My mother used to tell me people with pale skin were destined for an early death. Why? Pale skinned humans are basically walking ghosts, waiting for death to claim them, according to her. Maybe that's the reason she tried to keep me from going out into the world. Fresh fallen snow seems more the color grey when put against my skin. During my time with my mother, I had only seen the sky and snow once . . . the rest of my life was confined within her house.
Although I could not leave the house, I was permitted to gaze outside the window. Ma promised to one day, when the world has been cleansed, I could walk outside without fear. No being would be able to judge my pale skin. Nothing of any power could drain my life away. When I saw Meteor heading toward Midgar, I thought maybe that was my chance to go out into the world . . . too bad the Planet decided to step in.
I remember the way my heart stopped when my only hope disappeared. Ma patted my shoulder and said "Shealin . . . Maybe next time you'll be free to roam."
If she hadn't said such a thing, maybe she would still be alive.
Her screams are what delighted me most about killing her. The screams started out small, simple shrieking while I pounded on her kneecaps with her favorite lamp. The same lamp she placed in my room when she felt I needed to be kept in darkness so that the "beings" wouldn't take my "walking ghost" self away, the only source of light I had for weeks at a time. Her shrieks continued even after I had moved on from her kneecaps to her legs. The bones gave a satisfying crack.
Satisfaction filled me further when I realized Ma could do nothing to get away from me. I tossed away the lamp, leering at her as she attempted to crawl away. I grabbed the back of her shirt and thrust her to the opposite side of the room, away from the door. Those nails on her hands appeared to be helping her escape. What else could I do except to peel them from her flesh? Racking sobs accompanied her screams as I relieved her of her escaping tools. Of course, I was inexperienced back then and I ended my fun too quickly.
Ma's life ended with a fork. Oh, I wished you could have seen her eyes. Such terror, surprise, and betrayal ingrained into them as I jabbed the fork into the center of her neck. Her screams intensified as I twisted the fork around repeatedly. My body shuddered as they got louder, until they finally stopped.
Before her death, every thought of Ma was accompanied by a brief vision of her smile. Now, a new vision replaced that one. Whenever I think of her now, I see graying brown hair matted to her face with blood, sweat and tears. I see glassy blue eyes, one eye partially falling out of its socket. The annoying smile twisted into an "o" shape. Of course, Ma's lips are missing, I ate them. Can't have her corpse smiling at me, now could I? Sadly, her corpse did not get as pale as my skin.
I don't know why I started think about her today. Maybe it's because I caught my reflection in the window of this abandoned looking and thought I saw my mother's eyes. This is the first time I had looked at myself in years. Discovery I made? I have Ma's eyes, the same blue eyes that would flash in fear when I tried to sneak out the door. Fortunately, her eyes are all I inherited. My reflection showed my red hair had developed an absurd curl to it, honestly more wave than curl. The hard ends of hair brushed against my shoulders. The swell of my breasts weren't very impressive, good thing I have no desire for any sexual company. My grey cloak still clean, although I'm not sure what my inner clothes looked like underneath it. The last time I checked I was wearing a grey shirt with weird looking tan pants. My skin was still the same paler than snow color. It looked even more pale than usual. Probably because I have been running from an insane group of people who seem to want me punished.
Honestly, what on earth did I do to attract their attention? I've killed many people once I escaped my home. I always found it humorous whenever my toys thought I was some ghost (guess I really do look like a ghost walking). However, this one girl seemed to mean something to this group of people. She didn't appear to be much. For goodness sake, she was walking in the streets by herself! The little girl was twirling a flower around with a ridiculous smile on her face while skipping every three steps. Her smile . . . it was my mother's smile. So I snuffed out her life . . . and suddenly these people are coming after me.
Who knew murdering the child Marlene Wallace would cause me so much trouble?