"You must be thinking why I'm such a shitty father, right?! Why you have to live in this hell hole of a place!?"

Liz's father hollered at her. Sounds of his yelling echoed around the atmosphere inside their home.

Her father was a man in his late thirties. Never cut his hair or showered or shaved, his hair and beard constantly in a shamble with bits of grease and potato chip crumbs all over, and always had some kind of alcohol in his hand, if not a cigarette. He is musty and nasty and stinks up the whole place, Liz thought, with his grubby, yellow stains on his chest and armpits wife beater shirt. He had worked as a mechanic at the local car manufacture. But now he stays at home all the time. Fired, probably. Sometimes he gets lucky on illegal gambling, but he never spends that fortune on food or anything good. More alchohol. More drunk. More hiding. More beating.

She was used to his bickering. So used that she did not even flinch. She was just trying to enjoy her dinner. It wasn't even a proper dinner anyway. Half cooked  spaghetti, with little tomato sauce, and a half empty cup of water. Her father was fucked up drunk and acting up again. Blabbering and saying nonsense, saying that she should be thankful she even has food and clothes to eat and wear, even though she didn't even say anything. All her life. Every day, every minute, every second. She felt angry and offended, but was too young to acknowledge it. She was just seven years old, after all. A child has no choice but to obey.

"I'm gonna teach you a good fucking lesson, you goddamn brat...!"

Elizabeth's mother had ran away with another man long long ago. To start over. To get away with her abusive, unloving and toxic ex-husband and her infant daughter. Her mother did not wish to bring her daughter along, since all she does is to remind her of her former husband.

Liz and her father lived in an old, small house. Grown out grass in the front yard, chipped out paint on the walls, and flickering white lights on their small porch that hadn't been changed for so long that it is turning into a yellowish color that makes some people think it's abandoned.

"It's all your fault that bitch ran away with that fucking accountant or whatever the fuck he is. ALL YOURS!" The big man roared loudly.

Elizabeth ran rapidly upstairs, panting and gasping with each step. Her little feet always had trouble going up the stairs. Before her dad could take out his belt and whip her into oblivion, she trampled in her room. She had enough scars and bruises and cuts and cigarette burn marks. Her father used her as a punching bag. That man sees her as a disappointment, a nobody. Nothing more. Inside her tiny, dark room, she locked the door, barricading it with a chair. The more time she could be away from her asshole dad, the better. She hated every second in this household. It was a living nightmare. She couldn't stand it any longer.

The fragile yet strong girl slowly turned around, catching her breath, expecting to be greeted with a discolored and depressing scene. A worn out mattress and pillow on the door, next to a window that stared into the big black pit of nothingness. A small room, just right for a seven year old . But to her surprise,a tall, milky colored door with vines and pretty little pink and purple flowers wrapped around it that she had never seen before appeared before her. With little blue and gold bioluminescent mushrooms creating a lit-up path leading her into what seems like a entrance to another world. But that world seems different. It's cozy and warm. Liz heard what sounded like birds chirping, and saw white butterflies fluttering peacefully around the doorknob. It's like something she had always wanted, out of a fairy tale. Something she felt that was missing from her life. It's also something, without a doubt, that she would call "home".

She opened the door, ready to forget the cruel and sad world behind her...