Tell me something I'll never forget...
...I hate you
A young woman, no older than twenty-two, traipsed through the run-down back streets of her city. Overhead, the moon shone an eerie glow down onto the pavement and fir trees. The stars winked down at her in time with her thoughts, it seemed.
Incoherent though her thoughts were, the most recent recollective memory flaunting in parade at the front of her mind was clear as any of the mirror shards that littered the floor of the single-room duplex she had just left. She could still see her boyfriend of four years glaring at her, ordering her out of the only home she's known since her parents' death.
Why he did this now, of all times, she didn't know, but she figured it to have something to do with the rumors circulating at the local bar that he frequented so often. The old drunkards, lost in their intoxicated haven, must have pumped Don full of the belief that she had slept around with the travelers that passed through. Lies, she thought bitterly. She had never once swayed from her relationship with Don.
But she never had the chance to explain. Now she was walking the streets because he had simply chosen not to listen. Typical male characteristics in its best, she guessed.
A sound behind her caught her attention and she looked back. The streetlights on this street were flickering and she couldn't see clearly who had stepped onto the road from an adjacent one. Even the moon's glow couldn't breach the veil that had formed like a cloak around the pursuer. .
She turned back to her yet-to-be-decided destination and hastened her pace to a brisk walk, and was alarmed to find that the person following her had also picked up their speed to match hers and had moved closer. Of all the nights... she speculated before picking the pace up again to at least get to the next streetlight.
Fingers hooked into her long chestnut hair like claws and jarred her to a rough stop. Pain jolted through her scalp at the pull and she shouted in resilience and protest. The same fingers pulled her head sharply to the side exposing her neck and the underside of her chin for her inspection of the barrel of a lovely little 9imm/i.
She stared up into bright blue eyes and froze -- she recognized that face. However, she didn't get to think much on that for the person shoved her to the ground and pointed the gun at her face. From the way they were standing, she couldn't see anything of their features but chestnut hair, illuminated like a halo from the faltering streetlight, and a womanly figure.
"Get up." That voice... "I said get up!"
She grunted as the person kicked her in the ribs as if that would make her go any faster. The first grunt was soon mirrored by another one as she was kicked over again. She instinctively curled up into a ball, much to the disappointment of her assailant. If kicking her was supposed to make her get up faster, then - obviously -, someone was doing something wrong.
"You're pathetic, Megahn. Get up!"
That voice, it chilled her down to whatever carnal level of horror she possessed, and drove her to push herself from the cold pavement of the road. Despite the newfound pain in her ribs, she turned to stare at the provoker, but instead of seeing the face she expected; she saw a black hole that seemed to hold the boundaries of her life carelessly.
The silent night was broken, split into shards, by the sound that greatly resembled a thunderclap.
She stared down at herself as she fell back to the pavement she had just picked herself up from. Her eyes widened in horror at the gaping hole that was releasing a putrid smoke from the center of her own forehead. Her eyes widened further when she realized that, despite the fact that she was clearly staring down at her lifeless self, she stood completely and utterly unharmed. In her hand, the malicious glint of the handgun winked up at her seductively. She dropped the gun as she stifled a mortified gasp, the clattering sound shocking her even further.
She didn't know what was going on, but she had no intention of sticking around the scene any longer to find out. Getting ready to run, she turned on her heel - arms poised and knees bent in that signature stance of a runner - and froze.
Beneath the flickering and failing streetlight just at the next corner, maybe only two houses down, her boyfriend Don was holding a woman in his arms. The horror she had felt moments before was filled with a suppressed rage and she bent down, picking up the gun once more and starting forward.
She had only taken a few steps when the woman that appeared oh-so comfortable lifted her head and looked up towards Don's face, the light, though weak and very poor, highlighting her features crystal clear.
She was the one looking up at Don. She was the one being held by Don.
