I open my eyes.
Standing before me is a dark man, dressed in dark clothes. Well, his hair and eyes were dark. His skin looked like bleached bone. He smiled at me sadly.
"Mary Alice Brandon?" he asked. I nodded, backing into a corner and wrapping my arms around my knees.
"I knew you'd come," I said. He nodded, watching me. My heart was almost humming in my chest, it was beating so fast. I could feel my pulse in my stomach, behind my eyes, and on the palms of my hands. My long black hair was in tangles around my face. The asylum didn't give me a brush because I began hitting myself in the head with it.
I just wanted the pictures to stop. They scared me. I wanted to be normal, like my sister. Is there a law somewhere that says I can't be like everyone else.
"Why is this happening?" I moaned, covering my face with my hands. "I don't want to die."
Images marched in front of my eyes, making them glaze over. Death. Three dark days. Then to wake with strength, with power, with madness, with thirst. I punched myself in the face, trying to make it stop. I felt a dim flare of pain past the depressants they had me on. I touched a finger to my lip, then pulled it away, staring at the drop of blood in a daze. There was a slight groan, and the dark man was on me.
I screamed, but the docters ignored me. They were already used to the screaming, and I hadn't even been here twelve hours.
I tried to hit him, but it was just as I knew it would be. I bloodied my knuckles against his hard skin.
I tried to bite him back, but I heard a slight crunch as my teeth cracked. I screamed at that, but it wasn't pained or frightened this time. It was a roar of rage. I cursed and swore and screamed some more. Finally he let me go. He stared at me for a moment, then turned and walked out the way he had walked in. I goggled after him for a moment. I could feel a distant blazing under my skin, but that was irrelevant. With all the medication I was on, I hardly felt it. I collapsed, trying to play dead. A nurse walked in, I could see as my heart stopped. She took one look at me and began screaming. I heard something about suicide. I just closed my eyes and let them carry me away.
Three days later I sat up, blinking back the lights. How brilliant they were! I got up and walked out of the morgue, trying to ignore the burning in my throat. I found a bathroom and walked in.
"Who are you?" I asked the person in the mirror. I could hardly remember. 'A' something? Andrea? Alison? No, just Alice. It was nice. It sort of rolled off the tongue. I said it out loud a few times, trying to see if it fit. It seemed good for me. Sort of delicate. I peered in the mirror. Except for the crimson eyes, I looked pretty delicate.
Except for my hair. I stared at it, long and bushy and full of split ends. Disgusting. I glared now.
"This isn't Alice," I accused. "This is a psycho. This isn't Alice."
I pondered what Alice looked like. A faerie, maybe? Yes, I decided, or a pixie. Now, what does a pixie look like?
I stared at the mirror again, then laughed. Alice didn't care what others thought of her. Alice was fierce and beautiful and strong and lovely. Alice could do what she pleased. Alice would redo the concept of pixies. Alice would turn everything upside-down.
Because she was Alice like that. I liked it. This Alice character I had always wanted to be was coming to life.
I looked down and stared in horror in the smock they had me in. What, did they think dead people don't want to look good, too? Alice/I would have to redo that, as well. Grinning, I walked out of the bathroom.
"Hello, may I have your jacket?" I asked a receptionist. She looked up at me, irritated, but her look changed abruptly to horror.
"M-m-miss Brandon--" she choked, before standing up and running from behind the desk towards the exit, gasping and screaming. I shrugged and picked up her jacket from the chair.
"Thank you," I said, laughing delightedly at my joke. I walked into a room and found scissors. I walked back to the bathroom. I stared at myself. This was the last of the murdered psycho, whoever she was. This was the beginning of Alice.
I grabbed a lock of hair and cut it just below my chin. It looked positively outrageous. I loved it. I quickly disposed of the rest of the hair below my chin.
I examined the end result. Good, but not good enough. I cut it shorter, to below my ears.
"Hello, I'm Alice," I said. Then I shook my head. "No, I don't look Alice enough."
I cut shorter, just above my ears. I smiled.
"Hello, I'm Alice," I tried again. I grinned. "That's so good! But it needs something..."
I stared in the mirror for a moment longer. Then I grinned, turning the sink on. I stuck my head under the faucet, then pulled away and flipped it back. It stood up in disheveled spikes. My eyes widened as I looked in the mirror.
"Hello," I said. "I'm Alice." I grinned slowly.
Suddenly, more pictures slipped through my brain. I began to flinch, then glared and straightened up. Alice could take visions. Alice was strong.
I mentally gaped at the image of a young man. He was so tall, his hair was long and blonde and wild, his eyes pierced mine...
More pictures. Another blonde man, but his look was more fatherly than the first man's. Two other men and two women. I smiled. Then I looked in the mirror to try out my future.
"Hello, I'm Alice. Alice Cullen Hale."