The tiles were cold. Cold against my bare leg as I sat in my shift on the
bathroom floor, cradling the box of broken razors I had hidden beneath one
of the tiles. I shivered, watching myself reach into the box. Looking
through the window, I saw myself slash my thigh to test the blade, and I
saw that a line of blood stained my thoroughly veined, skin. From outside
the moment, I cried out; but although I did not move or make a sound, tears
filled my eyes. I looked at the scars on my arms, arms that I bound every
morning. How many new scars would be there tomorrow? How was I to know? I
only watched myself do these things, unable to intervene, until either
sunrise or some unsuspecting student entered the chilled room where I
quietly sat.
I awoke in a small puddle of my own blood, as the earliest morning rays of light crept through the window. Sunrise always made me nervous, and I never welcomed it, but I always woke for it. I hurriedly hid the rusting razors underneath the tile from which they came, and cleaned up the crusting blood, dark and wet against the pale blue tiles. The cuts having stopped bleeding, I re-bound my arms and treated the slash on my leg, knowing it would scar. I tried to pull my shift to cover it as best I could, so that when I slipped back into the dorm room, no one would ask any questions. Not that any of them cared. Of course, Maedel pretends to worry, but she'll get over it, and go giggle and whisper with the Others if I ignore her for long enough. They all did before; why should this place be so different? Oh, but it is different. So different from the strict, orderly schools I used to attend. And why? What makes it so different? When I saw it, it was all I had hoped for, all I'd ever dreamed it could be, and more. It was a castle. I'd never seen a real castle before, with turrets and towers, and windows all over. So high, overshadowing the beautiful lake, vast lands- oh, it was the most beautiful place I'd ever dreamed of. And it was tangible, unlike my other dreamlands. I was almost afraid to close my eyes for fear that it would all be gone when I again opened them. But now, I tightly shut my eyes closed as I walk from classroom to classroom, praying that I'll soon wake from this dream turned nightmare.
No one questions my actions; I believe they all fear me. No one cares enough to ask, anyway. Why should I want their pity? I don't need their sympathy! The Others say I keep to myself, but I say the Others never asked. Who would care, or want to care? Who wants the pain of getting involved? I know exactly how different I am, even here. Don't think I don't hear the whispers in the halls, or notice the stares in the corridors. My strange name, an unknown past I'd rather forget, strange skin and hair, and my eyes! No one wants to look into my eyes! My colorless eyes, unblinking, penetrate into your very soul. Look into my eyes!
I dressed in my school robes and slipped into my cold bed, having not slept in it most of the night. Curling up in a ball, I silently cried. When finally I lay quiet, I thought about my father. I've never met the man, he fled before I was born. He married my mother, respectably (she kept his name, and gave it to me), and one night after my mum told him she pregnant, he disappeared without a trace of him ever having been there. He left us nothing, no belongings to remember him by, not even a wedding ring. There are no photographs of him at all; my mother always joked that he wasn't "photogenic", but it was impossible to catch him on film. She tried to tell me of him, of his meticulous clothing, of his long, lustrous hair, of his unusual sideburns. She always described him as being tall for that time, she said he was not particularly attractive but she found him very alluring for some reason; perhaps it was his eyes, colorless like my own, or the way he held himself, aloof and wary. He was a challenge; how could she break such of heart of blood-red granite. Did she succeed? Mum always said not to blame him, that he was a very troubled but wonderful man. He surely had good reason to go, she assured me. What reason could that be? Were we not good enough for him, not good enough reasons to stay? Did he not want a daughter, did I cause him to go? Was it my impending birth that caused my father's disappearance and all of my mother's pain?
Sometimes the imagined guilt is unbearable, and my lack of certainty about so many things makes my mind lose its edge. How can I know the truth of a past, so long ago; one I didn't even live in? I don't understand the people around me; I seem to be so unlike any of them. The subjects we cover in class are easy enough; my mother had had me tutored secretly at home. I hadn't shown any sign of having the innate ability required for a school of this genre and caliber to admit me. I'm not far behind in the sciences and history of this world, but I'll need a private tutor in the practical use of my hidden skill. It was all so exciting and rather overwhelming when I received my letter. I knew that my mum would be so happy for me! Oh, how I wanted to make her memory proud!
Moreover, it was the escape from reality that I had wished for, had prayed for. My wish-upon every star-was just to free myself, getting out of the repetitious cycles of fear and being feared, the psychologists and changing schools. Now I wish only to die. Actually, I've always been this way. And for me, always has been quite a long time. Yes, I appear to be about sixteen years old, but I have been alive for nearly seven times that length of time. I'm approximately 117 years old. My mother is dead, and has been for years. My father, I assumed dead long ago, unless he's like me. I might never know, unless he chooses to contact me, and that's assuming he lives on. I've seen a lot of history (although that does very little for me in our history class), and in this world, this is a VERY bad time.