The flickering light fanned out on the ground, giving a good few meters of acceptable lighting. It was this light that highlighted and pronounced the two beings' actions so sharply for Megahn's view. The male and female's actions started out slowly at first, then began to accelerate to a more normal pace that was easier to follow.
"You know I love you, Megahn, right?" she heard from the male. Was it Don? She couldn't be sure unless she moved closer to the light, but her feet remained rooted in the ground; stuck in place like the trees that lined the streets.
The woman's light laughter joined together with a nod and she leaned up the tips of her toes. Her lips met the man's before the light flickered brutally. Everything in that concentrated area was shrouded in darkness for a split second before it returned.
The two had moved apart in that span of a second; the woman now stood with her arms crossed opposite the male who's once-handsome face was contorted in a drunken anger.
"Why the hell did you do it, Megahn!"
"What?"
"Don't pull that. Why the hell did you sleep with him! Why would you do this. . .to me!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
The woman's voice was stammering, but it sounded distant, as if there was a layer of cotton that covered her ears to dull the sound a considerable amount.
She finally managed to take a step. As her foot connected with the concrete once more, the light flickered again. Her eyes darted upwards, towards the large bulb that kept hindering her vision.
Another scene; another pose. This time, the woman was near the edge of the light, her face grief-stricken as she stared at the male, who was obviously dunk, and was waving a beer bottle around as he shouted at her.
"You get out of my bloody house! You get out now and don't you ever fucking come back! I swear I'll kill you for every time you were in another man's bed!"
"This is my home as much as yours. Do you have any proof that I di-" The woman was cut off. She didn't know why at first, but then she realized that the man, Don, had thrown his empty beer bottle at her, and it had shattered against an invisible wall next to her head. She watched the woman visibly flinch and duck involuntarily.
"Get out!"
She watched the woman run out of the circle of light towards her. The faintest impression of lunacy clouded her mind and she grasped the handle of the gun she held. Would it do the same once more? she wondered.
The peal of thunder overtook the surrounding area once more, and a blossoming crimson splotch soon formed onto the running woman's chest.
This time, she felt the pain as if it was she, herself, that had been shot, and not this impostor. She fell backwards to the ground, grabbing the material that covered her chest and looked down as the gore crept through the finely woven strands. Her back collided with the pavement and she let out a strangled gasp, her vision starting to fade with the excessive blood loss.
In a forced attempt, she arched her neck and looked towards the spot she had seen the alien woman fall, but saw nothing but a bare stretch of road. She looked further yet, into the circle of light that was still present from the streetlight, to see Don - for, she figured, that is who it was - staring at her with an expression that held no caring emotions, merely indifference and loathing.
And it was to that image, Don watching her die and not trying to save her, that her eyes rolled into the back of her head lifelessly.
Somewhere, from around her, she heard voices. They were unfamiliar to her, but she heard them nonetheless.
"It's been three years, doctor. Is there any chance that this," it was here that the person speaking paused, and the sound of papers flipping ensued before the person continued, "Megahn Kartman will recover?"
Another voice spoke calmly in reply, "With how little she's progressing, my only conclusion would be no."
"What happened to her? The reports don't mention much except for a trauma...?" It was the first person again.
"I wasn't the one who was assigned her first, so I don't have full details, but from what the previously assigned person told me was that several years prior on New Years Eve, her boyfriend, or fiancee, I'm not sure which, and she had gotten into an argument and she left their apartment. Apparently, even after he had been drinking and was thoroughly inebriated, he left after her in the vehicle and was trying to convince her to come home when he got hit head-on by another driver who, unfortunately, didn't survive. From the reports, it said that her mental state all but shattered on the spot watching him burn alive screaming for help."
Was that what happened?
She could see where she was now - in an off-white room that held only a single cot and a small set of drawers. Also visible, was what she wore - shapeless, pale blue clothing that contrasted greatly against her now-pale skin and lanky hair that was down to her shoulders.
And how did she see this?
Why, she was standing outside the one-way window staring in at herself as the psychiatrists talked about furthering certain treatments, and testing another.