Isn't it strange how every moment can seem like a dream, and yet be reality? How every breath echoes in your ears as loud as a drum, but is as quiet as a hummingbird's wings to everyone else? Well that is how my life is.
My name is Mary Alice Brandon, and I am insane.
Or so they tell me.
Three years ago, my mother betrayed me. But let's begin at the beginning, shall we? It's a very good place to start!
On my fifteenth birthday, I discovered my 'gift'- though many would call it a curse that ruined my life and stole my sanity. You see, I had a vision. It was a vision of the future, a vision of a disease that would sweep the nation and claim the life of my best friend. I warned my mother- I warned everybody I could speak to, damn it!- but she and everyone else ignored me. Two weeks later, my best friend Johnny was dead on the streets.
And that was when I realized there was something different about me. Johnny's death almost destroyed me- I was only young, you must remember. Fifteen is not yet adulthood, and loosing the person you loved most in this world is not something easy to forget. Especially when you could have saved him.
Then, after many months, it seemed I was recovering. I could finally go a whole day without thinking of him! It was a triumph to me, yet my mother and father told me it 'was about time'. It seemed that as I grew older, they understood me less and less. And by the time my sixteenth birthday came about, I was almost recovered.
But that was when I had another vision. This time I saw my whole family dead- their house burning to the ground and me with it. I could see in clarity the red-hot flames that shot up the house, and could all but smell the ash and smoke that hung thickly over our street. I was so afraid then. More afraid than I had ever been- for my life, and for my sister's. I didn't much care about my mother.
Two days after my birthday, I ran away. I had told my mother about the vision- had warned her of the fire, but she laughed it off. Even then, I could see the glint of doubt and humour in her eyes, yet I was being serious. I spent the next week living basically from a dustbin, and by the time I was found and returned home, I was dangerously thin. My mother, father and sister were well. In perfect health, they told me with a mocking smile. The fire had never happened.
For the next week, I was the laughing stock of my family. My mother made fun of me at every opportunity she could get, and my father often joined in. Yet still, I believed in the reliability of my visions even though the fire had never happened. I was sure it was not just my overactive imagination vying for attention, as my father put it.
I did not eat. I hardly slept. And night and day now, I was plagued with visions of what could be, what should be, and what might be. Nothing was ever certain. I appealed one last time to my mother for her to believe me, and the next morning I found myself in a mental asylum. She had betrayed me- given me up. She said that I was no longer her child, and a shame to her family. I never forgot those words.
So, that is how I find myself here, now. In this dark cell with its dirty bunk and its one small table, which is actually just a cardboard box. The door is constantly barred, and the only light in the room is from the small bulb that swings above my head in the uncommon drafts that sweep across the dusty floors when someone opens the door. I am not surprised am I insane. Three years in this hellhole, and no one could keep their sanity!
Sometimes, when I am particularly out of my mind (note the pun!) with boredom, I count my toes. I don't know why, but it amuses me. And there always seems to be a different number! Yesterday I could count eleven, but today I only have nine. I don't know whether it's my counting that's wrong, or that the pills and food we have here are affecting my brain so much that I can no longer do simple arithmetic.
And other times, I think someone is in this room with me, talking to me, keeping me company. But when I turn around it is just my shadow.
Long hours I have spent chasing it around my cell like a dog.
Once I spent a week pulling every nail from my fingers. I couldn't even feel the pain after that. They took a long time to grow back, but it gave me pleasure to watch them. I was certainly more interesting than watching paint dry, though I had time to do that too, if I wanted. I had the time for anything.
XXXXXXxxxxxxXXXXXXXxxxxxxxXXXXXXXxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXX
This is the POV most of you wanted! I hope you enjoyed it! I certainly enjoyed writing it!
But now I haven't done any of my homework and I hope I have time to do it in the morning, before school! THAT IS WHAT I HAVE SACRIFICED FOR YOU! Hehe :D
Please review It would make my boring week better!
And tell me who you want me to do next!
CullenLove