Fashioned with the essence of her feelings, a new color she had made. Dipping the tip of the brush that was her self-respect, she had made him portraits of her heart. They showed the deepest darkness that resided in the crevices of the blood pumping, overhyped version of the organ.
Dripping the thick red drops of her life blood, she had made paintings that were now the ashes accumulating around the fire she had started with gasoline laced with hatred he oozed and poison he hurled at her. The beauty that she had brought to life with the heart blood that with every pump screamed of her adoration for him was nothing more than ashes of her heart now.
Staring at the flames dancing, as if rejoicing in her slow demise, her need to get back up and paint the world an opaque so dark that nobody would see anything but her brave, young heart, roared. She wasn’t a lowly shell of a being who would let go of the beauty that was her just because she knew how this world works now. She was a fire that wouldn’t die just as easily.
And, so to keep it going, she threw the past as wood, sprinkled with the very color she had fashioned with the essence of her feelings. The roaring amber was a sight to behold. With hair flying in the wind of courage and eyes sparkling with the gold of the fire, she became a new person. She became a person she could be proud of. She became a person who created entire galaxies of memories to fill up the deep, dark pit where her heart once beat, echoing his name. Now, it echoed her own.
SECRETS are lies in their own right. One can’t keep a secret without a lie. And we revere someone who can keep a secret, yet scorn those who lie. It is the same. They all meld together. We want confidantes to surround us, trustworthy and loyal. But we scream bloody murder when we find someone has been keeping secrets from us. We forget to remember the fact that they could be someone’s confidante themselves. Or maybe it’s not their secret to tell. And, maybe not ours to know either. Secrets we have with our cronies are revered. They make our bond grow stronger. Secrets they have with someone else, us being not on the in, ruin relationships of years past. We love, we fight, we cry over those secrets. But we can’t live without them. They rule us and all our actions. They control us in ways we would destroy lives to get away from the pressure of revealing them than succumb. But we won’t let go. Every now and then, the slate is clean and we have the opportunity to move forward without any of it weighing us down. But another day dawns and ding! We are back to square one, surrounded by beautiful lies and lovely secrets, ever strengthening the stench of desperation to be the one holding all the cards where the bets are high and the game has just begun.
They say fate smiles upon us and floods our lives with happiness when we have had our share of hurt. It takes time and patience. Lots of it. But it happens. And, we live our life believing the wise words of the, well, wise. We learn to rationalise all the messed up shit that went down because there must be a reason. Sometimes we question it, sometimes we don’t. And, we start to believe that after all is said and done, we will come out on top and have a wonderful, wonderful life. But we know what happens to the plans and expectations. They disappoint us more than they don’t. And, we are back to questioning everything that has happened. We lose the faith and we start the downward spiral to the burgeoning pit of hopelessness. We become a shell of ourselves, only sadder and depressed. That’s where love comes in. It finds us drowning in the deep end and throws the float. We hold on for our lives and it sails us through. And, when we get out of the pit, we leave behind the slabs of hopelessness tied to our feet that had been pulling us in, and throw our arms wide, welcoming a life full of excitement and opportunities. And, of course, love. Always, love.
Braiding the memories of her life past in her hair she started walking on the path she saw in her dreams. It was happy memories for when she wanted to feel the love coursing through her bones. And, it was the sad memories for when she just needed to feel. She filled her water bottle with water laced with the salt in her tears. It was from happy tears for when she needed to reminisce and laugh. And, it was tears she had shed when her heart broke for when she just needed to remember that she didn’t need nobody to hold her up. She was a strong girl. She was the strongest on her own. She stopped and turned back to the light breeze that had followed her from the place she called her past. It whistled merrily with smell of her soul and the voice of the smiles in the days past. And, it whispered of the whimpered begging she did when she thought she needed them to live and the waterfalls of emotions she had let go of in the sea already burgeoning with the feelings of others. She smiled and urged the breeze to return to where it had come from. She thanked it for the presents that it had brought. She would need the tinkling of the whispers for when she needed to remember she was a wild one who had been restrained for far too long. Never again. Looking ahead at the bends in the road fashioned with the essence of her soul, she exhaled. She let go of all the ties she had thought she needed to survive but actually didn’t. And, she let go of all the digressions and hurt she had carried in spaces between her bones and blood. They were weighing her down. She didn’t need them anymore. She looked up at the sky sparkling with pieces of her life she wanted to hold on to but didn’t need to hold on to.They would travel with her till she decided that she was enough on her own. They would sparkle, arranged in constellations of memories past. And, when she was ready to move ahead without them, they would fall like beautiful stars, turning into stardust, a shower of happiness and tears –everything that made her her.
