So this was inspired by another story that hasn't been updated in a while. Some triggering events in this chapter and future chapter, just be warned. I had some difficulties while uploading this so the formatting might seem off. Just saying.
I remember clearly the night my mother brought home a book for me, when I just five years old. I remember it clearly because it was the last thing she gave me before she hung herself in her room. She sat me down and read me a book called Peter Pan, written by a woman named Wendy Darling.
Usually she only reads a chapter or two before telling me to run off to bed, but that night she just kept reading, not that I minded. It was a whimsical story that I wished would never end. When she closed the back cover with a sigh, there was nothing in her face that I could see that would give away what she was planning on doing next. She tucked me into bed, but took extra time to sing me a song and kiss my forehead.
"Goodnight Alice, my angel. I love you so much. Remember that."
As a child, I was delighted at this attention. Ever since Papa was killed in an accident, mother had been very distant, almost like she was on an adventure in her mind. She didn't usually have a lot of time for me, so that last night was wonderful.
Looking back, eleven years later, I could clearly see the signs that it would be my last night with my mother. The next day, the maid found her swinging from the ceiling fan and within hours my bags were packed and I was sent to live with the family that I had never met.
When I arrived there, it was obvious I wasn't directly related to them. I had wavy brown hair, rather then their lovely curly blonde hair. My eyes were hazel, but changed colours with my emotions, when everyone's eyes were a clear sky blue.
And I was happy, for a while. I lived with my Uncle Paul, Aunt Emily, Jessica and James, fitting in as best I could, and sometimes I actually felt like I was a part of their family and not a charity case. For the first six years everything went wonderfully. School was good, I got the top marks of my class in art and music; though fell a bit behind James when it came to physical education.
The trouble started when I was eleven. It was a hot night, and I was having a strange dream, a nightmare really. My father was in it, my mother as well. They were both in the dining room, but when I tried to reach out to them, they began to melt, bones showing through dripping skin. I awoke with a scream, tears rushing down my flushed cheeks. Papa always told me that I need to think through bad dreams and pick out the parts that are impossible to trick my mind into being not scary. I tried, and realized that I couldn't picture his face at all. I couldn't remember what m Father looked like. I could barely remember what Mother looked like. I started to hyperventilate and rushed over to my window.
I threw it open, reveling in the chilly night air. I looked up at the night sky and searched for what I have found thousands of times. The second start to the right and straight on till morning. I fell asleep; staring at that star, wishing for my red-headed hero will take me away.
When I started the 8th grade, things got bad. Back in my middle school everyone was pretty cool and liked just about everyone else. I had friends sure, but no one I could spill my heart out to, but I was okay with that because I would whisper my problems to that second star to the right every night.
In English, we had to do a project about a book and present it to the class. My heart leaped, for I knew exactly what book to do my report on. When I got home that day I rushed to my room and immediately got to work, finishing before I went to bed. The next week, we were to present our reports to the class, and I eagerly – but foolishly - volunteered to present first.
Everyone laughed at me. There was a beat of silence after I finished before the classroom erupted in laughter. The teacher didn't laugh, but she had a disappointed look on her face,
"Alice. This was supposed to be a serious report done on a serious book. Not a child's bedtime story. I'm sorry, but I have to give you a zero and call you parents," My face paled, "I expected so much more from you."
After class, a few kids came up behind me and took my bag, and my book.
"Lookie here! The baby still carries around her bedtime story!" the biggest of the group dropped my bag, but held my most prized possession aloof.
"And look at how tattered it is! I bet she reads it every night!" They all laughed at that and I could feel tears stinging at my eyes.
"I bet a little more wear and tear won't do much harm!" The first bully took the front cover in his left hand and the back cover in his right, and pulled. The seam ripped right down the middle scattering the pages across the hallway.
No one bothered to help me pick them up, so I skipped the rest of the day carefully picking up the pages with shaking hands, trying to prevent my teas from dripping on the tattered pictures, with little success. Without anybody noticing or even caring, I ran home and hid in my room. Both my cousins were still at school, both older and in a different building, so they wouldn't be home for a few more hours. My Aunt and Uncle were at work, and don't come home until late usually. Recently they had to let go of the help due to the economy, so I was alone – only this time I didn't have Peter to comfort me.
That was the first time I hurt myself, at the tender age of thirteen. I was angry, angrier than I had ever been in my life. The only thing left from my mother, destroyed. I had nothing left. I went to my bathroom and looked in the mirror. I had tried to look nice today, borrowing a bit of Jessica's makeup when she was in the shower. Now, black streaks clawed their way down my face like pointed fingers. My usually bright greenish eyes were a drowned brown colour and my whole face seemed ashen. Suddenly, I felt anger. Hot, burning anger flash through my chest and without thinking I punched the mirror with all my strength, feeling satisfaction as I saw the glass shattered and blood splatter.
