[I WROTE A STORY INSTEAD OF A POEM, APOLOGIES]
“What’s for dinner?” I querie, in hopes my wife will respond. Yet, she’s silent, her eyes fixated on the ivory painted wall. “Don’t like the colour anymore?” Still no answer, still silent. I stalk closer, standing behind where she’s sitting on the sofa. “Are you… okay, babe?” Then I notice how still she is, it doesn’t even look as if she’s breathing. “Babe?” My voice is pitched higher now, more panicked, a hand hesitates on its journey to reach for her. I steel myself, taking a breath and poking my head around to meet her face.
I bite back a scream. My eyes meet her dull ones, staring, glazed over at the concrete. Her skin is pale, paler than usual, looking waxy and much like a model of herself. She’s unblinking, not faltering from her frozen motion, her body limp, propped up against the sofa much like that of a doll.
“Sorry, love, what were you saying?” Her cracked lips seperate, forcing into a thin smile. It’s as though she’s not fully there, like something else is controlling her brain. “Not to worry, I was just saying that I was going to pick up some milk, from the shop.” I play it off, acting casual in front of the thing that’s pretending to be my wife. It nods, only replying with an “Okay” before turning back to look at the walls.
I fumble through my pockets, rapidly searching for the keys as I walk to the door, faking composure. My finger hooks through the loop, finding them in a jingling bundle, I bite my lip to contain a triumphant noise. Once I’ve pulled it out, I jam the key into the door and twist, despite the shaking of my hands,** **listening for the click of the opening lock.
The hinges squeak as it drifts open. Relief bubbles up in my chest as my foot crosses the threshold, meeting the tarmac. I turn back, taking a reluctant glance back at what once appeared to be my wife. Its hair is falling out of its head, its skin withering and melting. My gaze averts back to the shiny surface of the car, parked a few feet away from where I’m stood. Then I speed up, stumbling as my pace quickens and I force my way into the motor vehicle.
The engine starts with a roar as I pull out of the drive, speeding down the road. For a while, all seemed calm, the only sounds being my breathing and the engine. Then, as though to prove me wrong, a figure emerges in the road. My foot pushes into the break and I close my eyes, tight enough to hurt, against the fear of hitting something.
When I hesitantly open them again, I’m met with silence. I stare, probably looking feverish, in front of me. The figure’s skin is so white it could be made of snow, it’s eyes huge and black, from the pupil to the sclera. It’s devoid of hair and the only clothes it wears are billowing black trousers and a too-long red shirt. It has razor sharp teeth, stained yellow and covered in blood.
My mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out. It’s eyes flash, momentarily showing that of my wife’s. In that crucial second she looked almost human.
The first time the devil came knocking I was scared, hesitant. Eventually it became normal, he became a friend to me. He changed from a frightening face in my mirror, to a familiar one. When I went through a bad break up, he was there. My mum died and he was there.
One day I came home crying, I was being bullied. I thought I was ugly. My hair was knotty, my face pale and ghoulish, my cheeks puffed and red. I looked in the mirror and he was there. He reached through the reflective pool, his hand resting on my face. My skin started to tingle as I felt my cheeks thin, my hair smoothening out. He made me… pretty.
That was the last time I saw him. He looked as though he was melting, the prettier I got the sicker he was. I tried to help but, I couldn’t. Then… he was gone, forever.
I still miss him; there will always be a place in my heart for him.
The storm is loud, raging. It hurts all around it. No one can control it, if anything it controls them. In its wake it leaves a path of destruction. Hope is lost, tossed away with the broken remains of what was once our home. No one that nears it gets hurt.
But it hurts itself as well.
The storm, it destroys, it’s out of control. Then there’s the eye of the storm. A forbidden peace, a calm, a silent tranquility. All chaos and bloodshed left behind. There’s something so sickeningly beautiful about the eye of the storm. It washes away all pain, all sorrow, all panic.
A storm, yes. But not a literal one, it is no tornado. The storm is inside of us, of the mentally ill. A storm that builds and builds whenever something bad happens and overflows when small inconveniences occur. When you feel overwhelmed. This storm, it hurts others, makes the person who owns it feel like a monster. It hurts itself more than others
—This is how I’m feeling lately, please be nice. The storm came out today and I snapped on my friend today.—
I walk into the corporate meeting a little tipsy, and very late. Maya looks as though she didn’t want me to come at all. My seat is at the front of the room, I make my way there clambering through the chairs.
“I apologise for my absence.” My words stumble out of my mouth in a clumsy manner. I giggle.