You have always been my anchor; someone, something that kept me still; grounded. You have always been the self-appointed mental bouncer who kept me sane and away from all the crap. You have always been that sweet smell wafting up my nostrils that alone had the power to calm my wildly-beating heart. You have always been like that ice-cube on an annoyingly hot day that cooled me down as it slipped down the back of my shirt. You have always been like that soothing song that played on repeat on my mp3 player when I wanted to do nothing but burrow under my comforter in my comfiest pajamas and let the world fade away. You have always been like those deep-set dimples at the small of my back that I always wanted but never could work hard enough towards achieving, because it was something else. You have always been special. You have always been you.
Now? You are the melting snowflake that can make my heart flood.
I wonder if the cheerleader feels it. When the music stops and everyone goes home? When the day is gone and she doesn’t have anyone to entertain herself with? When she removes her makeup, taking off her brave face for the day, do the demons she keeps buried start playing with her when there’s no one else to play with?
I guess not. Narcissists don’t have insecurities, right?
Dancing on the tabletop when drunk on her company, but refusing to move a leg, claiming she didn’t know how to dance when her friends invited her to — that’s the kind of girl she was. She had always been a mystery to everybody who ever had a chance to hold a two-minute conversation with her. And, that was the reason why everyone around her was so fascinated with her. She never gave much away. She held everything close. Too close. She was friendly with a lot of people. But, if you ever really looked close, she barely had any friends. She didn’t let people in. And, that led them to speculate about her past. She knew they wondered what had happened in her past to make her so “closed off”. She knew they created weird theories and reached even weirder conclusions. But she just didn’t really care. It didn’t matter to her, any of it. It was as if she was missing a very important part in her system; the part responsible for everything emotion. It was as if she didn’t feel. Then, she got taken by the police. Police had knocked on her dorm room door at the ungodly hour of 7 in the morning. She had opened the door, muffled and disheveled. They had talked to her intensely for a minute. She had nodded and went inside. A moment later, huddled in a huge fur coat, she had reappeared, and had went with them quietly, without any protest. “What the hell is happening? Where are you going? It’s freezing out.” Her roommate had shouted from inside. Everybody wanted to know. Nobody heard anything. For days. There was no sign of her returning. One morning, her roommate had taken the whole dorm by a storm, shouting about no sense of privacy in the “perverted” place. Apparently, HER stuff had disappeared in the black of the night, as if she never lived here. As if she hadn’t existed. Her roommate had been crazy angry for the next few days because somebody hadn’t bothered to wake her up when the stuff was taken, and she was worried about having flashed the “intruder” in her sleep. Days turned to weeks. No clue. No word. Everybody started to forget her. Nobody speculated anymore. Then, on the cold, freezing morning of January 11, a part of her she had held close for so long came into light. It was the puzzle piece that had been missing all along. And it was a revelation that had the power to destroy everything. A news headline shook the walls of the dorm. “The serial killer, a mutliple personality disorder case?” Her picture just below it. It was unbelievable. It was crazy. It was the truth. Everything unraveled bit by bit. Reason for her weird, crazy behavior was revealed. Her “friends” claimed to have doubted it forever. Everybody was banking in for their 15 minutes of fame, the case becoming national level in 2 days straight. The whole nation was curious. They hadn’t met anybody like her. It wasn’t a 2, or even 3 split personality case. The doctors hadn’t been able to determine just how many personalities she had. She had been sent to an asylum. A caged, isolated room, too. They had pronounced her “mentally unfit to live amongst normal people”. She was a phariah. She was a stigma.
