Author's Note: I have this story's first and second drafts written out and I'm now working on the final product. So here is the first chapter. I was watching The Mary Alice Brandon File by The Storytellers and I decided that I wanted to give Alice's story a try.
So here it is.
As always, sorry for any mistakes.
Thank you for reading.
Chapter 1
"There is something wrong with you. But we are going to fix it."
The words bounced around inside her head, the patronising tone making her upper lipcurl in disgust. She was curled up in a small ball on top of the hospital bed. Her knees were hugged tightly to her chest, a torn and battered piece of paper crumpled in her closed fist. She was facing the wall, the depressing grey colour not helping her mood. Tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking the white bedding below.
"There is something wrong with you. But we are going to fix it."
She squeezed her brown eyes closed, taking in a shaky breath as she spoke in a weak voice. It was quiet, but in the otherwise empty room it seemed extremely loud.
"My name is Mary Alice Brandon. I'm 19 years old. I was born in Biloxi, Mississippi. I have a little sister. Cynthia." She gritted her teeth, allowing her eyes to reopen, to stare unseeingly at the ugly grey wall. "There is nothing wrong with me."
It didn't matter how many times she spoke that same chant. The fact still remained that her memory was fading. Every time she endured the electroshock therapy, more of her memory disappeared. Eventually she would completely forget who she was. But there was something that was still clear as day in her mind.
"My mother was murdered."
She knew that it was coming soon. Her next round of treatment. More shocks; more pain. There would be four knocks on her cell door and she would be led down that horrible corridor with its dull lights that made her head hurt and it's cold floor that felt icy on her bare feet. She would be led all the way to the treatment room.
She knew what the doctors and nurses here said about her. She'd heard them, when they thought she couldn't hear. 'Delusional', they said, 'sick'. But she wasn't sick. And she wasn't delusional. And she made certain that she told them that every chance they got.
But they wouldn't listen.
It didn't matter how many times she told them, she was still fastened to that bed with straps around her wrists and her ankles. She was still put through that pain. She still awoke every day with bruises where her hands and feet had been retrained. And there was still nothing that she could do.
"Mary Alice Brandon,"
She lifted her head, turning to look towards the doorway. She could see the nurse though tears blurred her vision. She had her arm held out in what was supposed to be a welcoming gesture. As if anything in this place could possibly be the slightest bit welcoming.
"It's time."
Of course. She must not have heard the knocks this time.
She pushed herself slowly from the bed and, with her chin resting against her chest, she reached up and wiped at her eyes. She clutched the piece of paper tightly in her fist as she was led slowly down the hallway and towards the dreaded treatment room.
Her doctor was already in there, his notepad in his hands, the form ready to be filled out. All details of her written on a piece of paper. Details that she would, one day, no longer remember.
She climbed on to the bed. She had learned that it did no good fighting. They would still go through with it.
She lay quiet for a moment as the nurse prepared the equipment.
The nurse made her way towards her and their eyes met;
"It's going to rain." She said in a soft voice, noting as the nurse and the doctor shared a look. "I like the rain. I like the way in sounds. I like jumping in puddles." She had to think about it. She had to think clearly about everything. She had to try and remember. But if she didn't think, the memories would be gone.
My name is Mary Alice Brandon. I'm 19 years old. I was born in Biloxi, Mississippi. I have a little sister. Cynthia. My mother was murdered.
"Are you ready?"
What did it matter? They'd continue whether she was ready or not. It wasn't as though being ready helped at all.
The contraption she despised was placed on her head. The gag placed between her teeth.
My name is Mary Alice Brandon. I'm 19 years old. I was...
The scream tore from her throat as the shock sent pain rushing through her body. It was momentary, but extreme and she couldn't help the convulsion it caused. She had just settled, the pain fading slightly, when the second shock hit and she convulsed again.
She didn't know how long it lasted. She didn't know how many shocks she was given. When she came around she couldn't remember any of it. The only reminder was a slight niggling headache at her left temple.
She was lifted into a seated position by the nurse.
"How are you feeling, Miss Brandon?" The doctor asked.
"That's you." The nurse spoke, placing a hand on her shoulder when she failed to answer his question. "Mary Alice Brandon."
"Oh," She spoke, accepting this information. She quite like the name. Alice. It was such a pretty name. So elegant. "I'm well."
"You did well." The nurse spoke, sending her what she assumed was supposed to be a reassuring smile. "And look," Alice followed her finger towards the window. "The sun is still bright. It will be nice and the sun will still be shining when it's time for your walk."
She didn't know why, but Alice felt the urge to shake her head. She was wrong.
"It's going to rain."
Nobody spoke, and Alice was released from the bed.
She was guided back to her room, the only words from the nurse being 'we'll be back for your walk shortly'. She heard the lock click behind her and walked over to her bed. Instinctively, she reached beneath her pillow. Frowning slightly she moved her hand around, searching. She lifted the pillow. There was nothing there. She stood from her bed, lifting the cover. Still nothing. She tossed the bedding across the room, searching frantically.
And the tears began.
The piece of paper. Her life. It had gone. She must have lost it. She must have dropped it.
She ran over to her cell door, pounding on it with her fists. She shouted for the nurse to come back.
But she didn't return.
She couldn't lose those memories. She had so few as it was.
She stopped her pounding. She stopped her shouting. Her legs gave out beneath her and she went crashing towards the concrete floor. She felt the ground scrape her knees, no doubt grazing the skin. She lowered herself to her side and curled up into a small ball, burying her head in her hands.
She sobbed, struggling to speak as she did so, grasping desperately at the memories that felt just out of reach.
"My name... my name is Mary Alice Brandon. I'm 19 years old. I was born in... I was born in..."
Her sobs grew louder, tearing from her throat now, wracking her body. She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember where she was born. She couldn't remember!
"My name is Mary Alice Brandon. I'm 19 years old. I was born in..."
She should have written it down more than once. She should have kept it hidden. But now it was too late. It was too late for should haves. She couldn't remember.
And she knew that it was only going to get worse.
She was still curled up on the floor when the soft pitter-patter of rain on the barred windows sounded. She listened intently, her sobs slowly dying down, her eyes falling closed. She buried her hands in her hair. As best as she could at least since her hair had been shaved as soon as she had arrived. It was growing back out now in uneven tufts.
Rain. It always calmed her down.
Author's Note: The first chapter is based a lot on the first of The Mary Alice Brandon File, with Alice's chant being from there. As well as the piece of paper and Alice's vision of the rain. I also used the nurse's words at the beginning of the story as a starting point as I feel the short films are very, very good. All credit for the chant, the piece of paper and the nurse's words go to The Storytellers (and possibly SM, I'm not sure). But the rest of the chapter is my own work.
Thank you for reading.
Please review. I want to know if you'd like to read more.
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