Somethings coming part 1
I'm sorry I haven't posted in around 20 billion years but I haven't really been able to come up with anything.
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Maria was dead. Silence echoed of the room in quiet agreement. Maria was dead. I took one breath. Another. I put my hands over my mouth at the bloodied mess at my feet. Maria was dead, why was Maria dead? I couldn't cry. I couldn't think. I hugged my sister's body in hope she would come back, that this was a dream. Tears finally fell from my eyes. And I shook.
Sirens echoed about the room and police officers stormed into the room, breaking down the locked door.
"Stand up. Put your hands up," The police pointed a gun at me. I did not move.
"Stay away from my sister!" I yelled.
"Kayla Greene, move away from the body," the police said calmly, "Or I will shoot."
It had been a while since someone had used my name. I stood up.
"Why did you kill your sister?"
"My sister. My sister is hurt. I checked her pulse, she's dead. Why is she dead? Why?" I cried.
"Why is there a knife in your hand?" The police queried dangerously.
"Because I stabbed her."
"That's why she's dead," the police said simply, smoothing his blond hair back with his free hand. He was uncomfortable. That was a sign of someone that was uncomfortable.
"Why is she dead?" I rambled, "I killed her," I added, "Why is she dead? She shouldn't be dead. Did you kill her?" I lifted up my bloody knife in warning. He was bad. He was trying to take me away from my sister. My sister, who wanted to leave, to run. I had made her stay, but why was she dead? My head swam with questions. Perfectly rational questions.
"No. I didn't kill her. You did."
"No I didn't!" I yelled, as if I were a child again, as if I were a victim. I was a victim, I reminded myself. I didn't understand. I fell to the floor and started weeping.
"I killed her. Why did I kill her?" Everything was so loud... the sirens, the clock...
"Calm yourself," he said, and I snapped into focus.
"Kill me," I said, "Please. Please, kill me, so that I can be with my sister. Please. I can't kill myself. It's against the rules."
"Your parents will not have that. I can get you help."
I laughed: a bark, a colourless, bitter laugh.
"No. You can't help me. You lie." I snarled, "You lie because you are afraid. But if you are afraid, then shoot me. I cannot kill myself, it is against the rule. Then you will be free of the fear."
He paused.
I slid the knife to him.
"Stab me and say it was suicide. That you tried to stop me. They will all be relieved. Do it." I hissed.
"No," his voice began to waver, "They can help you."
"No," I shook my head. "They cannot."
"Officer Jones! Officer Jones, do you read me?"
I curse colourfully but quietly as I unhook my walkie-talkie from my belt,
"Yes, Officer Jacobs, loud and clear."
"What happened, why is it taking so long?"
"We have a mad case," I whisper; the girl was listening intently, her eyes narrowed into slits, "She wants me to kill her."
Kayla Greene cocked her head to one side and started laughing, a tinkling sound in the dark room. I shuddered as I looked about the room. The walls were stained with blood, dried, now, so it looked black. The cheery flower wallpaper peeling off, and the body...the body was horrible, no words could have possibly explained what it looked like. It was less girl, and more flesh. Blood.
"Miss Greene, I implore you. Please come out," I said.
"I am not going to leave my sister," her eyes looked careless, as if she were looking into another world, or a rose garden, and then she screamed. Her scream was horrible as she pointed at the wall. Undoubtably, I looked, and I didn't see anything. Forthwith, she collapsed.
As the blue and red lights go off, and the sirens screamed their wicked song, I felt an invisible tug, and, even though I could have gone home, I hailed a cab to follow the police car to the asylum.
I was cold. I didn't know why I was cold, but I was. When I was younger, I never got cold, but then and there, I was cold. The asylum was old fashioned, because, even with modern technology, no one bothered with the mad and not dangerous. I was not dangerous as long as I was contained.
At least I had the spiders as my friends. They had eight unblinking eyes like shards from another universe and they had long, spindly, furred legs. They were about the size of my hand. That dangled precariously s they lower themselves to the ground. Their entire body was furred and brown, and their mouth was full of teeth, pincers of the sharpest kind. And there were hundreds of them.
Quite unexpectedly, as a spider lowered itself and scurried across the floor, the officer entered. A wild, frantic look in his eyes. They had said a psychiatrist was coming to see me. He didn't look like a psychiatrist. Psychiatrists wear a very calm look before they go insane , but then again, everyone wears a calm look right before they go insane.
"Mis Greene, I don't know why I'm here."
"The rules called you."
"The rules, Miss Greene?" he queried, exhaustion heavily lining his face.
"Of insanity."
"I'm not insane."
"Nor am I."
"Miss Greene, you are in an asylum."
"They made a mistake. A very bad mistake. I am a mistake."
"No, Miss Greene, you are not a mistake."
"I am. That's why the rules...the rules."
"The rules, Miss Greene?"