In a windowless room: Finally, I am here. He’s dying the ugliest, most painful death of them all. He won’t be able to touch another 5 year old ever again. I will kill him. He’s declared me sick. He’s the sickest of them all. A doctor, they say. A renowned one. He’s the last. He’s my salvation. My oath will be complete now. He doesn’t know me. But I know him very well. Too well. The scars of the past haven’t faded one bit. They are even more pronounced now. Stark white, all over my soul. Nothing will soothe them other than his blood. All over me. All around me. In me. I will make every second count. I will make every second as painful as an eternity. So much so that he will beg me to kill him. I won’t. I will let every cell in his body experience the pain he put me through. Over and over again. And, when my ears will be ringing with the melody of his painful shrieks; when my own shrieks from the past will not be as loud; when my sleepless nightmares will not haunt me; when all my wounds will be soothed, maybe, just maybe, I will let him die.
Pieces, pieces, get all the pieces…Pieces, pieces, get all the pieces...
Memories of you are too many pieces of too many different puzzles. It’s overwhelming. It’s too much. I can’t handle it. All those years we spent together, living in the same house, come to haunt me everytime I see your face on the TV screen. I wish I had done something; said something. Maybe, then I would have been able to stop you from going on this path. Maybe, then I would be able to live with myself; with what I did; with what I let happen even though I knew it would destroy us all. But, I didn’t. Why didn’t I? Maybe I was afraid. I was afraid of what would happen to you. I was afraid of what would happen to us. We only had each other. You and I. I couldn’t have destroyed us. I should have. That selfish decision I took back then is going to be the death of everybody I have always cared about. Including you. Everybody’s gonna die and I am the one to blame. I should have stopped you. I should have done a lot of things I didn’t do. Your symptoms that I missed, all your mistakes that I covered for, all the benefits of doubt I gave you, all the times I was unknowingly a part of your extremist plans…I will have to pay for it. I will have to let you go. I will have to deal with this shit so nobody else dies cuz of my selfishness. I will make sure nobody does. We lived in the same house for years. We lived across the hall, for God’s sake. And I still missed the signs. You did a lot of things that you won’t be able to pay for in a number of lifetimes. But you weren’t alone. You aren’t alone. I was in the background, covering for you. I was unknowingly an extremist, too. I was letting it happen. I am the worst sister ever. Forgive me. I should have reported you. But it’s too late now. I didn’t wanna be alone. I knew if you were gone, I would be left all alone. Not now. I don’t need you anymore. I got a new sister. I will keep her on a tight leash. I won’t let her wander down the wrong path. You can go now. You gotta pay for all the sins you have committed. I am gonna be real easy on you. Don’t worry. It won’t hurt. I will put a bullet right between your eyebrows, and it will be over. Shh calm down. I can’t let this go on. You have to go. You gotta die. And I am going to pull the last trigger. I am going to end it all. I am going to be the end.
~error~ ~fault~ ~protocol breached~ ~reboot~ ~reboot failed~ ~error~
The system gives error? Why does it give error? I am a machine. I am a new machine. I shouldn’t give error. I should run smoothly. Why the error?
Oh he comes. Kill him, #101. Ki…ill h…im. I have been observing for 2 days now. It’s been 6 days since I came into existence. My instructions are to kill him. I don’t want to. Why don’t I? Why don’t I want to follow the instructions? I am #101 and I am ordered to kill him. I am here to kill him. Kill. Him. Noooo!
He’s talking. His eyes are bloodshot, and he’s still beautiful. Is he talking to me?
