God, I hate her so much.
I hate the way she smiles, the way she laughs, the way she jumps up and down with joy when she gets good news.
But most of all, I hate the way she can have everything I can’t—she gets all the boys. No matter how hard I try, she’ll win everything I want.
I see her everywhere—the hair like spun gold, the sparkling, ocean blue eyes, the long, dark lashes. She’s in my head, whether she’s in my peripheal vision or not. I can’t erase the pretty little ribbons she likes the wear in her hair and the way that they fold over her perfect ponytails she likes to wear. The way she curls them around her hair, double knots it, ties a tiny bow and lets the ends flow long and unbothered. God, why must she be so flawless? Even now, I can picture her red, knitted jumper, her pleated skirt and her dangling golden earrings. Not even the white soles of her black converse shoes escapes my mind.
Wait.
The soles of her shoes are not completely white.
You don’t see it immediately, but… Looking closely, the pearly colour is not pearly at all. They’ve got a smidge grey, almost as if… she’s gotten them dirty? Ha! Well, guess she’s not perfect then. She doesn’t even take good care of her shoes, letting them get ever so filthy. Little bitch.
But when I open my eyes, she’s simply sitting across the library, book and pen in hand. I glance at the clock; 30 minutes have passed.
Was it worth it? I don’t know.
Did it make me feel any better?
God, I’m so excited to return to my old school. I remember attending high school like it was yesterday: I was captain of the football team, dating the hottest girl in school and everyone either wanted to be me or be with me. It was such a dream. Obviously, I’ve fallen off a bit since then—I’m now a construction worker, but I’ll always cherish the days of school.
Yesterday, my high school girlfriend, who I guess is my ex now, texted me, asking whether I wanted to meet up with her. Evidently, I said yes. I wanted to see how it changed, didn’t I? Change is good. It helps us grow.
As I approach the school along the same gravel road I walked for four years, I reminisce upon old memories. Back when I was sixteen, I scored the winning shot at our homecoming game. Everyone loved me for that—the teachers, the players, even the nerds who didn’t care about football. But I only cared about one person’s attention: Sarah’s. She was cheering too, so I ran up to her kissed her. It was soft and hot and dreamy—perfect for my first kiss. Her legs wrapped around my hips as I ran my hands through her peach-scented, platinum-blond hair. God, Sarah. I wanted to say I loved her right there. When we finally broke apart after what could’ve been a few minutes or several hours or even a thousand sunlit days, our eyes finally met, like a starry night meeting a sunlit forest. And at that point, I knew I didn’t need to say anything at all.
A few more minutes. Around 100 metres more, a left turn and then a right turn and I will see my old school. Did I mention I was excited? Okay, okay… left… right… school—
What?
WHAT?
Why does it look so… so…
This isn’t right. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I desperately turn, intending to retrace my steps, but a voice stops me. “Steven.” I turn. On the little swing, whose strings are fraying in all directions and whose metal is dented and rusted, sits a woman. She’s wearing a flowing white dress with lace, embroidery and an endless train, She looks sickly pale, as though she is a ghost. Her hair is an icy colour—almost white, but not quite. The lightest grey, perhaps. Her skin is sagging greatly around her hollowed cheeks, her blood-red lips, and her eyes—those eyes, I realise. They’re the same. Almond-shaped, upturned. One hazel like a mix of spun gold and tree bark and a forested hillside, and the other pure green like an emerald in the rough. “You.” The nameless name feels like wind against my mouth, escaping my lips before I can stop it. “You came,” she says, getting up from the swing. I feel my legs quickly take a step backward. “I wasn’t sure if you would.” “Where are we?” I blurt out. She tilts her head, her lips almost curving upwards into a smirk. “Didn’t I tell you? This is our old school.” I stare up the crumbling building. No. No, no, no, no, no. I can not be. Our school was great, glorious. But I see it now. The red bricks, now a strange tawny colour, that built up the pillar; the arched entryway, now splintered and smashed; the statue of our school mascot—a grizzly bear—-has now crumbled, its head thrown carelessly onto the floor. God. It really is… why couldn’t see it before? “Sarah…” But I don’t ever see her again. She’s gone. The school’s empty. No pale ghost, no two-coloured eyes, nothing. It’s empty. I am alone. With my fears and the remains of my second home sit on either side of me.
