger had kept her from ending her life . Everyday was a living hell for her . Having to withstand blows after blows of physical pain , as if the emotional pain that had haunted her for years was not enough to agonize her .

This is life . Is it not ? This is my life .

Hoping against hope that she would not have to face another day of terror , she writhed in bed , bringing her legs closer to her chest and hid her face between her legs . However , the moment of truth has always hit her hard . Today , was no exception .

"FIONA !" , bellowed a voice , immediately bringing her back to the present .

The voice , so deep , so coarse , belonged to her father . The father she no longer knew . This was followed by a series of callous footsteps up the stairs of her penthouse and the the slamming open of her bedroom's door . Privacy was what every teenager her age was concerned of . But this , has never been an issue for her .


(To not be continued ...)
Best to leave room for imagination ?
Partially yes .
I feel that it's best to capture only this part of the story ,
and I'm a tad too lazy to write .