Disclaimer: I do not own them.
Goodbye Mable: Rebecca
Mable sat quietly in her kitchen. She had been trying not to think of her new neighbor. She liked him, but experience had taught her that the feeling could never be mutual. She knew that because she was so quiet, people thought she was dumb or had nothing important to say. She was sure they would like her even less if they got to know her.
She was a painter by nature. She had the tendencies shared by many other artists. She knew she was introverted and never before had she fought her loneliness. Art is all about a personal search for beauty. Criticism or praise from others is not something that artists should seek. Rather, an artist should seek out his own flaws and emphasize his own strengths. This is the only way his art could really be his own.
She looked down at her fingertips. They were blackened with charcoal. She had been absentmindedly doodling on a piece of scratch paper. She looked down cautiously, half afraid of what she was going see.
Her picture looked like him. Of course, the features were not perfect, but she had the essentials. She had his playful expression down perfectly. She had captured his eyes, which were a counterpart to his friendly smile. His eyes reflected something damned and rejected. This is what she had especially liked about him. She liked it because she could understand. She could empathize, which is something she had never been able to do before.
She heard a noise and realized that she been rubbing the charcoal against the paper aimlessly. She had ruined the picture. She had scratched out his eyes.
And then she heard it--laughter. She should have expected this-she knew her peace would not last long. Did she really think the voice would go away forever? She had not heard it since her mama's funeral. That was two years ago, remembering it made her feel like a child again-vulnerable and naive.
She sometimes was certain that it was her mama that had fostered the evil inside of her. Her mama had called her "Rebecca" whenever she did something bad. Mable distinctly remembered the first time it had happened. It had been a few days after her encounter with Paula. She had been in her room snacking on some cookies from the kitchen. Her mama had come in and the moment she saw what Mable was doing she was appalled. Her mama had said she was acting with gluttony.
"Can't you wait for dinner," she had yelled. But she could not, simply because her mama had not fed her in the last few days.
She had grabbed Mable by the hair and dragged her to bathroom. She had forced a bar of soap in Mable mouth and moved it around until Mable began to vomit. All the while her mama muttered, "It is a dirty vice, Rebecca..Gluttony..If you keep committing deadly sins you'll end up a tramp on her way to perdition."
After that, it seemed natural that whatever was inside of her head should be named Rebecca. Rebecca told her to do bad things--things that her mama would hate. It was as if Rebecca lived for the sole purpose of defying her mama.
She had lived with her mama until the end. During the funeral, the voice inside her head laughed and laughed. Mable desperately desired to weep freely. It was, after all, her mama's funeral. But because the awful, unchecked laughter in her head, she could not cry.
Rebecca had gone away, but now she was back to force Mable to remain lonely. It was not going to work. Mable would go to his apartment and talk to him. She felt a slight rush of pride for her newfound defiance.
Before she left, she cautiously glanced into the mirror. She immediately regretted it. She still liked looking in mirrors. It gave her a feeling of euphoria, reminding her of the happier moments in her life-the moments she had spent in her room planning and dreaming. However, as she grew older she began to harbor a small, irrational fear of mirrors.
Whenever she looked into a mirror, she felt that a stranger was looking back-looking back through her own eyes. (Maybe the fear was not so irrational) And now as she looked into the mirror, she distinctly felt the disconcerting feeling. It was stronger than ever.
She had not felt this invaded in years. She was suddenly compelled to lean closer to the mirror. She felt something shift in her mind. It was like her consciousness had been swept aside. Her eyes were fixed to the mirror.
She knew that it could not be her reflection that she now gazed upon. She swiftly moved her hand in front of the mirror. Her reflection did not move. Instead it looked stolidly back at her, not mirroring her fearful expression.
Mable was horrorstruck. She wondered miserably why she had ever thought Rebecca had left her for good.
"Why can't you just leave me alone," Mable moaned. Nothing like this had ever happened. Rebecca had never been so real-something concrete, outside of Mable's head.
Rebecca smiled sadly and whispered, "I just want to be your friend."
"No," Mable said. "No. No. No."
"I want to be your only friend. Somehow, I have to get my way. You can't just go off and make new friends. It doesn't work that way. You should know this by now."
Mable felt a jolt and suddenly she was no longer in control. She knew that something was about to happen. She knew that it would not be good.