But at that moment I saw the eight red glowing eyes and screamed.
------
Maria was dead. Silence echoed of the room in quiet agreement. Maria was dead. I took one breath. Another. I put my hands over my mouth at the bloodied mess at my feet. Maria was dead, why was Maria dead? I couldn't cry. I couldn't think. I hugged my sister's body in hope she would come back, that this was a dream. Tears finally fell from my eyes. And I shook.
Sirens echoed about the room and police officers stormed into the room, breaking down the locked door.
"Stand up. Put your hands up," The police pointed a gun at me. I did not move.
"Stay away from my sister!" I yelled.
"Kayla Greene, move away from the body," the police said calmly, "Or I will shoot."
It had been a while since someone had used my name. I stood up.
"Why did you kill your sister?"
"My sister. My sister is hurt. I checked her pulse, she's dead. Why is she dead? Why?" I cried.
"Why is there a knife in your hand?" The police queried dangerously.
"Because I stabbed her."
"That's why she's dead," the police said simply, smoothing his blond hair back with his free hand. He was uncomfortable. That was a sign of someone that was uncomfortable.
"Why is she dead?" I rambled, "I killed her," I added, "Why is she dead? She shouldn't be dead. Did you kill her?" I lifted up my bloody knife in warning. He was bad. He was trying to take me away from my sister. My sister, who wanted to leave, to run. I had made her stay, but why was she dead? My head swam with questions. Perfectly rational questions.
"No. I didn't kill her. You did."
"No I didn't!" I yelled, as if I were a child again, as if I were a victim. I was a victim, I reminded myself. I didn't understand. I fell to the floor and started weeping.
"I killed her. Why did I kill her?" Everything was so loud... the sirens, the clock...
"Calm yourself," he said, and I snapped into focus.
"Kill me," I said, "Please. Please, kill me, so that I can be with my sister. Please. I can't kill myself. It's against the rules."
"Your parents will not have that. I can get you help."
I laughed: a bark, a colourless, bitter laugh.
"No. You can't help me. You lie." I snarled, "You lie because you are afraid. But if you are afraid, then shoot me. I cannot kill myself, it is against the rule. Then you will be free of the fear."
He paused.
I slid the knife to him.
"Stab me and say it was suicide. That you tried to stop me. They will all be relieved. Do it." I hissed.
"No," his voice began to waver, "They can help you."
"No," I shook my head. "They cannot."
"Officer Jones! Officer Jones, do you read me?"
I curse colourfully but quietly as I unhook my walkie-talkie from my belt,
"Yes, Officer Jacobs, loud and clear."
"What happened, why is it taking so long?"
"We have a mad case," I whisper; the girl was listening intently, her eyes narrowed into slits, "She wants me to kill her."
Kayla Greene cocked her head to one side and started laughing, a tinkling sound in the dark room. I shuddered as I looked about the room. The walls were stained with blood, dried, now, so it looked black. The cheery flower wallpaper peeling off, and the body...the body was horrible, no words could have possibly explained what it looked like. It was less girl, and more flesh. Blood.
"Miss Greene, I implore you. Please come out," I said.
"I am not going to leave my sister," her eyes looked careless, as if she were looking into another world, or a rose garden, and then she screamed. Her scream was horrible as she pointed at the wall. Undoubtably, I looked, and I didn't see anything. Forthwith, she collapsed.
As the blue and red lights go off, and the sirens screamed their wicked song, I felt an invisible tug, and, even though I could have gone home, I hailed a cab to follow the police car to the asylum.
I was cold. I didn't know why I was cold, but I was. When I was younger, I never got cold, but then and there, I was cold. The asylum was old fashioned, because, even with modern technology, no one bothered with the mad and not dangerous. I was not dangerous as long as I was contained.
At least I had the spiders as my friends. They had eight unblinking eyes like shards from another universe and they had long, spindly, furred legs. They were about the size of my hand. That dangled precariously s they lower themselves to the ground. Their entire body was furred and brown, and their mouth was full of teeth, pincers of the sharpest kind. And there were hundreds of them.
Quite unexpectedly, as a spider lowered itself and scurried across the floor, the officer entered. A wild, frantic look in his eyes. They had said a psychiatrist was coming to see me. He didn't look like a psychiatrist. Psychiatrists wear a very calm look before they go insane , but then again, everyone wears a calm look right before they go insane.
"Mis Greene, I don't know why I'm here."
"The rules called you."
"The rules, Miss Greene?" he queried, exhaustion heavily lining his face.
"Of insanity."
"I'm not insane."
"Nor am I."
"Miss Greene, you are in an asylum."
"They made a mistake. A very bad mistake. I am a mistake."
"No, Miss Greene, you are not a mistake."
"I am. That's why the rules...the rules."
"The rules, Miss Greene?"
But at that moment I saw the eight red glowing eyes and screamed.
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