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Alice, Why?
Author's note: This is my first narrative that would be acceptable, writing wise. At least compared to the silly ones I use to write as a child!
“Some stories start in the very beginning. Others start in the middle of the climax, in futile hopes that it would capture the current readers’ attention. This story starts at the end. Why? It is unnecessary for you to understand why. This was the beginning of the end. This was the end of her. It was the end of me. It was the end of all of us, before we even started to digest what had happened.”
-Diana Mellis (friends since 5th grade)
END:
She sat, curled up in the dark corner. Guttural, animal-like sounds emitted from her open mouth, as jumbled sentences were regurgitated unconsciously.
“Oh God…please, just let it end; stop tormenting me,” she waved her arms wildly, as if battling away her invisible demons.
Dragging herself towards her dusty, black desk, she scrambled for her secret, her comfort, her only escape, hidden in her precious spot.
“No one knows…no one will ever know,” she muttered, quite obviously insane. Ripping her sleeve up, she immediately stifled her string of nonsensical words.
She sat, poised, as if posing for an unseen camera. She slashed the gleaming blade in a multitude of lines across her pale arm, overlaying a curious set of fading to recent scars. Mesmerized, she watched as the fascinatingly vivid red tears trailed down her arms. The pain was oddly breathtaking, and her masochistic nature was once more in the open of her too-white room.
But it wasn’t enough. The comforting physical pain of the lacerations was ebbing away too quickly. Tilting her head, she hacked away at her arm until her blood flowed unceasingly, covering her arm and staining the white floor. She inhaled sharply at the pain that washed over her.
“No more, no more,” she laughed quietly, speaking to herself.
This time, the ache of her self-inflicted wounds didn’t leave. Humming, she added more lines on her other arm, in absolute concentration, as if nothing was more important than her increasingly dangerous cuts.
Pausing, as if listening for an unspoken command, she sat with her dripping razor blade a breath away from creating another rip. Bending forwards, she lifted her mess of a wrist towards her chapped lips. Licking a drop, she shuddered, as the iron tang slipped down her esophagus. She bared a feral grin at no one in particular, at least no one that could be seen with a physical eye.
She slid her middle and index finger over her wrist slowly, relishing in the pain that wracked her doll-like body as they irritated her open wounds. With blood dripping down her fingers, she almost skipped towards the bleached walls.
“What do you see? You can’t see me. You can’t hear me,” she sang, “I can hear them, they’re close. They’re beckoning me.”
She smeared on the white walls. Stepping back to admire her messy handiwork, she nearly collapsed, almost certainly a result of the lack of blood. Ignoring her sudden fatigue, she smeared handprints of her blood all over the wall, being careful not to touch her previously written words. She studied the dripping blood, slowly ruining the once white overall look of her room.
“Well that wasn’t really nice,” she spoke mockingly, in a voice one would associate as something similar to nails on a chalkboard. It was as if she was chastening a child – a child she had no interest in whatsoever.
With a poor and insane substitute of a laugh, she picked up her gleaming-red blade and placed it at her almost unrecognizable wrist. She pressed down the blade and added two dangerously deep gouges on each arm that ran all the way to the inside of her elbow. It was almost comical, seeing the gush of blood escape from her open veins, covering the gleaming white bone of her arms.
Glancing around almost carelessly, she processed the blood that was everywhere, dyeing every color and shade, until it looked like someone had tossed a bucket of blood on her and onto the floor. The blood on the walls continued to drip, staining everything in their path mercilessly.
Black spots were obstructing her vision, and the perpetual whispers in her head became louder. She smiled an inhuman smile as the darkness took over, and she fell like a broken marionette, discarded aside.
Her disgustingly red corpse gleamed in the moonlight, in a pool of her own blood. It lay with an almost dark hilarity for a true psychotic, whereas most people would have retched at the sight. A stream of blood still flowed from the jagged lacerations upon her arms. If someone had the ability to bear the sight of her mangled arms, they would see that one of her arms seemed for all the world like it was pointing purposefully at the wall she had written on moments ago.
In distinct crimson blood, the wall read, “F*** you”.
