Fiction Factory: Cilla Ambrose (Part 1)

So, when I was in highschool and early in my University life, I wanted to be a writer. Time, humility and the realization that nothing could come from such desires forced me from that path onto something quicker and easier. Lately, I've felt like I want to find that place again, to wander back to some old thoughts and a different way of viewing my life. I need to find a map first, I've lost my way. What I'm going to do is dabble, skip stones if you will and explore what I've put behind me.

I didn't say it would be good, but if you're feeling adventurous you may join me on this trek …

First up, a small beginning that stems from a camping trip, a roaring fire and a young girl's laughter:

Cilla Ambrose & The Crystalline Caves

 PART ONE: The Escape

She kept running. Running for her life.

Through the trees of the back woods. Over the rocks and through the creek. She ran for her life and away from the horror of her home. She kept running so he couldn't find her.

“You have to stop! You've been running for an hour.”

“I can't stop. He'll find us if I do. Have to get far away.”

“How far?”

“I don't know.”

It was only the two of them now. Cilla and Remy. Long time friends, now partners in this flight. Cilla turned 9 in February. Remy was 2. As a rat 2 was pretty old. He was Cilla's best friend, the only friend she had in her world. They argued sometimes but they adored each other.

“Where are we going exactly?” Remy asked from his perch on her shoulder, his wirey tail wrapped around her neck.

“Forward.”

“Cilla, you have to stop. It's getting dark and you can barely see the trres in front of you. Just stop. For a minute.”

“Do you wanna get caught?” She cried.

“We're away child. We can rest for a minute.”

Remy was right. They were a good ways from the house. Cilla had ran them deep into the woods that spread out beyond the property. Father would need awhile to find her. If he's looking.

Cilla slowed and sat down on a fallen tree to finally catch her breath.

“Good girl,” Remy said, “Take a moment.”

“Just a moment. We have to keep moving.”

“Do you really think your Father will be looking very hard, child?”

I will beat you until no one recognizes you, her Father's voice echoed.

“He's looking,” she said.

The light was fading fast. It was near November and the long summer nights were far behind them. It would be dark very soon and Cilla didn't know what to do.

* * *

The door slammed. She heard his heavy footsteps just like every day. She felt a tingle of fear rake the back of her neck. Flee.

“Cilla?”

His voice was loud; cannon fire.

“Where are you? Cilla, got a few questions for you! Where. Are. You?”

She was not going to answer him, not today. Never again. No way. The crawlspace was cramped but he couldn't get her. Ray was too fat to get in here. Ray was always too fat. Too mean. Ray liked to take his problems out on Cilla. Smack here. Kick there. Broken bones and bloody lips. Ray was a real humanitarian.

“Cilla?” Constant Remy, always by her side. His tiny voice the support she needed, “We need to leave. He's not going to let it go this time. He's never going to let you go.”

“CILLA!” His voice at the top of the stairs.

Run, flee, escape. All of the above. There was something, or someone she needed to take care of first. Before it can all be done. Finally. Done and forgotten. She needed to settle a score with Ray. A very old score, for her and her mother.

* * *

“His name's Ray.”

“Ray?”

“Yeah, Ray. You'll like him Cilla. Please give this a chance.”

“Ray. Ok, but if he calls me kiddo I will not be happy.”

Ray walked into Denny's at three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon and Cilla knew what he was. His pressed jeans, white dress shirt tucked in. Black leather belt, simple silver buckle. Hair parted to the side with a small amount of brylcreme, and a modest moustache. Cilla could see in his blue eyes, and white smile. Everything he was, everything he wasn't. Ray may walk the walk, but he would never be Cilla's father. Not if she had anything to do about it.

“Cilla? This is Ray.”

Ray put out his hand.

Cilla noticed the triangle tattoos on his wrist.

“How's it going, kiddo?”

Cilla looked at her mother with a blank stare.

The first time Ray hit Cilla was two months later.