Her Dark Desire (In the Process of Being Edited)

1

"Paisley, Paisley, wakey, wakey!" The alarm blasted those four words over and over until I reached a hand out of the covers and hit the button to turn it off. If it weren't my honey's voice being the one on my alarm clock, then I would have thrown it against the wall more than once already.

I hate mornings. I thought viciously as I kicked the covers off me. The only good thing about today was seeing him. I took a quick look around my room; mirrors covered...check, no bloody clothes on the floor...check.

Every morning, I had to check for those two things. I could be forgetful sometimes, and the last thing I needed was for my mother to walk in and see me in torn and bloodied nightgown.

There was one more thing I needed to check before I got ready for the day. I removed the small black compact from the nightstand. This was the only mirror I allowed near me. The only mirror, I was willing to look at. With a quick flick of my thumb, the mirror opened.

Nothing scared me more than looking into a mirror. Yet, it was an everyday necessity, so no matter how much I hated doing it, it had to be done. I glanced in the small mirror and counted the shadowy forms swirling in the background. There were only five grotesque forms, the same amount as always. None of them looked back at me through the mirror.

"Good." I said aloud. As long as I couldn't see their oblong shaped red eyes, I was safe. As long as I was the only one staring back at me, I was safe to travel in front of any amount of reflective surfaces that I felt need to.

After a quick shower, I was ready. I always wore a variation of the same thing. Some kind of dark colored tee shirt, faded jeans, and tennis shoes. Years ago my honey told me I looked good in jeans, so why mess with perfection? I ran fingers through my short hair, not looking in mirrors had its drawbacks.

I had to rely on my mother, my brother, and my honey, to tell me if I looked alright. My mother and my honey always told me the truth, but my brother, on the other hand, would let me go out looking like I just escaped from a mental hospital and laugh for weeks about it.

It could be extremely irritating. I only kept him around because he doesn't interfere with my plans. If he did, he'd have to go just like the others. I ran down the steps, he would be coming soon. I walked into our green and yellow kitchen and took a seat at the wooden table. My mother had the worst taste sometimes.

"Morning love," my mother called from behind me. "If you don't hurry you're going to make Zeke wait for you again."

"It's only cereal, I'll be done before my honey even gets here," I said between spoonfuls. Zeke and I had been friends for eight years, ever since we met in summer camp when we were eight. I smiled to myself as I recalled that fateful day.

I was throwing a fit in the playground, which was nothing new for me. I wanted a grape popsicle and all they had was orange. I hated orange! I stood barefoot in the hot sand, stomping my feet and screaming as loud as I could.

My orange popsicle was beginning to melt, and sticky orange syrup dripped down my arm. Ants began to stir at my feet, it was then that he appeared. My honey! He approached me with a big smile.

I was ready to hit him. My tiny hand forming a fist, I was ready to strike. He surprised me when he held out a grape popsicle and told me I could have his. Of course, I took it. He removed the orange popsicle from my hands and licked my arm where the syrup pooled. When he was done, he patted my head and told me not to cry so much.

We've been friends ever since that day. The sound of the doorbell brought me out of my daydream. I looked down at my half eaten cereal. Damn. I thought. There would be no time to finish now. I set my bowl in the sink and ran to the door.