Nymph

Picture Credit: La Vague (1902-1903), František Kupka - Exposition "Kupka, pionnier de l'abstraction", Grand Palais, Paris VIIIe

"Stand up straight! Walk with grace you puny little ugly girl. We need you to be presentable for your daddy," Denia's nanny was a wicked woman. Her entire family was completely wretched really. Her existence was disgusting to them in a world where most people were crooked.

Her family was cast away to an island after a spree of murder and violence from generation to generation both in and out of the prison system. This led society to believe the better solution was to allow the lot to kill each other off or simply live like the Sentinelese. Unbothered by the outside world and allowed to make their own ruling.

Inbreeding occurred. Madness ensued. So many times Denia stared into the sea wishing that one day while she swam it would take her away. It mattered not if she were alive or dead at the end of the journey.

"Mm!" A grumble of words that would never be heard from her little brother. He jabbed her with a butter knife when Whitney, the nanny, turned away causing her to grab her side again. Denia glared at her brothers remaining eye focusing away from the agape tongueless mouth. Souvenirs from being a goody 'like your sniveling sister. She's lucky we need her to bear.'

The responding smack echoed in the nearly empty hall a burning torch lighting the scene. This blow came from Whitney and Denia glared down at her feet before straightening her body once more. Her side and face throbbed but she did not complain. She was allowed to keep her body parts only because of her quiet surrender to the abuse and her usefulness.

Denia was a skilled cook even under the archaic circumstance, a hard worker, and relatively strong despite her size. She was not given any slack in the work load because she was a girl. Her age loomed in her mind however because soon she would be a woman and they would make her bear children.

Her thoughts erased when the door creaked open; the mechanics well put together considering the lack of modern tools. Building was a skill taught from generation to generation to maintain their strange way of life.

"My darling," the affectionate tone was forced. Denia watched as the man she should call father kissed the woman she couldn't be moved to call mother. This woman's name also was Whitney. They looked like the savages they really were despite the combed hair and clean skin. The clothes they wore didn't look professionally patched together. In fact the cloth was uneven and sewn together in a hurry.

"How did hunting go?" Whitney looked fearful of the response.

The reaction caused Alphie to growl. A burly 'mans man', he didn't like to be doubted in the role of provider however there had been dwindling supplies as of late. Overpopulation had never been considered when the incest began. He balled his fist instead of hitting his wife and grumbled," I was able to trap some fish."

Denia exhaled a sigh of relief her stomach aching from the two days of no nutrition. Whitney had cause to doubt. Denia reached out her hand as was customary every time food was brought in and Alphie procured three small trout.

No one spoke. Everyone knew that this meal was not for them. It was for Alphie. Denia's stomach growled loudly in protest at the food she would cook but not consume.

"You can do better eh?! Get your ass out there and find it then!" He glared at Denia, a scapegoat for his failure. Alphie's backhand stung worse than Whitney's. Denia could feel the welts already forming across her face to shape the back of his palm. This pain caused her to sob but she covered her mouth with both hands staring wide eyed at the man she did not call father.

It took her less than a second to recover and she turned from the group bolting out the door and toward the brightness of outside. The day was still young enough for fishing. She reached a hand up to the messy brown bun atop her head and retrieved a hook she crafted out of fish bone that was attached to a string that was wrapped vigorously around it.

She took her time unwrapping the string staring at the water as she came closer and closer to it. The tide was high and many small fish swam near the shore. Tying the free end of the string to a fallen branch she cast it out and stuck the branch into the sand. The white water crashed and tossed about sending streams of water into her face. She could barely see the bronze colored rock she normally sat on during low tide though the top gleamed in the sun catching her eye.

There was time to kill and there was no one around to ridicule or attack her. She undressed from the oddly patched dress she wore hanging it on the branch of a nearby tree before wading into the water face first cooling the bruises along her cheeks, shoulders, stomach, and thighs. She lay there in the water for a moment and peace was hers.

Gathering her wits she rose out of the water wringing her hair dry allowing it to fall long and straight to dry in the sun as she checked the line and dug around for small insects to fish with. Hours passed like this and eventually she had to tie her hair back into that messy bun; the heat making it unbearable to leave down.

She thought about returning home empty handed and how it would result in violence. She thought about the unfairness of it all and her will to stay good in a sea of evil. She thought about the hopelessness and she screamed, running and jumping on top of her favorite rock landing with her arms between her legs and she crouched as if she were playing a game of leap frog. She looked out at the water in amazement.

She'd expected to be covered in water but a wave formed going against the current expanding away from where she landed on the rock. It shook oddly as if hands were holding them at bay but barely. She stood from her spot and the water released splashing her from all angles at once causing her to sputter in shock.

Denia looked down at her pale hands and then at the water again. After a moment of nothing but the waves crashing onto the shore again she quickly moved from her spot and dressed gathering her possessions as if a ghost were following her despite the knowledge that she would regret returning before nightfall without food.