“What is so funny Mr. Donalds?” The instructors voice is serious, calm and stern. I don’t like it.
“The fact that we’re promoting hair products, yet your hairline is receding.” I barely hold back a chuckle. He looks at me as though I have just killed his family.
“I mean, come on!! Who is going to listen to us? Most of us are bald!” A laugh bubbles in my throat. The crowd roars with merriment. Maya glares at me, her eyes scorching my cheeks. I have always liked her, but she found me foolish, she always has.
“What about we get Maya to do the campaign?” I let myself be calm almost serious for a moment. This offer would mean a lot for her.
“Alright. That sounds like a good idea. For once.” He mutters the last remark but I still hear it. Maya’s glare drops. She strides to the front, standing in front of me. I stand upright.
Her arms wrap around me, crushing my ribs. “Thank you.” She whispers, tears flowing freely down her face. Then she pecks my cheek. My face scorches as my thoughts stumble and jumble. She just giggles and hugs me tighter.
Dear future:
If you are reading this it is not too late. Watch your back. They are taking over. Smash all of your technology, they’re listening, watching.
The government use it, the technology. Don’t listen. Resist the brain washing. Resist. Please, for the sake of humanity.
I am writing this out of fear for the future. No one will listen. I hoped you might.
Read a book, draw a picture, play tag. GET OF YOUR PHONES.
I turned Siri off. They’re always listening, watching. When I tried to tell my mum she got me anxiety medication.
Everyone thinks I’m crazy.
I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.
They don’t believe me. No one believes me. It’s all a trick a lie. The government are using the technology to brainwash us. They haven’t thought it through.
They made a robot a year ago, last month it started a conversation with another AI, in a language unknown to us. They couldn’t decode it. It’s getting out of hand. They will take over. They will overthrow the government. Spread the message. Make them listen. Help us.
I remember them. Bailey with her dusty blonde hair, Luke’s was the blue of ocean and Lyra’s the purple of lavenders. Naomi however, her hair was a swamp green.
Their hair reflects their personalities and makes them well.. them.
It’s difficult to comprehend what happened on that day. October 30th 1983. We had collected sweets from every house, giggling all the way home. We stopped outside of Bailey’s house unable to decide whether to go on an adventure or not.
I convince the others to leave our sweets inside and go explore the woods. All the adults say that it’s haunted. Luke and Lyra walk hand in hand, skipping down the street. It’s hard to believe ANYONE would give their kids matching names, but oh well.
The trees twist sharply, wickedly. Leaves wilt, green replaced by crimson. I can’t help but laugh when I see how panicky Bailey seems. “Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssssse!!” I whine. She lets out a sigh, muttering something incoherent. All I hear from her is a ‘fine.’
We continue walking, listening for small noises. Alert as I am, I still find it fun. Oo’s and ah’s come from bushes, trees, corners. My eyes dart back and forth following the noise.
An opalescent shape crosses my vision. “Hello?” My voice echoes in my head. I’m sure the rest of the group believe I’m going insane. It flies around the trees as I follow in pursuit. “HELLO!!” It yells into my ear. I groan. “Ow!” I rub at my ear as it apologises profusely.
My friends arrive looking between me with a strange bewilderment.
That night was something I will never forget. A night where I stayed up. My mother and father drove endlessly.
We got told I had to be evaluated. Since then I’ve been locked in this cage. A… mental hospital they call it?
I’ve seen plenty of what I call “ghosts” since then. Not all of them are nice, but I know just how to fix that.
Waves crash against the boat as I pull the paddle through the current, roughly. The box of tackle rustles at the movement. My fishing rod rests under my arm. If I don’t catch something then my family can’t ear tonight.
Once I set everything up, I get into position. The bait lands a half mile away. Now I just have to wait. This is the hard part, staying observant while waiting.
It takes a while until something finally bites. It’s heavy. Too heavy. My arms strain, trying to pull the rod to me. SNAP!! Shit. The rod cracks in 2, wood shavings littering my boat. What is that thing?
I see something moving towards me in the water. Sharp, shark like fins following one after another. It rises out the water looking me straight in the eye. The size of it is astonishing.
It opens it’s mouth and for a moment I think it’s going to swallow me whole. Fish slide out from its throat. So many fish. It grins at me a stupid grin. I smile back. This thing just regurgitated the whole river onto my boat. We are going to eat well from now on.
