BEFORE READ THIS CHAPTER, MAKE SURE YOU READ CHAPTER ONE ON JAD'S BLOG.
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As she fell down the black abyss, she realized why the
volunteers at the foster home worried about her. As the people of Huge Eye
stood on the walls of the pit, reenacting the scenes from her drawings and
paintings, she was terrified. She kept her eyes closed, and distracted herself
from the gory images by playing over the events that lead her to the situation
at hand.
Like most peculiar people, the early stages of her life
were…abnormal, to say the least. Her mother passed away during labor, which made
Joan’s birth, practically, a miracle. However, her father could not appreciate
this miracle daughter of his. His love towards Joan’s mother was too strong,
that he couldn’t handle it anymore and committed suicide one week after Joan’s
miraculous arrival.
Obviously, her life was not destined to be ordinary, or cheerful
for that matter, from the start. As if sensing this unusual beginning to her
life, Joan kept to herself. She took to corners at all times and would read all
of the books available to the orphan children at The Sunshine Home for Orphan
Children. She would participate in the mandatory events, eat her meals with the
other kids and make socially obligatory conversations.
This persisted until the age of five, when an artistic couple
named the Mayhems came to the orphanage and gave the children an art class. As
soon as Joan placed the black marker on her paper, she could feel its calling.
It almost yelled out to her:
“Joan. Join. JOan. JOin. JOAn. JOIn. JOAN. JOIN. JOOOOAAAN.
JOOOOIIIN.”
And to its calling, she responded. At the end of the class,
she went to Mrs. Mayhem and asked her if she could come here every single week,
because she wanted to learn as much as she could from the talented duo. Mrs.
Mayhem laughed and promised she would, and Mrs. Mayhem was a woman of her word.
At the age of eight, Joan could draw human faces to the exact
detail. She drew still-life with ease and repainted artistic works of the likes
of Van Gogh and Picasso in a matter of hours. Over the three years of working
with Joan, the Mayhems attempted to adopt her five times. All five times were
denied. Although popular in the artistic realm, the Mayhems could not generate
a “realistic lifestyle environment” for little Joan.
This led to bouts of depression from Mrs. Mayhem every time
she saw Joan, along with teary fits from Mr. Mayhem. The art classes finally
ceased on Joan’s ninth birthday, declaring another unfortunate event associated
with her birth.
After that event, a switch turned on. With the Mayhems, she
would paint life and celebrate its attributes. Without them, she would paint
death, and glorify its dark themes. The volunteers gave her mandatory therapy
lessons after seeing her drawings. As one volunteer said:
“This would be dark if drawn by anyone, let alone a nine-year
old girl. She needs real therapeutic attention.”
She would spend the weekly hour of “therapeutic attention”
staring menacingly at the psychiatrist and answering all her questions with
growls, until Joan finally forced her to burst into tears and demand that she be
removed from treating “that sick little girl.”
However, the Home was not one to give up. As a replacement, they
brought in Mr. Chilling. His name seemed very fitting, for chilling was what he
was. He was very tall, with very, very neat hair combed to the right. He had
two different colored eyes, one was green, and the other was blue. He always
wore the same brown suit, with a plain white shirt. He walked with confidence
that bordered on the lines of arrogance. His hand firmly grasped his suitcase
at all times. If possible, he would avoid talking to anyone at the orphanage
and head straight to the therapy room.
In their first session, Joan repeated what she did with the
former psychiatrist. She stared menacingly at him, or at least attempted to;
for his eyes made the task difficult. It was obvious Mr. Chilling would have
none of that. He stared right back at her. Every time she would growl, he would
growl louder, causing her to double back with shock. Eventually, she gave up, crossed
her arms and grunted.
“Ask me your stupid questions,” she said with scorn and
defeat.
“Firstly, thinking of something as stupid before knowing what
it is, is stupid,” he said, with a chillingly smug look on his face, “And
secondly, I don’t want to ask you a question.”
With her interest peaked, she met his eyes with confusion and
wonder.
“Well,” she replied, trying to imitate the smugness he
displayed, “What are you going to do then?”
“Well my dear, I would like to read you an excerpt from a
particular favorite book of mine.”
He pulled out a book from his briefcase and flipped through
the pages with haste.
“I shall read to you a
poem. It’s entitled The Huge Pupil.”
He read the poem with a steady, cold voice, and Joan gripped onto
every word with silent admiration. When he finished reading, he looked up at
her with a proud grin, seeing its heavy effect on her.
“Is this…” Joan began, but wouldn’t continue, fearing she
would be deemed stupid herself.
“Continue dearest,” Mr. Chilling said to her.
“Is this a true story?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“However…”
“Yes?”
“It could be.”
……
Hope you like it...I am filled with anxiety and my nerve cells are freaking out. If you can comment below, I would love to know what you think of it.
