I've been soooo busy this summer, so I've been able to post absolutely nothing. But I'm going back to skewl really soon (which means I'll be returning to working on all my stories) gracias for reading :]
Alice's POV
After leaving the clinic, everything was a blur. My mother had silently waited for a taxi to come pick me up, the cab driver politely took my things and ushered me into the car, and we drove off in the direction of Harriet Lankan Asylum. As we passed Biloxi, Mississippi's town limits. I suddenly became worried.
What would become of my future? What if after I left the asylum, I wouldn't be able to go to college? I doubted that important colleges approved of mentally incapacitated on a resume. And I bet that applying for a job was as equally complimentary. I assumed my life at the asylum would be difficult, but it wasn't until now that I considered the days after my release.
However, what if I never was released? What if I stayed at Harriet Lankan for the rest of my life? I would never be able to get a good education. I would never be able to marry the man of my dreams. I would never be able to start a family with said man. What if I were never able to see my mother ever again? What about Cynthia? I was probably never going to be allowed to visit them on holidays or birthdays or anything.
I'd become officially disconnected from the rest of my existence.
Harriet Lankan was going to be my new life now, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I would have to spend the rest of my days doing whatever girls in asylums do. I would never be able to escape the unsanitary lifestyle – unless …
What if I died there?
As instantly as the thought had entered my brain, I pushed it back out. I didn't want to think about dying at Harriet Lankan – or dying in general. I didn't want to think about it at all. The thought of death was horrifying, and nothing I would be able to handle at the moment.
Longing to get my mind off the subject, I stared out the window at the passing scenery. I had never been outside the city limits before, so the outside world was completely and utterly unfamiliar to me. I hadn't stopped to wonder how far away Harriet Lankan was. Was it just in the neighboring town? Or was it in a completely different state?
After about an hour of silent driving, the car final pulled abruptly onto a hidden drive. The road was covered above us with a canopy of unkempt tree branches. All land surrounding the path was swampy and untamed. As we drowned in the overgrowth of nothing but a mixture of brown and green, I felt like I was slowly drifting out of reality and into some nightmarish daydream.
But almost as instantly as we entered the forest, it was gone – and before me was a giant five-story stone building. It must've been none other than the Harriet Lankan asylum. I had never seen a structure so large in my lifetime, and just the sight of the rundown place made me want to vomit. It was a truly horrendous and unusual construction. The first thing that came to mind?
A prison.
And as much as I hated to admit it, that's exactly what Harriet Lankan Asylum was. It was – without a doubt – a penitentiary. I hadn't even been inside and I already hated it. Hell, I hadn't even gotten out of the cab and I already despised it! However, to my misfortune, this would be my new home until God knows when I'll be saved from it.
"This is the place." The cab driver broke my prolonged reverie.
"Thank you." I was about to climb out of the cab, when I remembered he still expected payment for driving a whole hour and half. I placed some money in his waiting extended hand and stepped out of the taxi.
"Do you need help with your bags, miss?" The driver's voice emptied out of the car, out into the open air, eventually wafting to my ears.
"I've got it." I walked reached into the backseat, pulling out my one and only suitcase.
When I shut the door, he leaned his head out the window, shrugging, "Good luck – you're going to need it in there."
I shivered. "Thank you." And with that, he made a quick U-turn and then flew speeding back into the woods.
Unsure of my next move, I stared up at the ratty building, noticing that every window was barricaded with iron bars; this must've really been a prison. Catching my attention, I saw the front door creak open, revealing a shriveled up old woman. After taking a close look at me she raised her fingers and took of her circular lenses and shook her head.
"Visiting hours are over." She spat.
I took a deep breath. "I'm not a visitor."
"Then what are you?" She questioned, stepping out the door and into the light.
Sadly – "I'm a resident."
"Oh!" The elderly woman carefully moved towards me, wrapping her wrinkly fingers around my arm. She pulled me through the door – rather forcefully – and slammed the door behind us.
This room wasn't as dark and frightening as I had previously believed. There were two windows on each wall each wall except for the one facing me (each, of course were barred). The stone walls were dirty and in need of cleaning. I instantly knew I would need to downgrade when it came to hygiene now.
The woman sat down behind a wooden desk, furiously scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "I would've never been able to tell you would be joining us." She said. "You're so nicely dressed. What's that for?" She indicated my suitcase.
