Twisting Alice

Twisting Alice
Rose

Burning, not in smell or pressure and heat. Burning in the mind. Fire inside me.
I see orange, red, yellow. I feel it lick every thought.
My temples are bursting.
It’s growing, growing and attacking. Ferocious, aggressive, sadistic.
Beautiful, at the same time, hauntingly riveting with slow and sensual movements. It’s feeling without knowing.
It is desire and hate.
It cripples me.

Now.

Shut up.

The fire claws once again at my demise.
She is burning me again. Waves of the pain from the fire are washing over me. The crescendo rises. It coils down from my mind, twisting through my blood. Then that boils. Then my veins explode. Then the molten blood dissolves the rest of my innards.
I gasp. Cold air is inside my hot hot hot body.
A sheen of glue is over my body, my hair plastered to me.

Now.

Pain is over me. Faster, harder, faster, harder. It hits, beats, whips me. The thirst for self destruction.

Now now now now now.

I blink. The darkness shows me demons. Light hits my eyes.
It’s only possible to know the dark once you have seen the light.
In darkness we switch, the demon comes out. My will is made.
The blade is burning just as strong as my mind. The metal reflects my own darkness back at me. I can see but not feel.
So I grin. It’s dark and bites into my own face.
The exhilaration is infinite.

Screams - loud, shrill. The type that raise goosebumps, that make you join in because the screams themselves are their own horror story.
Laughter - bloodthirsty. Mine. All all mine.
Blood - hits the walls, splatters my dress, drips from the knife.
Bodies - two. Dead. Cold. Unmoving. Motionless.

Satisfaction whispers into me.
The flames recede.
There’s just the spark waiting to be ignited.
It is eerie, blood on red. It could be anything - food dye on snow, paint on paper. Blood on walls and floors.
Nobody has even noticed.
The blonde’s hair is splayed about her, like a fan on the floor. Her cerulean eyes are open and unyielding, electric with hate. They’re veiled by death. She must be five or six. A white dress clings to her tiny figure, desperate. Red is smeared over it, smudged onto the floor where she struggled and grasped at anything to help her. Stupid.

I whimper.
That is me. I did that. Caused it, did it, performed it.

This is how it feels to be alive.
Electrified.
Adrenalin thunders through me, the same way the bass of a disco does, and only raises my need for more. The electricity is addictive.
My lips crack into another smile.

Nice. I told you so.

Interruption. Something disrupts the air.
Thud thud thud.
Unlike the disco bright feeling in my mind, this is dark. This is twisted. This Something is foreign.
It dares to destroy my plans.

The flames are back. Fires are bright and raging.
It wants more. We need more.

Three is a nice number.

You’re learning, well.

The cooling knife is clean, the liquid soaking into my tee shirt instead.
It's beautiful.
My hands are already shaking. Excitement.

Something in my chest is heavy. Chained. It hurts.
It’s not fire. Fire is my mind.
This is my heart and it’s heavy with Something.

Strike.

Thud thud thud.
Door - open.
My feet fall back. Blondie’s body is kicked. The soles of my boots squelch on the floor.
The puddle of red seeps across the floor, a little more.

Man.
He appears, darkness in the open door.
Redheaded, freckled. His mind is aflame like mine.
Towering figure, muscular, brutal.
I cower.
The blade is no longer infinite.
The exhilaration fades. Nothing upon nothing.
I am the nothing.

Strike strike strike strike.

I can’t.

My breath is rugged. It comes out wispy and white.
My brows lace together.
My heart is in overdrive.

“Rose Mariss?”
Man says, his voice is dark fire. It is black light. Deep, dark. Bottom-of-the-ocean-like. Yet it is on fire.
Anger. Disappointment. Fury. Hate.

“Yes?”
It is not my voice but it belongs to me.
Clipped, harsh, alien to myself.