ooc: Yet another one of my little story-type things focusing on Samara in Eola. Yesh, that is one of (if not) my favourite things to write about. Anywhoo, onto the story. oneshot
Pacing
I'm in my white room in Eola, as I almost always am. Pacing back and forth on the white tiles while that retched camera watches me. It's the only other thing in the room that's not white, besides my hair. It's always watching me, every move I make. As if I was crazy.
I'm not crazy, you are.
I'm as sane as, if not saner, than the rest of you.
Just because my mind works in different ways doesn't mean you should lock me up and keep watch on me twenty-four seven.
Just because I'm different doesn't mean you should discriminate against me.
It wasn't your fault.
Well in a way it was...
You made me sleep in the barn...
... To be kept awake by those damned crazy horses...
... Never to sleep.
Yes, I never sleep.
Never have, never will.
Never until I feel I have had caused enough vengeance onto the rest of the world.
But then again, I can't feel.
I don't know if I ever could.
My mother's hand on my shoulder...
... While I stood by the well...
... Singing my same old song...
... In attempts to comfort me...
It will all be okay in the end, Samara
She says to me, it doesn't help.
Because I can't feel her there.
I can't feel anything.
You made me like this. Now it is simple:
I broke, you paid.
I wish I could. I wish I could know what it is like to feel. To be normal, to have emotions and such. I am different, and maybe I really am crazy.
But humans, dear... they are so fragile. Like that man we killed last session. He wouldn't shut up. I told him to, but he just went blah-blahing on about the same old shit. So what did we do? Break his neck, we did. I stood there and imagined it happening, and it did...
Don't you love having this power we have?
No, I don't. It hurts people, like it hurt Mommy. That's why Daddy sent us here... because I hurt Mommy... I hurt her, made her pain.
I didn't mean to.
They give me too much time alone, too much time to think.
I get these... these... visions... of odd, creepy things... they scare me... I see the well... my well... and inside, the water's dripping...
d
r
i
p
p
i
n
g
Inside, the water's dripping... like my sanity... it's dripping away...
I wish I was normal.
Why be normal, like everyone else? And be so naïve, you can't see reality when it comes and stabs you in the shoulder? Like it did to me, when I was very young.
I had hopes back then, hopes of being like everyone else.
Now I couldn't care less. I can't care, it's a human emotion.
I'm not human.
And I'll never be.
You don't help much.
You question me...
...In another one of those fucking white rooms...
...While my thoughts drift, I give you answers that make my two sides be very obvious...
The innocent Samara, the one who is so sick of it all, who would like nothing more than to finally sleep and die in her sleep... and then be forgiven for all of the wrongs she's done.
The vengeful Samara, the one who sits in this room... and paces it... thinking of new ways to kill... and of dark, creepy things... the one who realizes she will never die, so she doesn't hope for that anymore. She will be here forever, spreading her fear and hate... tearing everything apart.
I wish I could just be one Samara. My multiple personalities are so confusing...
Everything is.
I understand nothing...
And yet,
I understand everything.
These are just some of the sick, twisted thoughts that swirl through my ebony head as I pace this room... my confinement... where I forever will be.
Locked up, like the nothing I am.