“I never really realized my – sorry, our mistakes. I thought we were doing the right thing. Now I know. Again and again, we thought we were acting out of ‘righteous indignation’, not knowing we were all so completely wrong. We made it worse, you know? I mean, imagine if you were put in that position. Did you know she had autophobia? I should have remembered that when it all began. But you know what my worst mistake was? We were debating in class once. And in a haze of anger, I callously called all suicide victims, no matter their reason, ‘cowards’ for killing themselves. I’ll never forget that. Did you know when I saw her room, I felt like ripping my eyes out? Yeah. I was debating between that or dousing my brain in straight bleach.”
-Seth Williams (best friends since 9th grade)
“So you want to know all about it,” I narrowed my eyes coldly. “You’d just love to dissect me, expose my innermost being, analyze every freaking motion I have made and will make.”
“Go on,” the infuriatingly calm psychiatrist sat, in a stupid couch obviously made in a poor imitation of an expensive Victorian couch.
I crossed my arms and hissed, “Why do you even bother? I know I’m only here because my so-called parents couldn’t handle the shock, or having an ‘unstable’ teenager at home. By dumping me here, they could have an easier time trying to ignore my existence or at least my apparent ‘mistakes’.”
He paused for a moment, scribbling something down on his clipboard before continuing. He raised a bushy eyebrow, “And your friends? It has been brought to my attention that they – what was the term? They ‘exposed’ you. But surely you understand that it was for your own well-being?” It was not a question.
“Oh yes, I’m just so freaking indebted to them for supposedly saving what was left of my life, and dumping me into this hellhole,” sarcasm dripped from my words.
“I understand you’re angry, and you have a right to be,” his voice became gentle. “They want the person they grew to love to come back.”
“This has always been me; they’ve just never seen it. They’re blinded by the glasses they willingly wear.”
“You believe that everything they did was to hurt you?”
“I know it was. They’ve never really been there. Again and again, when they needed something, I would be there, but it never worked the other way. They’ve used me, and then tossed me away when they couldn’t handle the ‘drama’. Like life isn’t a huge freaking drama.”
He sighed, “We’re going around in circles again. But good work today, you’ve made progress, compared to your last sessions. Absolute silence wasn’t the best way to release your pent-up feelings.” He glanced at his Rolex watch, “Time’s about up. You ought to be heading for your group sessions now.”
I had been dismissed. “Thanks, Doctor,” I spat. “I feel really great about this whole situation. It’s too bad you couldn’t ‘fix’ anything again, eh?”
“Wait,” he spoke. “Last question, I swear, for today at least.”
Ever the embodiment of utter patience, I tapped my foot and crossed my arms, “I’m waiting.”
“Do you still dream of hurting yourself?”
“No,” I laughed cruelly, “I dream of hurting you.”
As the door swung shut, the psychiatrist shivered involuntarily at the sudden chill of his office.
“I never truly knew her. She had always been different, out of sync, but I thought it was just a girl thing. But when I think of it, I think she was always angry; angry at me, angry at herself, and angry at God. No matter what, she never let her guard down. But I was her boyfriend, and I didn’t try any harder than an ‘are you okay’. That’s sick. I can’t stop thinking of what might have not happened. I couldn’t even be bothered to show that I cared, you know? And that was the one thing she needed most. It’s too late. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have let this happen, or left in the first place. Is this what you call survivor’s guilt? I think we all know the truth though: no one could have stopped it, with her so far gone. It was her revenge against the world, against God, and against us all.”
-Gabriel Li (ex-boyfriend)
It was time for group session again. It wasn’t as if the stupid group sessions ever made an improvement to anyone’s lives. I sighed, and plodded down the short, white hallway that led to two hours of naptime and ‘lack of participation’. Everyone was already obediently on time, and I sat in the remaining empty chair.
Freaky Cora Woods was chatting nonstop about how much better she felt about herself after coming to Sunshine Institute. Her jutting bones seemed even more pronounced than the day before, and I wondered indifferently if she had been throwing her food away again.
“I mean I, like, really feel the love here,” she beamed widely, actually meaning those words. “I mean like, I totally can connect with you all and it, like, totally makes me feel so happy. I think I might even be, like, released from this place soon!”
“Well, we’ll definitely miss all of your participations,” Rebecca, the leader, smiled a slightly strained smile.
“Yeah, and we, like, totally won’t,” muttered Tom, the group’s favourite druggie.
“Don’t worry, I’ll, like, totally visit you guys,” Cora gushed, displaying her fantastic row of stained yellow teeth, likely caused by the putrid curry from dinner last night, or her previous (?) bulimic tendencies. I suspected the latter.