*** Sorry I did not update sooner. I was really busy.
Goodbye Mable: Rebecca
Mable sat quietly in her kitchen. She had been trying not to think of her new neighbor. She liked him, but experience had taught her that the feeling could never be mutual. She knew that because she was so quiet, people thought she was dumb or had nothing important to say. She was sure they would like her even less if they got to know her.
She was a painter by nature. She had the tendencies shared by many other artists. She knew she was introverted and never before had she fought her loneliness. Art is all about a personal search for beauty. Criticism or praise from others is not something that artists should seek. Rather, an artist should seek out his own flaws and emphasize his own strengths. This is the only way his art could really be his own.
She looked down at her fingertips. They were blackened with charcoal. She had been absentmindedly doodling on a piece of scratch paper. She looked down cautiously, half afraid of what she was going see.
Her picture looked like him. Of course, the features were not perfect, but she had the essentials. She had his playful expression down perfectly. She had captured his eyes, which were a counterpart to his friendly smile. His eyes reflected something damned and rejected. This is what she had especially liked about him. She liked it because she could understand. She could empathize, which is something she had never been able to do before.
She heard a noise and realized that she been rubbing the charcoal against the paper aimlessly. She had ruined the picture. She had scratched out his eyes.
And then she heard it--laughter. She should have expected this-she knew her peace would not last long. Did she really think the voice would go away forever? She had not heard it since her mama's funeral. That was two years ago, remembering it made her feel like a child again-vulnerable and naive.
She sometimes was certain that it was her mama that had fostered the evil inside of her. Her mama had called her "Rebecca" whenever she did something bad. Mable distinctly remembered the first time it had happened. It had been a few days after her encounter with Paula. She had been in her room snacking on some cookies from the kitchen. Her mama had come in and the moment she saw what Mable was doing she was appalled. Her mama had said she was acting with gluttony.
"Can't you wait for dinner," she had yelled. But she could not, simply because her mama had not fed her in the last few days.
She had grabbed Mable by the hair and dragged her to bathroom. She had forced a bar of soap in Mable mouth and moved it around until Mable began to vomit. All the while her mama muttered, "It is a dirty vice, Rebecca..Gluttony..If you keep committing deadly sins you'll end up a tramp on her way to perdition."
After that, it seemed natural that whatever was inside of her head should be named Rebecca. Rebecca told her to do bad things--things that her mama would hate. It was as if Rebecca lived for the sole purpose of defying her mama.
She had lived with her mama until the end. During the funeral, the voice inside her head laughed and laughed. Mable desperately desired to weep freely. It was, after all, her mama's funeral. But because the awful, unchecked laughter in her head, she could not cry.
Rebecca had gone away, but now she was back to force Mable to remain lonely. It was not going to work. Mable would go to his apartment and talk to him. She felt a slight rush of pride for her newfound defiance.
Before she left, she cautiously glanced into the mirror. She immediately regretted it. She still liked looking in mirrors. It gave her a feeling of euphoria, reminding her of the happier moments in her life-the moments she had spent in her room planning and dreaming. However, as she grew older she began to harbor a small, irrational fear of mirrors.
Whenever she looked into a mirror, she felt that a stranger was looking back-looking back through her own eyes. (Maybe the fear was not so irrational) And now as she looked into the mirror, she distinctly felt the disconcerting feeling. It was stronger than ever.
She had not felt this invaded in years. She was suddenly compelled to lean closer to the mirror. She felt something shift in her mind. It was like her consciousness had been swept aside. Her eyes were fixed to the mirror.
She knew that it could not be her reflection that she now gazed upon. She swiftly moved her hand in front of the mirror. Her reflection did not move. Instead it looked stolidly back at her, not mirroring her fearful expression.
Mable was horrorstruck. She wondered miserably why she had ever thought Rebecca had left her for good.
"Why can't you just leave me alone," Mable moaned. Nothing like this had ever happened. Rebecca had never been so real-something concrete, outside of Mable's head.
Rebecca smiled sadly and whispered, "I just want to be your friend."
"No," Mable said. "No. No. No."
"I want to be your only friend. Somehow, I have to get my way. You can't just go off and make new friends. It doesn't work that way. You should know this by now."
Mable felt a jolt and suddenly she was no longer in control. She knew that something was about to happen. She knew that it would not be good.
*** Sorry I did not update sooner. I was really busy.