You can't flee, Butterfly

They were both the same color. Same size. Same shape. And, like her, stuck in the same box. The differences between them was on the status of the box: the little girl called it home. The difference between the doors, however, was the noise coming from one of them.

"If you do that one more time…"

Her father's voice sounded sharp and angry. It would've scared her if it was the first time. She looked at the two doors in front of her wondering which one to open.

"So what? What are you gonna do, huh?"

She used her left hand to wipe her tears when she heard her mom's voice almost whispered. It was like a soft mumbling. Not like she did when she told her bedtime stories or a little mother-daughter secret. Her dad's voice was also scarier because it was louder than when they play together on sundays. The girl's eyes focused on the wall between the doors. They were full of her drawings. A few circles and lines in different colors. Her mom had told her dad to stop her from making all that mess. He didn't. He thought they were genius like those abstract paintings they saw at the museum. They were supposed to be butterflies. She sat on the ground, her little legs barely holding her weight after an hour of standing. Her eyes, then, focused on the picture on the left side of the hall. It was right next to the mirror. Her mom was in a beautiful white dress and her father was holding her belly. They looked so happy. She wondered if they screamed that day as well. 

It all happened so fast. 

She was watching cartoons with her mom when her dad came in. He kissed her cheek and asked her to go play in the other room. She didn't want to as she was in the middle of her favorite episode. She was about to throw a tantrum show when he gave her a box of chocolate. That sold the deal. After she left the room, though, she heard a few screams. Thus, She decided to eat her chocolates there. Standing. Looking at the two doors in front of her. 

"You can't keep doing this to me…"

She sobbed at her dad's sentence and stared at the ground. There was nowhere to go. Every single inch of the house was a mix of screaming, silence and tears.

"Oh, Are you gonna cry?" Her mother laughed. "Our daughter is tougher than you!"

"I'm tired of this."

Their voices were louder and overlapping each other. The little girl held her head with both hands trying to stop the headache. She wished she could fly.

"I'm tired of you." Her mother said in a chuckle.

"Then divorce me!" 

She screamed along with her father and, suddenly, the only noise she could hear was her own. She tried to calm herself down to not get the attention of the adults. 

One breath. 

A hiccup. 

She used her index finger and thumb to keep her big eyes wide open. A glance at the mirror on the left was enough to show that her little face was red and swollen. She had to stop crying. She shouldn't be there. They didn't want her to hear that. She would be in trouble. 

"Are you sure you wanna live without your daughter?"

The six year old was trembling and pursing her lips in an attempt to stay silent. 

"Stop threatening me!"

"She would hate you and you'd never have a chance to explain to her why her daddy's not ho-"

"You cheated on me."

"You shouldn't have accepted that job."

"Let. me. go!"

The little girl looked around the room while the screaming intensified. Many words were being said but she couldn't make sense out of them. She should've been used by now. There were a few photographs of her and her parents hanging on the walls. 

More screaming. 

Two pictures of her and her mother's mom.

Louder. 

One with her mother's father. 

Silence. 

She crawled to sit closer to her grandparents. 

"You're insane if you think you'd take my child away from me!"

The voices got closer and she stood up, stumbling and falling on her way to the door. Sometimes, in life, we make choices and expect them to be the perfect one. She chose the door on the right. The silent door. As some people already know, the only way of finding out is going through the consequences of your choices. She grabbed a few color books and pencils and threw them on the puzzle mat. Angel didn't know where this choice would lead her but she hoped one day she could choose the other door. Her little hands were on her chest and she held her breath trying to control her fast beating heart. If only she was braver. There were a few steps coming from the hall. This wasn't her war to fight, but she thought of herself as a soldier. She lied on the ground and began coloring some butterflies. 

"Hey, angel, what are you doing?"

Her father wanted to play with her. He lied down by her side. She didn't look at him but his voice was so soft and cheerful she wondered if the fight had really happened. His eyes were focused on her butterflies while her mother stood by the door staring at the window. Nobody noticed the little girl's red eyes as she had her face hidden with her curls. Nobody noticed the silent war the two of them were putting her in. Nobody noticed the future ahead of them. It flickered in their eyes. She didn't make eye contact with any of her parents. They didn't seem to care. Some people would define life as movement, some will grow to adore stillness. In this house, however, they chose to live by silence. Quickly, The butterflies on the little girl's book were filled with color. So different from her home.

Gray. Heavy. Stagnant.