AN: I orginally wrote this as an english assignment, but on a second read felt that it was more suited to a fan fic. It's written from any perspective you like as a gothic genre (not I'm not emo, that's just what the task entailed). It could be seen as Rose being trapped, but I'll leave that up to you to decide. R&R
Reality
By Brooke Holdsworth
The darkness is consuming; it does not relent. She no longer knows who she is, only that she is lost. She runs, she screams, but she does not see, hear or feel. There is nothing left, nothing except the desire of freedom. She must escape, must remember. But there is nothing in this place. Only ghostly wails sing around her. They invade her thoughts and they do not leave. They are empty of melody, and harmony, and full of piercing wails and screams.
For she doesn't feel, she only observes. She wishes for anything to take away the nothingness of this place. The darkness drips around her, waiting, as if it was going to attack. It is a ghost, slipping through her fingers, invisible and terrifying. But what is worse is the emptiness she feels, there is no one, only the hint of the memories from the life she used to have, only the consuming thoughts that she will die there.
It is her hell, and she is all alone, some days she wishes she would die, wishes that she could end it all, leave the darkness and see the moon, feel the pain of a grazed knee, smell the world. This dead dark place smells pallid and musty but it is now neutral, for she no longer remembers any different. So she runs, she runs in a hope to escape everything, and for a split second, she is at peace, for she has a purpose – to run; she sees light, she smells a rose, she feels everything. And then reality melts back into place and she is alone once more.
She has forgotten herself, she has forgotten the world, and then she falls. For so long there has been only the flat stretch of nothing, and now she falls. Fire licks at her heels, and she sees, she sees the red and yellow tongues as they dance around her. She smells the stench of burning flesh replacing the stink of fear. And she feels, it burns, but it is good. For anything is better than nothing.
And then it is extinguished, snuffed out, and she is cold. Rain pelts her skin; wind blows her around. Lightning flashes and her surroundings are illuminated; ghostly shadows dance on either side, she is in a room, an empty room. She is alone.
Her skin is pale and bruised, and she savours the flashes of light; if only to see herself, and know of her existence. Then time stops, for she is frozen, nothing moves. Her captor stalks out of the shadows, his appearance imprinting itself on her mind. His face is twisted and sallow. His skin is pale, like hers, for they haven't tasted sunlight in so long; his eyes are sunken. And she knows everything.
He is no one and she is his toy. And this is their game.