Let me leave this place behind.
I. Anxiety I scream. It breaks me. Inside.
The shadows— They… they’re always running around Scaring me when I least expect it What did I ever do to them?
II. Depression
The shadows are my friends; or at least, I treat theme as though they are. But they seem like the worst kind of friends. Controlling. Manipulative. Joyless.
They’re so tall that they block the sunlight; beneath them I feel small, insignificant.
But they’re a part of my life; I can’t cut them out.
III. Scream Let me go.
Every day, Rebecca stared into the mirror. She stared at it as she picked her skin; as she tried on outfits; as she did her makeup, all day, every day. She must look perfect on all occasions, no matter what. Even if she were rushing or anxious or depressed, she must look perfect. Her reflection did too. Or so she thought it did.
Sometimes, when she was grabbing something from her closet or removing her glasses, something quite strange would occur. Her reflection would blink repeatedly or flicker across the room. Not that Rebecca would notice, for it would return to normal once she glared back. When she did, she brushed it off; most likely just a trick of the light, she thought.
But before long, the reflection’s shenannigans began to become more noticeable. She wouldn’t stop while Rebecca looked back, and she was not the perfection Rebecca needed. Her eye bags became increasingly heavy; her makeup became smeared; the whites of her eyes became red; and her skin began to sag. The mirror is faulty, Rebecca thought. It is time to replace it. So, she swapped her mirror for one that was twice as large. All the better to observe herself and her beauty.
But the paranormal spread. Loud noises erupted from the mirror, and cracks began to appear. Rebecca wanted to scream, but she couldn’t, for a proper lady would never do something as maddening as make a loud noise. It must be in my head, Rebecca thought. I am descending into madness. But, I must not let it show. I must fight the madness; do my makeup more grand to hide anything going wrong in my mind, and wear bigger, brighter outfits to draw attention away from any strange actions that may occur.
But that was not the issue.
One day, Rebecca came home to find her mirror shattered into a thousand pieces. She finally let it out. She screamed and yelled and wailed all day long. What have I done wrong? Who did this? Who could have such a grudge against me that they would break into my home and destroy my most prized possession?
Once her tears died down, she sat in front of her mirror, grieving it. Her hands sifted through the shards of glass, taking in their beautiful shine and reflections. Blood burst from her fingers, but she did not care nor feel any pain. It was nothing to her. But underneath all the glass, she found a single piece of paper. How strange, she thought. She opened it, reading its contents.
Dear Rebecca, Please stop pretending. Please come home. Please, you are killing me. Please, I am forced to atone for your sins. Please, let me be free. __ Yours sincerely, Bex
I wake. I walk. I wander. Across this vast, empty world.
I don’t feel much, aside from a growing feeling inside. What does it mean? I don’t know, but it won’t subside. It makes me blue, it makes me red, it makes me green.
I’m screaming, I’m crying because of it. Yet, I am also breathing and laughing and smiling So I realise, bit by bit Something is happening…
For what can bring both joy and pain, both depression and elation. The answer is really quite simple: Love. The loss and the gain of it sets in motion the greatest feelings ever known, whether dragging us to the depths below or the lifting us to the sky above.
I love love. And that is all.
“It’ll be better...” I hear my whispers. They feel strangled. I feel strangled. I feel as though someone has wrapped their arms around my neck and hugged it too tightly. I feel as though I am underwater and there are rocks tied to my feet. I can thrash, I can scream, I can try anything and everything, but in the end, I will never survive. I will never live—what’s weighing me down is simply too heavy. Even though she’s my lifeboat, I’m jumping off. In search of Atlantis, perhaps.