Someone nudged me; it was my turn to speak. Just as I had done in sessions before, I closed my eyes and ignored their inquiring stares. As I began to drift into my own place, a voice cut into my daydreams, loud and irritating.
“You think you’re better than all of us,” Sally sneered. “Constantly strutting around in your rich-people clothes, looking down on all of us, as if you think you’re something great. Why don’t you go back to one of your many houses, where you belong?”
“You don’t know a thing about me, so screw off,” I snapped back.
“Ladies, ladies,” Rebecca began.
Cutting her off, Sally jumped up like a rabid predator waiting for its chance to hunt down the prey, “So, rich s*** talks? Maybe you shouldn’t have spazzed when your precious Daddy didn’t supply you with your regular dosage of drugs.”
She was taunting me; I was beginning to see red. I took deep breaths, in effort to suppress my enormous desire to knock her ugly face in. Convincing myself not to start a fight with the Institute’s number one bully, not even mentioning her anger-management issues, I decided to leave it.
I stood up, an epitome of calm and cool, “Back off, Sally, this isn’t your business.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” her eyes narrowed, as if imagining me inches from her salivating fangs.
“Calm down, Sally,” Rebecca began. “She’s not trying to cause trouble; it’s perfectly okay if she doesn’t want to speak up. Here at Sunshine Institute, we try to promote understanding and positive attitudes. We’re all here to help each other, right?”
Sally sat back with a loud huff, and the new, abnormally obese girl next to me, began speaking.
“H-hi, I’m k-kind of new here,” the girl stuttered. “M-my name’s Becky.”
“Welcome, Becky. We all hope you’ll find good friends here,” Rebecca enthusiastically greeted her. “Would you like to tell us why you’ve come to Sunshine?”
“Umm…well, my parents couldn’t handle me,” Becky spoke softly.
“Way to state the obvious, for all of us freaks,” someone muttered darkly.
Continuing, she choked on, “Back at my school, everyone always made fun of me about my body, and the teacher’s always turned a blind eye on it. W-when I reported it to the principal; they disregarded my complaints, and the bullying g-got worse.
“At h-home, my parents were never there for me. They were constantly arguing and threatening each other, not remembering that I was there.
“I couldn’t handle it anymore, so I tried to k-kill myself by swallowing a bunch of my mom’s sleeping pills. But I survived,” she spoke the last sentence flatly.
“Is that it?” Tom rudely interrupted. “That’s your sob story? What a waste of my time; tons of kids go through much worse.”
“Tom,” Rebecca stared him down. “That’s enough.”
“Did your dad beat you half to death every day?” Tom was shouting now, at the cowering Becky. “Did you have to run away at 10 and live on the streets? Did you watch your mother be brutally murdered by your dad?”
“I’m s-sorry,” Becky whispered, tears dripping down her double chins.
I internally rolled my eyes, indifferent to the altercation surrounding me. I didn’t care about anyone’s stupid excuses to be here. I stopped caring a long time ago; people are just malevolent, debilitated, and selfish. Cynical, am I? Just a little bit.
“I blame the media. If the media hadn’t corrupted her mind, none of this would have happened. The media distorts everyday life into something evil, and it tainted her. She was never strong enough to cope with all those terrorists plaguing the world. In fact, I have half a mind to sue the government for exposing acts of violence and unnecessary truths to children unable to cope with reality at such a young age. Her friends as well; instead of spending useless time with them, she should have been studying to keep up with her post secondary courses.”
-Robert Xing (father)
Parent-Visit day was going pleasantly well.
“I’m tired of this! I’m tired of playing someone else’s game where I’m just a useless pawn! Don’t think you can control me! I do what I want, and nothing you say can change that, so back off before you regret it.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me this way; I’m your mother!”
I laughed insanely, “And you think that makes a difference to me? You’re just another pawn on the chessboard of his life. All you do is cringe behind his back, but you never, ever dare make a stand, or even a small protest. You’re so damn ineffective for a successful business woman, you know?”
“You don’t understand. He truly cares. He just…shows it a bit differently. He truly loves you,” she seemed close to tears, and her hurt fed my psychotic laughter. Curious heads turned our way.
“Yes, I felt the love when he beat me up after finding me self-mutilating,” I replied sarcastically. “I’ve also noticed how he’s never bothered to visit after abrogating me.”