"Oh, i-it's my bag." I quivered.
"Well, you won't be needing that." She came up and snatched the bag from me. Her eyes shot up to mine. "Anything of value in here?"
"Uh, no. Just some old clothes." I frowned.
"Alright then." She put my bag under the desk and said no more on the subject.
"Hmm." My eyes scanned the room once more. It sort of reminded me of a castle.
"What did you say your name was, deary?" when she spoke, my eyes traveled back to her.
"I didn't." I looked down at my feet. "But I'm Mary Alice Brandon."
"Ah, yes. We've been expecting your arrival. By the way, I'm Eileen." She wrote down something – presumably my name – on a yellowed sheet of paper. "I pray your ride up was pleasant."
No, my ride up was absolutely unbearable! "My ride was very nice, thank you. Lovely scenery."
"Yes, the surrounding area is very … um, picturesque." Eileen stated. "I love your clothes. They look expensive."
"Oh, back in Biloxi my clothes aren't very classy." I tugged on my sleeve apprehensively.
"Well, they sure are classy compared to what you'll be wearing." Eileen warned me.
"What?" I wouldn't be able to wear my own clothes?
"You … well, I guess you'll find out soon in enough. Come along." She moved around the desk and began to walk down a hallway, me following close behind.
After a few steps down the hallway, we began our way up a long stairwell. The staircase seemed endless, or maybe that was because it was completely bare with exception of a few occasionally doors. There was nothing welcoming about this place whatsoever. I followed Eileen up the stairway, trying to keep up with her speedy pace. When we finally reached the end of the flight of steps, I was finally introduced to what I may be doing for the rest of my life.
There were only five males in the entire room, the rest were entirely female. I discovered that instead of wearing my own clothes, I'd be wearing the uniform – which was utterly similar to a enlarged dirty pillowcase. On one side of the room, there was nothing but a long row of cells, with at least twenty-five girls in each unit. On the opposite side were about five desks, a male sitting at each table. In front of each counter, a long line of girls waited there turn. I wasn't sure what exactly they were waiting for.
"Welcome, to your new life, Mary Alice Brandon." The old woman told me.
I exhaled, trying to hold back tears.
"Don't seem too distressed." She placed her hand gently on my shoulder.
"Why not?" I asked, looking at her worn face.
"The caretakers don't like it." She warned. "Remain calm and you should be fine." With that final word, she left me, wheeling her way back down the endless stairwell.
And I was left alone.
I was left to watch the tragic sight of young girls – some younger than me being herded like cattle into categories and eventually into cells. I was left to witness my brand new routine; and absolutely no one cared if I enjoyed doing this routine or not. This was my life, and I had to toughen up and deal with it. The only problem was I had no clue if I had the guts to toughen up and deal with it. All I wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry until my eyes eventually couldn't take it anymore.
I went unnoticed for a maximum of ten minutes, until a man stood up from a table and walked over to me. "Can I help you?" His voice was stern, fearsome.
"I'm n-new here." I trembled.
The man rolled his eyes. "Obviously."
I ignored the impatience in his tone. "Do you think you can help me find my way?"
He exhaled intolerantly. "Come with me."
He led me to the table he had been sitting at, placing me at the very back of the line. But it wasn't long until several more girls wearing pillowcases were released from a cell and placed in a orderly line behind me.
The girl directly behind me had black hair down to her shoulders, a shade very similar to mine. Her face was ashen, with heavy bags under her eyes. She's seemed outright bored, wanting to be anywhere other than her – and I didn't blame her.
Being friendly, I turned and extended my hand to her. "Hello. I'm Mary Alice."
She slowly brought her eyes to mine, her face never brightening. "I'm Nathalie."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Nathalie." I grinned widely, trying to get her to smile. She didn't.
"Humph." She looked away from me.
"This place is dreadful, is it not?" I attempted to make conversation. "I've been here no more than twenty minutes and I'm already fed up."
"Wait till you're here for an hour." She sulked. "Maybe then you'll be crying for your mother, if not sooner."
I wavered a bit at her statement, but continued talking. "I'm sure I'll be able to handle it."
"That's doubtable." Her grayed skin seemed to be losing color in front of my eyes.
"You look ill. Are you alright?" I inquired.
