Alice in Borderline, Black and Blue

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A life is a life, no matter how evil. And a monster is a monster, no matter how good.

All that surrounds me is darkness, an abyss neverending. My hands, horribly stained with black, clutch my once baby blue dress. Soot and grime caked under my nails as my eyes scanned the area. An aching silence rings heavily in my ears and yet, I relished in the feeling. But the silence shatters, and all of a sudden I hear a piercing howl. It aches. I ache.

A wave of dark miasma consumes me once more. It latches onto my body like a vice grip and clings to my whole being. I thrash, "AWAY! STAY AWAY!" The miasma lingers on the hem of my dress and wraps around my neck like a ribbon. It continues to choke me, as white spots dot my vision. And like all before it, the energy forces itself down my throat. My mouth feels ashy and sandpaper-like, tasting like dust from an abandoned closet.

The scene changes into a familiar setting as the miasma lets me go. I heave for air, my lungs feeling like fire as I look around my old school classroom. The walls once beige were now gray, with the smell of mopped floors and rubbing alcohol apparent. I glanced at the top of the whiteboard, where a glass clock read 4:30. I heard voices by the side of the room where three teens surround a bruised, ugly little girl. She is Me, a Little Alice.

I grab one of the teens who was dressed in a pristine, clean uniform, my stained hands dyeing the soft cotton cloth. I face them, only to see that the teen had a blank slate of skin covering its front. It laughs, mocking me. Haunting roars echo throughout the empty classroom as faceless companions laugh along, all while Little Alice curls into a ball.

I feel the miasma return, cradling me so gently this time. "Noisy", its discordant voice sings. It adds to the ever piling noise and I can white-hot annoyance rise in me. "NOISY!", I shouted. Before I knew it, the miasma snapped the teens' necks. They lay still on the floor before disappearing into smoke, gray wafting in the air before fading.

Little Alice stares, but not in adoration nor fear; she stares through my soul. I feel goosebumps on my skin but the vision shatters, and it fragments itself like glass. I now come back to the void where the aching silence returns. My blue dress slowly turns darker, and my hands shake. Like habit, after every kill, that memory becomes blank in my mind.

I think of Little Alice, who stared as if she'd find some kindness in me. "Silly girl", I'd tell her, "There is none." A life is a life, no matter how evil. And a monster is a monster, no matter how good.

Even if that life was madness, and even if that monster was me.