Twisted Fairytale

i've been reading and rereading my twisted fairytale draft, editing and adding things, when i suddenly realized that i need someone else's input on it to help make it better and help me be a better writer. So i want to post the first three pages of it on here.
Please give me input on it. hope you like it.



Afraid Of The Dark
The soft breeze whipped into me as I walked toward home from the therapy session I have with Doctor Lin once a month. I always found going to Doctor Lin's office depressing and rarely a help to my continuously scared domineer; The weather in my sick, sad little town of Antonucci never seemed to help any either, always overcast with fog and raining on a weekly basis, Antonucci constantly reminding me of how depressed and under lived my life was, hence the even more depressing and sadistic sessions of therapy with Doctor Lin. I laughed.
The circle in which my life had become encased, intimidated the small amount of courage I had been born with. Meaning I would have to have been born with it seeing as I would never have been able to make it grow in any way. Doctor Lin always told me that I want to be scared of everything, shrinking away from my fears that I intentionally make up in my head to have the pity of others shine down on me. Of course more precisely to Doctor Lin's exact words: consume, digest, devour and trample me. Those kinds of comments are the reasons why therapy is another addition to my fears; it was not a positive place that would ever help me. I only went to calm my mother's constant and unneeded worry over the miniscule chance that I may take my own life. I wouldn't do such a thing . . . the idea of it terrified me. My dear and beloved mother is one I would not tell this bit of information to, as it would rightfully (to her) shatter the trust of me in her eyes.
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This trust, no matter how small it may be, was the only thing that allows me to get out from under her eagle eyes for more than three-seconds. Someday, (hopefully) she's gonna have a heart attack worrying about me almost as much as I do, and she'll end up blaming it on me, for my reckless behavior of holding a sharp knife or something as small and insignificant as that. I would be holding whatever it is rightfully so, probably cutting an apple or something. She would have no idea of the fear the I felt towards that intensely sharp object. She thinks of me as an ignorant child, even though I am fully aware of all the dangerous possibilities that a knife has within it's small proximity. Is cutting an apple really worth all the unnecessary risk?
My lunar thoughts continued as I swiftly and silently crept into my perfectly organized house through the weathered, almost withering front door. My mother would want me to comment on the cleanliness of the house for the sake of her senile self loving, though she would portray it differently. Feeling inadequate in her duties as a mother if I didn't. She was inadequate in that respect as well as every other thing a mother could feel unable to do as a mother. She would end up taking it out on me by smashing me with her extreme level of parental overprotectiveness that she was known for in this quaint town of Antonucci. I felt a vile taste in the back of my throat at that thought. Promptly, I prepared myself to lie about my interest in her compulsive cleaning disorder.
Walking into the small living I was relieved to see my mother was not there. A sad prospect that that was how I felt knowing she wasn't in the room. Turning cautiously into the hall that headed towards my bedroom, I gently stepped onto the maple floor boards slowly etching towards my prison, the floor boards ominously creaking. To my disappointment I found my mother sitting atop my neatly made bed, holding my sketch pads, her eyes fervently running along the pile of
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sketches that should had been scattered on the floor like they had been before I had left. It irritated me to such an extreme level when she cleaned my room, but just like everything else before this, I bottled it up and threw it into the dark recesses of my mind where it would add to my worry. I felt the little annoyance evanesce, yet still ready to attack at any moment
Mother looked up as she finished scrutinizing the art from my shrunken heart. I knew how she hated all of them, disgusted by my God given talent. They would end up being burnt like the rest of the drawings she had found over the years, but I knew now it did no good to hide them. "These are satanic," she asserted looking me straight in the eyes though I felt them pass right through me. Just like her to look at me without seeing. Also like her to quickly get to the cold, icicle like center of a situation
"I know," I paused for a moment letting my fake understanding sink into her before I continued, "I'll stop, " another complete lie. Like I would ever not stop drawing just so I could feed her more control than she already had. I wouldn't feed control to the women whose displeasure it was to conceive me. I was her cute little accidental devil spawn child, given to her by the satanic man who helped her conceive me. She was my pleasure to deal with.
"Good, " she said darkly and set the flammable papers down on the bedside desk in which the drawers she had removed. You might hurt yourself, she told me as she happily removed them a few months ago.
She motioned for me to sit next to her, patting the bed gently; it was an invitation to tell her how neat the house was then move on and describe to her my session with Doctor Lin. I knew more or less she really only cared about the walk there and back, it literally drove her mad not
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knowing what I did on the way there. I deliberately left that out every time I told her about my visits, never telling her anything of significance about the session either. It was control.
"I noticed you cleaned the house," I said knowing how fake and emotionally unattached the words sounded but I also knew that she wouldn't notice, "it's nice."
"It's the only thing I had to do will you were gone," She sighed and started stroking the side of my head affectionately, her eyes appraising me as she spoke checking for any sign of a misdeed on my part. She wouldn't find any, I always stayed away from things that had an even miniscule chance of hurting me. Including people.
"Can I tell you a story?" she asked systematically, pulling my head down into her bony lap. Her hands caressed through my thick, curly hair as if I were her pet.