One individual has gradually gathered power and has become incredibly corrupted. Or perhaps he was corrupted before, or maybe he was always this way; but as I said before, always is a long time. Surprisingly, this is my first year at this school, although I am in 5th year classes. Though I may be older and smarter than my peers, my maturity level is about the same. I'm not a total freak, and I certainly don't act my age. But my advanced age is only one difference of the many between myself and those around me. There are obvious differences, mostly in the way I look. I'm tall and extremely slender; some would call me emancipated if they didn't know that I'm perfectly healthy. I have enormous eyes and irises like quicksilver, as well as nearly translucent skin. My hair is raven black with highlights of white and red. I always wear it down brushed back from my face, without bangs. My teeth are sharp like the few of the words I occasionally choose to speak. My saliva is highly acidic. My arms are thin and bound, and I avoid showing my skin, especially avoiding exposing any part of me to direct sunlight. I thrive in the darkness.
The psychologists have given my "condition" many names, not many of which are flattering. They all agree that I'm suicidal, psychotic, and possibly dangerous, but I wouldn't take the drugs they gave me. I've always been obsessed with death, sedating me won't help me. My only fear is that I might hurt someone one day, and so I let no one near me. No one can be allowed close enough to me to get hurt. I am dangerous, like a chained beast, I must be restrained to protect the Others from what neither they nor I understand.
I listened as the girls in the beds surrounding mine woke up and began their morning routines. Being already dressed and prepared, I stayed in my bed with the heavy curtains drawn. Maedel rapped on my bedpost, calling out, "Are you ready to go to breakfast, Vi?" I hate the nickname the Others thought up for me, "Vi", but I suppose it's easier for them than Flavia. It would look rather nice on a tombstone. I also am greatly opposed to Maedel's efforts to befriend me. Her unnatural attentions towards me seem superficial, but I know the kindness is real. She seems to hold a high opinion of me, and is one of the only girls in my dorm room who truly respects me, if not my preference of privacy. But, of course, she is "weird" too, one of the general outcasts, though she's naturally very sweet and does have some good friends. I wish that she would give up and leave me alone. I feel awful shunning and snubbing her every time she is friendly towards me. I hate to hurt her, being so innocent. I hate to see the innocent die, even though sometimes they must. Another thing I hate is Jamie and her little clique of perfection. She sleeps in the bed opposite mine and I can't stand her! She's smart and cute and normal, full of life and "practically perfect in every way." She and her little gang of groupies just piss me off! But there isn't a thing I can do about it, so I try not to let them bother me.
I awoke in a small puddle of my own blood, as the earliest morning rays of light crept through the window. Sunrise always made me nervous, and I never welcomed it, but I always woke for it. I hurriedly hid the rusting razors underneath the tile from which they came, and cleaned up the crusting blood, dark and wet against the pale blue tiles. The cuts having stopped bleeding, I re-bound my arms and treated the slash on my leg, knowing it would scar. I tried to pull my shift to cover it as best I could, so that when I slipped back into the dorm room, no one would ask any questions. Not that any of them cared. Of course, Maedel pretends to worry, but she'll get over it, and go giggle and whisper with the Others if I ignore her for long enough. They all did before; why should this place be so different? Oh, but it is different. So different from the strict, orderly schools I used to attend. And why? What makes it so different? When I saw it, it was all I had hoped for, all I'd ever dreamed it could be, and more. It was a castle. I'd never seen a real castle before, with turrets and towers, and windows all over. So high, overshadowing the beautiful lake, vast lands- oh, it was the most beautiful place I'd ever dreamed of. And it was tangible, unlike my other dreamlands. I was almost afraid to close my eyes for fear that it would all be gone when I again opened them. But now, I tightly shut my eyes closed as I walk from classroom to classroom, praying that I'll soon wake from this dream turned nightmare.
No one questions my actions; I believe they all fear me. No one cares enough to ask, anyway. Why should I want their pity? I don't need their sympathy! The Others say I keep to myself, but I say the Others never asked. Who would care, or want to care? Who wants the pain of getting involved? I know exactly how different I am, even here. Don't think I don't hear the whispers in the halls, or notice the stares in the corridors. My strange name, an unknown past I'd rather forget, strange skin and hair, and my eyes! No one wants to look into my eyes! My colorless eyes, unblinking, penetrate into your very soul. Look into my eyes!