She flinched at the words, “But…this place is making an improvement, right?” She grasped at imaginary straws. “And your father is a busy man; money is essential for you to be at one of the country’s best hospitals.”
I smiled, “Yes, mother. I love my stay at Sunshine Institute, the ‘best hospital’ in the country, where I can be surrounded by psychopaths and future serial killers. I am indebted to both of you.”
“That’s enough,” she asserted her authority. “You will be grateful for us trying to help you the best way we can, and you will recover quickly, and effectually.”
I stifled a snicker at her ridiculous words, “Yes, Mother. I’m truly sorry for my rash words.”
She smiled, obviously relieved, “Much better. Shall we head for dinner now? Thank goodness you’ve behaved well enough for you to be allowed out on Parent-Visit days!”
“She got what she deserved. I know, that sounds cruel, but ever since I ‘stole’ her boyfriend, believe me, he came willingly, she made my life Hell. She had always been a needy person, always seeking for attention. Well because of her dramatic exit, she got her boyfriend back, a bit late of course. And no one will ever forget her now. I’ve always hated that b****, and I’m not going to start feeling sorry for her now, just because she couldn’t handle the world.”
-Leah Contiello (hostile classmate)
I was reminiscing again. I couldn’t remember all the details anymore, but I remembered what counted: the worst part.
The worst part was that they found me: Diana, Seth, Gabriel, and of course, the personification of the Devil herself, Leah. I couldn’t handle what Gabriel and Leah were doing, so I decided to forget the world, just for a moment, and to be mesmerized by the blood again. Of course, bright as they were, they decided to come after me, dragging Diana and Seth along.
I could have confided in any of them, well maybe not Leah, about my ‘problem’, any time. But I knew how they would have reacted. Was I not right? After discovering my problem and I, they went in search of my parents, the perfect people to confide in. A of couple days afterwards, I would never see them again, minus the lovely visit they had paid me.
Seth could make up the craziest excuses, excuses so good, I sometimes wanted to believe them. He strongly believed that by confiding in a ‘responsible and caring adult’, I would be better off. He felt that I would be happier stuck in a nuthouse (where I belonged) than committing suicide. I thought Seth would have been able to cope with the truth, but he freaked out when he saw me. Being the cynic that I am, I felt that Seth got rid of me as soon as he could so that he would only remember the good times. And by telling someone who could stop me from cutting, he would be preventing me from dying and he would be therefore free from guilt.
Diana, naïve and good Diana wouldn’t have been able to handle the truth. I was right again. She was relentless in her desire to believe that something was good out of every bad, but in my case, she was speechless.
But poor Gabriel would have never expected what I did in the confines of my own home. He left me once, and he left me again, after finding me, for good.
I never cared what Leah thought of me, as long as she was afraid. In her eyes, I saw that she was simultaneously afraid and disgusted at my weakness. In the midst of their screaming silence, I wanted to rip her face off, to obliterate her.
None of them would have ever suspected that under my mask, my façade, there was a darkness devouring me.
“Why? I wake up in the morning and I want to ask her, ‘Alice, why? Why would you do this to us?’ She didn’t even leave a note for us to find. No apologizes and no last ‘I love you’. Every day I wonder to myself: did we really deserve this?”
-Sara Xing (mother)
She spoke softly to herself, in the darkness of her familiar bedroom, “Once upon a time, there was a sweet girl who had a family and friends to love. She was very happy with her quaint life. Then she discovered the world for what it really was.
“Her family would not let her be who she was, and they never showed a reason for her to love them. They restricted her and confined her when she did not act according to their laws. Her friends (and boyfriend) were liars, cheaters, and weak. They betrayed her to the ones they knew would not accept her or help her: her parents.
“So she found a way to feel; a way to still be in control of her tumbling life; a way to feel alive. For a while, she was able to survive and build an indifference towards all of society. Then they took her away.
“She was imprisoned like a bird, and her useless wings were ripped away. But the girl was clever, and after behaving, well, better than usual, she was allowed a trip home.
“Her parents didn’t realize the razor blade was missing until it was too late.”
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Favorite Quote:
May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
May God be with you and bless you;
May you see your children's children.
May you be poor in misfortune,
Rich in blessings,
May you know nothing but happiness
From this day forward.
May the road rise to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the warm rays of sun fall upon your home
And may the hand of a friend always be near.
May green be the grass you walk on,
May blue be the skies above you,
May pure be the joys that surround you,
May true be the hearts that love you.