A/N: If anyone can figure out what this is based off of, review and tell me what you think! If you get it right, you either get A: A story request, preferably based off of a song, or B: A request for me to draw a picture and post it on my deviantart account.
April 24, 2005
Yeah. I was stuck in this horrible place. 'This place' being Goodman's Asylum. I'm not crazy, though. I just don't talk. And I have an odd obsession with mirrors.
My name's Anita. Anita Willioworth. And this place really isn't an asylum…But it used to be. Now it's just a treatment facility for people with problems. But like I said, I'm not crazy. I'm normal.
As for my room, the orderlies let us decorate our rooms however we please. But the furniture has to be accepted.
I chose a large, full length mirror to stand on one side of my room. The rest was just a wooden bureau and a twin sized bed.
You're probably reading this journal of mine, thinking that I should put dialogue, describe things fully, what's with the mirrors, what I look like….and if I'll ever talk.
Fine. I'll start again with that.
There's no dialogue because I just stay here, in my room. I don't voluntarily go anywhere. I'm forced to go to therapy. Forced to go to the cafeteria to eat. Forced to do everything.
And the problem is I'm short. I can't fight back. I don't even have dwarfism or anything. I'm just shorter than normal. I'm about 4'9". Yeah. I get it…I'm short. You think I don't know? And I have long black hair. I'm not allowed to cut it, and I don't really want it cut. The patients here aren't allowed anything considered sharp, anyway--- The list is made up of things like CD's, scissors, actual silverware, glass…I'm just happy that they didn't ban mirrors. If they did, I actually would go crazy…
My fascination with mirrors started a bit after my grandmother, Elena, died. I'd heard an old Southern myth---When a person(s) dies, their spirit may become trapped in any mirror in their house that isn't covered.
So I naturally started staring into mirrors. I wondered if spirits could be trapped in mirrors… If Elena's spirit could live on through the mirror…through the looking glass…
Elena taught me so many things---how to draw, how to sing…She really loved to teach me all kinds of art. I actually aspired to be some sort of artist when I grew up… I started writing my own poetry, my own song lyrics, and I composed a few very short piano pieces. Then she died shortly after my sixteenth birthday.
That stopped everything I did. I stopped talking, I stopped singing… I stopped everything entirely.
Then I heard of the myth, and I started spending all my time staring into mirrors. Mirrors practically consumed my life. I was forced to get up, to eat, to go to school…
And that's when my own parents decided to send me to this horrible place. I was betrayed by my own parents… They sent me here, to this hell on earth…