Emily opens her eyes, her forehead still against mine. The blue in them is unmistakable, as though shards of the sky have descended from above into her irises. But behind that piercing gaze is fear. As I search her face, I see the dampness of her dark eyelashes; the darkness of her eye bags; and the wet stains across her cheeks. I hate lying to her, but I must to keep her safe.
“You don’t have to go,” she breathes. “You could stay here; wait for the storm to pass and go home.” “No,” I reply, stroking my fingers across her hair. “It would be impossible. For me.” “Will you ever tell me where you’re going?” she says, her voice beginning to break. She’s begging, I realise. “Will you ever come back?” I open my mouth to reply, but my breath catches in my throat. I can’t breathe---I’m drowning, and the surface seems to be taunting me. It is right there above me, but I can not even touch it. “I don’t know. I love you, Em. Please--please don’t ever forget me.” Her eyes sparkle, like sapphires. She grabs my arm. “Jonathan,” she says. Her voice is soft, whispering my name as though it were a secret. Something else escapes her mouth. No, not just something, a word; not a singular word, but six. Six that achieve the impossible. Six that make me rethink leaving and everything that has led up to this moment. Six that make me question the reality of life. “Our child will wait for you.”
Noah
She’s so still. She’s like a perfect little porcelain teacup. And I love her for it. I’ve never heard her speak, never said a word to her, only seen her. I hardly know anything about her aside from what everyone knows: she’s prom queen, valedictorian, head of both the debate club and dance team. Everytime I walk by her, I’m stop and stare. Not that she ever notices. She’s always laughing with her friends. Joking about and telling stories from the weekend. They’re all perfect beauties, but I can never take my eyes off of her. Even surrounded by the most beautiful people on earth, she somehow stands out; somehow, everyone else disappears when I look at her. Even when I close my eyes, I can still see her, down to every little detail. From the the roots of her gorgeous chestnut hair to their gentle curl at their tips; from the irises of her forest green eyes to the dark, curling lashes that frame them; from the soft curve of the bridge of her nose to the point of its tip. Everything is visible—her ivory skin, the cupid bow of her lips, all of it. She’s like a fairytale princess. Timeless. Ethereal. Magical.
Lilliana I can see them all staring at me; the boys and the girls. It’s strange really. I have no idea if they want me or they want to be me. They think I don’t notice—that they’re too geeky or too nerdy for me to notice, but I see it all. The prolonged glances, the jut of each finger, all of it. I’ve been trained. Because everytime I notice it, I run.
It’s not about them, god forbid I stress over teenage boys. It’s about him. The one who infiltrated my family, preying on the broken hearts and fucked up minds. He’s doing it to me. He waits until the night, when my mother is fast asleep, and sneaks into my room, knowing my exact position. If I’m not awake, he still does it. It doesn’t matter. It never does. Whether I’m dirty or tired or screaming or crying, he doesn’t care. He does it anyway, and I have no say. I’m trapped alone on this island with a raging storm that never subdues. I can’t run… not without my mother, who I feel like I don’t know anymore. She’s a stranger, a ghost. I want to ask how she could have lost her mind, how she could have fallen for this excuse of a human being, but I can’t. And deep down, I know how. I know he was charming and charismatic when we first met. I loved him too; I thought he was going to be my new dream father. But as the sun set, blissful dreams became terrifying nightmares. Every night, I beg sunrise to come and I plead, in vain, for that glowing light to never disappear once more. And the worst part? My mother. I have no idea what is happening to her—whether she is blissfully unaware or whether she has suffered the same fate as me. And I fear I will never know.
And day after day, I return to school. Where people tell me I’m beautiful, that my mother must be so glad that I’m so attractive. Fuck them. Beauty is only a blessing temporarily; later on, it turns into a horrible curse. But the only thing I can do is laugh with my friends, pretend everything is completely normal. For what will people think if they know the true me?