As quickly as it had come, the anger fled, leaving me with the feeling of a solid, heavy weight on my chest making it hard to breathe. Glancing down at my hand, I saw glass embedded in my knuckles. In a daze, I retrieved the tweezers from behind the mirror cabinet and began clearing the wound. With each piece of glass being removed, the feeling in my chest lightened a bit.
Dropping the tweezers, I grabbed a big-ish piece of mirror and stared at the jagged edge. I rolled down my uniform sock and placed the glass on the skin of my ankle, pressing slightly. A droplet of blood rolled down my ankle, but I smiled. The pressure was leaving. I made two more lines on my ankle and four on my wrist, I quickly but professionally wrapped some bandages around my ankle, wrist and knuckles to stem the blood and begin the healing process. Thankfully James had taught me all about first aid on out adventures, and thankfully I was able to control myself and avoided needing stitches.
With a clearer head, I walked back to my room and sat down at my desk with the pages of my book. With robot-like movements I pieced it back together, using some construction paper and glue to make a new cover and a needle and thread to sew the pages together. I then proceeded to throw the god forsaken book under my bed and never think about it again, nor the characters within it. It took me until the rest of my 'family' returned home, but when we sat down for dinner, no one knew anything was different with me.
It's been five years since that night, five years. At sixteen years old, the kids at school haven't back off in the slightest. They keep going strong about the 'freaky orphan girl' who's stuck in the past. My 'little habit' hasn't gotten better either, though it helped me a lot. The big kid from the 8th grade, the one who ripped my book, Terrence, seemed to have made it his job to make my life miserable, though I can handle it. I don't let my family know, because I don't want them to worry about me. I don't need any one worrying about me.
I returned home a bit late, mostly because Terrence wanted to 'talk' after school as usual, though the bruise on my ribs were slightly larger than usual. The second I walked through the door, I was greeted by the sounds of yelling. Paul and Emily were nice people, they are, but with the recent downturn in the economy, Paul had been laid off and took up drinking. Emily tries to wean him off to help him look for a new job but he doesn't want to get better.
Emily must have heard the front door close and rushed out of the kitchen, her neat bun in slight disarray but her smile as warm as usual.
"Hello Alice. How was school?" I gave a shrug, as usual, "Well I was making some cookies when Paul-"She cut off, glancing back at the door she came from to see if he had heard her, "When your Uncle needed some help. Stop by the kitchen before dinner if you'd like!"
"Thanks Aunt Emily but I have a ton of homework to do, with midterms coming up and all that." I lied smoothly, wanting to avoid the kitchen at all costs. Emily thinks when I 'study' I lock myself in my room and hit the books. In reality I cry, paint, cut, read. But they know not to bother me until I come out of my own free will.
"Oh! Okay then dear. Don't study too hard now!" She was so wonderfully oblivious. I smiled wide and rushed up two flights of expansive stairs to my room, locking the door behind me. My bag was thrown to some uncared for corner of the room as I threw myself onto the plush bed. Lying on my back, I stared at the ceiling for about an hour before the heat of the room began to suffocate me. Grabbing my black case and heading to the window, I began my nightly ritual.
I threw open the window and my dull eyes instantly drifted to the same start it always does, even though I had begun to hate the ginger character and his friends years ago. The zipper of the case was also familiar to me now. Pulling out the spare razor from Uncle Paul's razor blade, I watched as the light from my star shown off the metallic edge just before it bites into my pale skin. I blissful sigh passes my lips as the crimson drips down my arm onto my black pants.
In a fit of rejection and angry for I missed being able to whisper my problems to my red-haired hero and love, I sliced deep into my arm. Gasping in pain and reeling back from the window, I dropped the blade onto the window sill. I could feel the edges if my mind go fuzzy and the corners of my vision turn black. I knew it wouldn't kill me, for this wasn't the first time I've gone too deep. I knew that I would pass out for a few hours, wake up in the same spot, covered in blood, my family none the wiser.
But just as I closed my eyes, I thought to myself that it actually wouldn't be so bad if I didn't wake up this time, and as I lost consciousness, I felt myself smile.
Mystery POV
I was just passing by really, no destination in mind. I was just enjoying the breeze, when a faint smell hit my nose. I quickly followed it and to my complete horror, saw a girl my age bleeding profusely on the window sill. The most disturbing part though, was the accepting smile on her face. She was obviously around my age, but her face was paler than a corpse's. Without thinking it through, I picked her up and carried her bridal style, not caring about the blood seeping into my clothes. My friend kept yelling at me, telling me what a bad idea this was. We were on a mission, she kept saying, we can't just leave him here to cause mischief because of some girl. But I ignored her and brought her where it was safe. Well, where I thought she would be safe at least.
This is really just a trail story, so I don't know if I'll continue this of let someone adopt it. I mean, hopefully I'll be able to continue it. I freaking love writing, and I have some ideas that might be good for this.
Tell me if this seemed to drag on or not. I seem to have a problem when it comes to writing back stories that drag on for four pages.
~*~*~*~Starlight*~*~*~*~