I dressed in my school robes and slipped into my cold bed, having not slept in it most of the night. Curling up in a ball, I silently cried. When finally I lay quiet, I thought about my father. I've never met the man, he fled before I was born. He married my mother, respectably (she kept his name, and gave it to me), and one night after my mum told him she pregnant, he disappeared without a trace of him ever having been there. He left us nothing, no belongings to remember him by, not even a wedding ring. There are no photographs of him at all; my mother always joked that he wasn't "photogenic", but it was impossible to catch him on film. She tried to tell me of him, of his meticulous clothing, of his long, lustrous hair, of his unusual sideburns. She always described him as being tall for that time, she said he was not particularly attractive but she found him very alluring for some reason; perhaps it was his eyes, colorless like my own, or the way he held himself, aloof and wary. He was a challenge; how could she break such of heart of blood-red granite. Did she succeed? Mum always said not to blame him, that he was a very troubled but wonderful man. He surely had good reason to go, she assured me. What reason could that be? Were we not good enough for him, not good enough reasons to stay? Did he not want a daughter, did I cause him to go? Was it my impending birth that caused my father's disappearance and all of my mother's pain?
Sometimes the imagined guilt is unbearable, and my lack of certainty about so many things makes my mind lose its edge. How can I know the truth of a past, so long ago; one I didn't even live in? I don't understand the people around me; I seem to be so unlike any of them. The subjects we cover in class are easy enough; my mother had had me tutored secretly at home. I hadn't shown any sign of having the innate ability required for a school of this genre and caliber to admit me. I'm not far behind in the sciences and history of this world, but I'll need a private tutor in the practical use of my hidden skill. It was all so exciting and rather overwhelming when I received my letter. I knew that my mum would be so happy for me! Oh, how I wanted to make her memory proud!
Moreover, it was the escape from reality that I had wished for, had prayed for. My wish-upon every star-was just to free myself, getting out of the repetitious cycles of fear and being feared, the psychologists and changing schools. Now I wish only to die. Actually, I've always been this way. And for me, always has been quite a long time. Yes, I appear to be about sixteen years old, but I have been alive for nearly seven times that length of time. I'm approximately 117 years old. My mother is dead, and has been for years. My father, I assumed dead long ago, unless he's like me. I might never know, unless he chooses to contact me, and that's assuming he lives on. I've seen a lot of history (although that does very little for me in our history class), and in this world, this is a VERY bad time.
One individual has gradually gathered power and has become incredibly corrupted. Or perhaps he was corrupted before, or maybe he was always this way; but as I said before, always is a long time. Surprisingly, this is my first year at this school, although I am in 5th year classes. Though I may be older and smarter than my peers, my maturity level is about the same. I'm not a total freak, and I certainly don't act my age. But my advanced age is only one difference of the many between myself and those around me. There are obvious differences, mostly in the way I look. I'm tall and extremely slender; some would call me emancipated if they didn't know that I'm perfectly healthy. I have enormous eyes and irises like quicksilver, as well as nearly translucent skin. My hair is raven black with highlights of white and red. I always wear it down brushed back from my face, without bangs. My teeth are sharp like the few of the words I occasionally choose to speak. My saliva is highly acidic. My arms are thin and bound, and I avoid showing my skin, especially avoiding exposing any part of me to direct sunlight. I thrive in the darkness.
The psychologists have given my "condition" many names, not many of which are flattering. They all agree that I'm suicidal, psychotic, and possibly dangerous, but I wouldn't take the drugs they gave me. I've always been obsessed with death, sedating me won't help me. My only fear is that I might hurt someone one day, and so I let no one near me. No one can be allowed close enough to me to get hurt. I am dangerous, like a chained beast, I must be restrained to protect the Others from what neither they nor I understand.
I listened as the girls in the beds surrounding mine woke up and began their morning routines. Being already dressed and prepared, I stayed in my bed with the heavy curtains drawn. Maedel rapped on my bedpost, calling out, "Are you ready to go to breakfast, Vi?" I hate the nickname the Others thought up for me, "Vi", but I suppose it's easier for them than Flavia. It would look rather nice on a tombstone. I also am greatly opposed to Maedel's efforts to befriend me. Her unnatural attentions towards me seem superficial, but I know the kindness is real. She seems to hold a high opinion of me, and is one of the only girls in my dorm room who truly respects me, if not my preference of privacy. But, of course, she is "weird" too, one of the general outcasts, though she's naturally very sweet and does have some good friends. I wish that she would give up and leave me alone. I feel awful shunning and snubbing her every time she is friendly towards me. I hate to hurt her, being so innocent. I hate to see the innocent die, even though sometimes they must. Another thing I hate is Jamie and her little clique of perfection. She sleeps in the bed opposite mine and I can't stand her! She's smart and cute and normal, full of life and "practically perfect in every way." She and her little gang of groupies just piss me off! But there isn't a thing I can do about it, so I try not to let them bother me.