Three Apples

Based on a true story.

The little girl, Zara, walked around her cold, dark home, stumbling around on her clumsy four year old legs. She was a sweet girl, with honey blond hair, straight bangs and bright blue, curious eyes.

She wasn’t the type of girl you would think to have been neglected most of her short, but meaningful life. And yet, here she was, looking for someone to grasp onto, someone to see and protect her.

Zara ran to her room in the back of the house, where the Christmas boxes were stored. The room was musty, and the poor girl didn't even have a bed. Just a pile of blankets, and her stuffed animals. She grabbed a stuffed animal - her blue lamb, particularly the favorite of all her stuffed animals - and then walked out to the kitchen.

It was about breakfast time, and her mother had still not left the bedroom. Zara had been taught from a young age that going into her room while her mother had friends over was not allowed, and so she never did. 

These “friends” were all guys, usually guys her mother met at parties, who came into Zara’s home with slurred speech and white powder. It was the usual, and the four year old had never questioned her mother. She was too scared to.

It had all started about two months ago, when her mother invited a friend over. This “friend” was not a good person at all.

Since then, Zara had never wanted to be seen by anyone who wasn't her family.

“Mommy?” Zara called out quietly. “I’m hungry!”

Nothing. Just empty, echoey silence.

Where was “The Man of the House”, or her sisters? She didn't know where her sisters were, and her mother had always said that The Man of the House was out making money, so that he could come back and provide for the family. But then why was her mom all over other guys?

Never in the four years that Zara had been alive, had it occurred to her that maybe she was all alone. 

She ran to the kitchen, pushing a chair over to the fridge, and she climbed to see what was inside, so she could eat breakfast.

Apples.

Zara grabbed an apple, and sat contently on the chair, and started eating it. She decided that she was still hungry, so grabbed another, and one more.

Three apples.

Her legs were shaky as she slid off the seat, and pushed it back to the dining table, but that didn't stop her. Survival was key, especially for this little girl.

About five minutes later, the door to her mothers bedroom was thrown open, and a man wearing a leather jacket walked out. He looked angry.

“Don’t you leave me now!” her mother screamed. The man kept walking, and Zara finally realized that he was walking towards her.

“Hey little girl,” he picked her up. His breath smelled of something strong, something adult-like. “Your mommy is desperate. Did you know that?” 

Zara shook her head. She wanted him to let her go, so bad. Anything to get away from this guy.

“Well she is, and you're going to be a little sl-”

Her mother started screaming, all types of language, while going to the kitchen. Zara watched as she grabbed a kitchen knife.

“Put my daughter down!” she screamed and at that moment, the man practically dropped her onto the linoleum floor.

And soon, the man was gone. Her mother was very good at threatening people, so much that she had the cops called on her a few times. Why they never took Zara away from her is still a mystery.

“Zara,” her mother said, sitting on the couch. She was smoking a cigarette, and her eyeliner was all smudged, from using her white robe to rub her eyes. “This is all your fault. If I didn't have you, I wouldn’t be like this. You're just a mistake,”

Zara looked at her mother, and took her words in.

“I’m sorry.” she said.

Her mother looked at her, dead in the eyes.

“Don’t you ever apologize to me. Don’t speak to me! Nobody wants you, don’t you know that?” Zara stood there, confused.

This was her mother. Wasn’t her mother supposed to love her?

Zara walked away, over to the fridge because she was starving, as usual.

She pushed the chair over to the fridge from the dining table, and climbed onto it, then opened the fridge door.

No more apples.

Her stomach growled. Hopefully The Man of the House would be back soon. And hopefully he would bring three more apples.