Villain

The long chain feels good in my grasp.

I tug it once, and the animal whimpers, helpless at my feet. The collar constricts its throat, leaving a glistening red hoop around the neck. Another tug for good measure, much harder this time. For a second I think its head will tear off its shoulders. Instead, the thing collapses, a pathetic heap beside me.

I wrap the chain around my hand three times. My hold upon the prisoner is secure. It cannot walk, so I drag it across the ground to the door, invitingly open for the next resident. It takes some effort, but I reach the cell and throw the thing inside, body slamming against the far wall. The cell is small, only a few feet wide, and it'll do perfectly.

"Bitch," the animal mutters as I turn to leave.

"Thank you," I answer with my back turned, pleasure filling me. "It's nice to know the roles are reversed."

Now's not the time to reminisce. I don't need to remember the animal's hands on me, eager for my taste. That day has gone.

I shut the cell door with a triumphant clang! 

This is the day I get what I want.

Fawn Eyes

Sometimes she dreamt of putting her hands around her father’s throat.

Tightly, like squeezing paint out of a tube; with her stubby fingers, as smooth and pure as the day she was born; choking his life away, listening to it drain with every lost breath and silenced cry for help. No one would suspect a thing. He’d be lying dead, and no one would even notice her. No one gives a second glance to the small one with the pretty brown eyes.

She would be invisible. And he’d finally be gone.

*

“Oh, you are a sweet thing, Bambi.”

Auntie Susan was visiting, tea in her hands and a pleasant smile on her face as she watched the blonde girl sitting cross-legged before her.

“She’s a darling,” the mother agreed, addressing her sister, but staring admirably at her daughter. “I hear she’s a favourite among the nursery teachers, and she’s made friends remarkably quickly, you know.”

“I’m not at all surprised, Jane.”

They sipped their tea simultaneously, and Bambi observed them with the eyes of a deer, much like the character she shared a name with. She found them interesting from her height. She was tiny anyway, reaching only three feet when fully standing, but she was even smaller now, curled up on the carpet like a doll displayed in a bedroom. It didn’t make her feel inferior to those bigger than her. It was, in fact, the opposite. Her size made her easy to pass by, unlike the adults who were always in conversation, and it meant she could be a keen observer.

She could watch her mother sewing a new scarf for her little neck. She could watch the terriers from a distance, clawing at each other’s throats. She could see the angry looks Daddy gave her when she didn’t do as she was told.

And they never knew a thing. All they saw was the white-haired child with the flowing dress and the brown fawn eyes.

*

It was true she had many friends at nursery, but only because they didn’t dare disobey her. They played with her when she told them to, and pretended it was them that broke a toy when it was her own doing. She had everyone wrapped around her tiny finger. The teachers included. 

All they saw was her smiling face and her charming white skin; the colour of snow, like the princess she loved so much. They didn’t see her smiles immediately switch to glares when left alone with others. They didn’t even see the fear in the children’s eyes when she had threatened them.

And then there was the way the children looked fearfully at sharp objects in the room, as if Bambi would grab one of them at any moment and scratch their faces until blood was drawn.

No. They saw none of that.

*

As always, Bambi was invisible. Her father, on the other hand, was not, and his main flaw was his complete indifference to those around him.

Why do you ignore Mummy, Daddy? What has she done wrong? Has she not done what you told her again?

Bambi knew she told others what to do all the time. But Daddy was different. She didn’t like the way he bossed Mummy around. It wasn’t fair; she had done so much.

What has Daddy done to help?

So her hands were ready, as they were in her dreams. She was behind his armchair as he sat there reading, and he suspected nothing.

Dead, and no-one will suspect a thing.

She was poised right behind the chair, eyeing the top of his head. Apple waiting to be plucked. And eaten.

But before anything could be carried out, there were hands around her waist, lifting her off the floor.

“Sweetheart, Daddy can’t play right now,” Auntie Susan cooed into her ear. “Oh, you are a darling, but please stop wriggling around. You’ll get another chance later. P-please, Bambi, you’re hurting me.”

The girl wouldn’t stop thrashing, seeing the way her father was looking at her now, untouched and unharmed. That wasn’t supposed to happen. This… wasn’t supposed to happen.

And that was when her arm swung backwards and her knuckles slammed into her auntie’s face.

*

“She was stressed, Susan. Please understand, she’s only a child.”

“I do. Don’t worry,” Susan assured, ice pack pressed into her blackened nose. Her voice was trembling despite the smile she put forward.

Jane didn’t quite know what else to say, nor how to react to the incident. She was defending her daughter, as any mother would, but on the inside, she found herself confused over what could have provoked such a violent act from the girl she loved so much.

She looked at Bambi. The white-haired child sat cross-legged again, observing them in her sweet and innocent way. But there was something different; something that stripped away the ‘sweet and innocent’ quality entirely. Her eyes looked cold and serious, like they were focused on something, instead of wandering into the clouds to think of childhood fantasies. Bambi’s gaze was fixed on Susan. With what emotions, Jane could not decipher.

But she found herself unnerved. Of her five year-old daughter. And she didn’t know why.

Perhaps it was the lack of guilt in her face from what she had just done to her beloved aunt. Perhaps it was the frustration of being taken away from her father before she’d had the chance to play.

Or perhaps, Jane thought, as her heart almost stopped, it was the way the girl’s stare very often fell on the knives lying on the kitchen counters nearby.