"Look around." She glowered. "Everybody looks like this. Stay in here, and it won't be long before even you lose your precious, faultless glow."
I lifted my hand to my face worriedly as I moved forward with the rest of the line. "It can't be that bad."
"Don't be so sure." She looked away from me.
"Next!" The man who had guided me in called me to the front of the table.
I stepped forward, grinning at him politely. When he did return the favor, my smile vanished.
"Name?" he began the interrogation.
"Mary Alice Brandon." I replied promptly.
"From now on you will be referred to as Alice and only Alice …"
I accidentally interrupted. "But I love my name!"
His irritated face raised up from his paper to glare at me. "Well, that's too bad. Your name is Alice."
"Alright." I whispered inaudibly.
"Age?"
"I'm sixteen. But my birthday is coming up in a week or two."
He frowned. "In that case, you are seventeen."
"Okay." I agreed.
"Your number is 9921. You will proceed to stall seven for your haircut …"
I inadvertently interrupted again. "Haircut! No! Please, I beg of you! Don't cut my hair!"
He stood, his face inching towards mine. At first I thought he was going to kiss me, until he opened his mouth wide and yelled, "Next!"
I moved forward as Nathalie confronted him monotonously. Trying to keep up with the flow of traffic, I hesitantly headed for stall seven. Steadily sitting in the seat, staring at my long beautiful flowing hair in the mirror, a woman – most likely in her mid-forties – picked up the scissors.
Just as the blade made contact with my hair, I shrieked. "No! Wait!"
"What?" She pulled the blade away, placing her hand on her hip exasperatedly.
"Where are you going to cut it to?" I wondered.
She lifted her index finger and put it directly below my ear.
"Oh, no! That's far too short!"
"Too late, doll face."
Before I could protest any longer, the woman took the scissors and clipped off one slice of my hair. Trying to push back the tears, I clenched my eyes shut not wanting watch. I exercised deep breaths as she snipped each one of my locks until its length could be legally classified as dumpy. I heard her exhale deeply, and then I heard the clank as she dropped the scissors onto a nearby counter.
"All done." She breathed.
I reluctantly opened my eyes slightly, but then slammed them shut, afraid of the outcome.
"C'mon, girly. I've got more girls waiting to get there cuts. Besides, its not like anyone in here cares what you look like." She pressed.
My eyes opened carefully, resting on the image that faced me in the mirror. I took a deep sigh … of relief. I honestly didn't look half bad. As I praised the job well done, the woman shooed me out of the chair and down to the next station. I noticed Nathalie getting up and walking in the same direction as I.
I rushed up to here. "Nathalie! Look at my hair! Isn't it pretty?"
She glanced over at me half-heartedly. "Sure."
"You're hair looks beautiful too." I smiled civilly. "But I bet your used to short hair. Yours wasn't very long before anyway."
Her eyes widened and then fell. "My hair used to be long – almost waist length. But when I was sentenced to the asylum, they sliced it short. I've been getting these cuts monthly; my hair just had to get re-cut again."
I just had to ask. "How long have you been here?"
"I think it'll be four years soon." She informed me.
"Four years! Why haven't you been released yet!?"
She let out a low laugh. "You don't get released."
My spirits fell. "Does that mean I'll never leave?"
"You'll stay here until someone comes for you, or until you die."
I couldn't believe it. I would never leave Harriet Lankan Asylum – ever. I would be stuck in this crappy place for the rest of my life … that is until someone came to get me. I was sure my mother would come back for me. I would just have to wait here until she arrived. And that wouldn't be too long – would it?
"Well, this is where I leave you." Nathalie broke my concentration.
"What!? Don't leave me!" I pleaded. She had become the only familiar face in this hellhole.
"I've already gotten branded. See?" She lifted her sleeve and exposed the number 8996 pressed into her skin.
"Branded!"
"Yeah." She nodded, walking away. "Your hair color is somewhat similar to mine. We should be in the same cell."
"Nathalie! Come back!" I whimpered.
"9921!" someone shouted. I recognized it as my number.
My eyes traveled to the source of the voice. Someone stood there, with a long iron stick stuck in a fiery boiler. When it was pulled out, the metal was steaming hot, with the numbers 9921 etched into the bar. I hesitantly approached and couldn't help but scream when he pressed the steaming press into my skin.
Thx again for reading! btw, After Breaking Dawn will be returning soon!