When I get home, I dump buckets upon buckets onto the table. “HONEYYYY I GOT DINNER!!” It has been 2 weeks since we ate. She squeals when she sees it.
After that day I named the monster Wave. He has been feeding us for years. Today when I go out he is not there. I sit for an hour or two and when he finally arrives there is nothing in his mouth. I am swallowed whole.
(I wanted to add in a plot twist but I didn’t know what type so here’s this monstrosity.)
All of the art is fake. Everyone is clueless. It doesn’t take much to realise, they are painted with barely any effort and don’t match the originals. The people of the museum all have empty stares. To anyone who isn’t brainwashed this is horrifying.
Only me and Raya are unaffected. This place is so big it’s overwhelming. My gown is stained a blood red as it shifts across the floor of the museum.
“What now?” My question is thick with boredom and uninterested. I am not one for dramatics, just success. “We leave.” No shit. I mean how are we going to deal with this mess.
I laugh maniacally. “I must say.. I’m actually pretty proud of myself. This entire place is in MY control, can you believe it?” She rolls her eyes at me. “Okay once we get to the bridge outside of town you can release them from this little… spell, of yours, okay?” Why does it have to wait so long? Oh who cares as long as we get our money everything will be fine.
She leads me out of the building, hand in hand. Once we arrive at the truck she loads the back. As soon as the back shuts I drive. She yells after my car but I don’t care.
All I care about is riches, she knew this when she married me. I will betray everyone for the life I deserve. The spell breaks and guards flood outside as I round the corner. She will be caught and I will get away… just like last time.
I set down the dirtied doll. My sister got it for Christmas last year. Now she is gone, we have no reason to keep it. A little while after Anna had been gifted the doll, which she named Corrie, she had started acting… distant, weird. We were always close, until Corrie came along. Such a stupid name for such a stupid doll.
Every time we went out as a family Corrie would be there. She bathed with Corrie, slept with Corrie, ate with Corrie, she even peed with Corrie. I noticed that she had started to talk less as well, she would just sit, still as a statue, not making a sound. Usually she would run around the house giggling and yelling but Corrie, Corrie made her different.
Only a month or so before her death something… strange happened. I went to give Anna a hug and she.. she felt like porcelain. It was strange and I, I don’t like to remember it. For the first time in my life I was genuinely scared of my own sister.
As I walk away I hear it, my sisters voice, a whisper on the breeze. “I have gone to be with Corrie, forever and… ever. Join me Luke, please?” My stomach churns, tears burning my eyes, breathe quickening. The whining, the whisper, it sounds just like her.
I turn around to see the doll. Corrie. I left him laying down but now, now he’s sitting up, staring at me. His eyes are on mine. All I can think off is Anna. My hands shake and I go to wipe the sweat from my forehead but, I can’t move. The skin on my hands turns hard and slowly it spreads over the rest of my body.
Though I should be panicking I can’t, I am calm and cool as stone. I cannot think. All I can do is stare as I see Anna… as a doll.
Dream Island was beautiful. Visiting it was always a pleasure. But there’s only 1 thing that stops me from staying……….
The beasts
Grogbottoms Slitherlivers Terrorfacers
They stalk and kill easily. I walk for miles until the beautiful kingdom of Morsily comes into view.
The blue tower like building sticks up in the distance, red leaved trees hiding it from society. I see the ancient tree of wonders as I walk.
“Madam” The guard spits at me.
“Mossier” I reply in a tone fat less than sweet.
He scoffs and I continue walking. Once I come to the throne room I bow.
“You don’t need to boy Ash!” I hear the king call.
“Sorry dad” My apology comes out on it’s own.
Wheres mum, is what I don’t ask.
She’s in bed, is what he answers to my non-existent question.
I ascend the stairs to my mothers room. The door is closed so I knock lightly calling out to her.
No answer
I call out again.
Still no answer.
I walk in and see her. She’s laying there her skin tainted blue, her hair messy, the sound of her breathing ceased to exist.
I check her pulse. Gone. Nothing.
“DAD DAD COME QUICK PLEASE PLEASE” I fall to my knees sobbing. My breathe’s caught in my throat. I feel weak.
She’s, GONE GONE GONE
NO NO NO PLEASE NO
They take her out in one of the royal coffins. My visions blurred and I can’t hear anything. Even the guard that hates me is comforting me.
The cold hearts disease. She ate the wrong thing (the frozen flower).
I searched high and low. Finally I found it, I’ve always wondered how it tasted.
And THAT is how I met the same fate as my mother.
6 feet under. Dead. Gone.