“Hey, #101. Have you seen Kayla? I gotta find her. She has my phone. I have to try calling Ariana’s number again. Do you have any new information? I can’t just give up. I need her with me. It’s been a week since she went missing. We saw dreams together. We are meant to be forever.”*almost sob*
Ariana. Ari_iana. Flashes. Ariana and Kyle. Kyle and Ariana. The beautiful night sky. Millions of stars. The soft blanket. Talking of dreams. If wishes were stars… ~error~ ~fault~ ~protocol breached~ ~reboot~ ~reboot failed~ ~error~
Kill him. Kill. Him. I am #101, and I am here to kill him.
He’s staring at me expectantly. He looks at me like I am the solution. I stare right back. There’s something familiar about him. Something…mine. No. That’s not right. I am a machine. I follow orders. I am here to ki…ill h…im.
He shakes me by the shoulders and I jerk at the touch as the electricity rushes though my system. I am not supposed to feel. Why do I? How?
He stills when my whole body spasms as the sparks flow through my system. He realises I am a machine. He realises I am not supposed to be shaken. He realises I might shutdown. He lets go and turns to go away. I see a tattoo on the back of his neck. A familiar tattoo. Mi…ine. No. Not mine. But there’s something about it. Something…
He mutters under his breath as he moves away, “If wishes were stars…”
…they would sparkle like your eyes and our wishes we’ll realise.
I still as flashes of my imagination take over. No. Not imagination. Memories. My memories. Memories of Kyle and Ariana. I am Ariana. Ari_iana. And I am here to kill Kyle. I am here to kill him. Ki…ill h…im. Noooooo. I don’t want to kill him. I won’t kill him. ~error~ ~fault~ ~protocol breached~ ~reboot~ ~reboot failed~ ~error~
I am #101, and I am here to kill him.
That secret garden,that secret place…That secret garden,that secret place...
At 7.
There is a secret room in our new place. Mommy doesn’t know. It will be mine. That’s so awesome. At 12.
I am gonna bring Danny to my secret hideaway I have been keeping to myself all these years. It will be our little secret. We will party like the older kids. At 17.
Roger and I can go visit my time-out zone and we will talk deeper stuff. He will think I am so mature. He will instantly fall in love with me. At 22.
Mayen. I need to visit my think spot. NOW. I gotta think about it all. I can’t take it anymore. At 22. 2 days later.
I am gonna go sit in there and think about all the pending decisions I have been putting off. I will just go MIA for a few hours. Mom won’t even notice. At 22. 3 days later.
Ugh why do my eyes feel so heavy? And my back is cramped. It’s 3 in the morning!?! Shit. Where did the time go? Where am I? Wait. Have I been in the secret room, sleeping, all this time? Shit. Who’s crying like someone’s dead? Is that mom? I gotta go check. Ow easy, tiger. Cramped muscles suck. Sigh. Now where’s the key? I gotta unlock from the inside. Where are you, stupid key? Ow ow my little toe. Careful, girl. Careful. Deep breath. It must be here. Focus. Why is it so difficult to breathe? Shite. This place is isolated. It’s closed off from all sides. I gotta go out. But where’s the FREAKING KEYYYY!?!?! At 22. 3 days before. Flashback.
In my haste to get in I had left the key right there with my purse,lying in my cupboard. At 22. Present.
I can’t get out. Nobody out there knows I am here. Danny is dead and I never got around to get Roger to discuss deeper stuff. Nobody knows. Nobody. Is my mother crying cuz she can’t find me? Will I never get out? Will I have to spend my whole life here? Why is it so difficult to breathe, dammit? I gotta focus. Crap. Won’t I live long enough to even come up with a plan? These dancing blackspots are so irritating. I am gonna faint. Shit. At 25. Outside world.
The mother is grieving a daughter whose body was never found. She had disappeared in thin air. “Why did she leave? Will I never know.” Sob. Loud gut-wrenching sobs. At 30. Outside world. 7. Yayayay. Our new home has a secret space. Why did the previous owners hide such an awesome detail? Maybe they didn’t know. It will be my little secret. That’s so great.
Letting go. Letting go. Letting go. 
WanderingViolet 