She watched me.
They watched me.
And, in my mind, he watched me.
She also watched me.
And they saw me...
...And I sliced my wrists open with a knife.
~~~~
I dreamt of my self; I dreamt of doing it.
The act of murder; the act was, in itself, murder. It is irrational; it is rational; it is exteme. They saw me murder; they saw.
Am I mental? Naysater saw that I was. Yet I dreamt of him. And others. And others who saw. And saw what I was.
Who am I?...
You can't ruin me, because I know.
I murder.
Yet, do I murder anyone? Do I care? Am I so fractured that I force me to see the shadowed walls...where she kills, too.
She laughed at me; she laughs.
Because she is me.
***
We envision what they need.
We deal with them.
They eradicate us because we're nothing.
She giggles in the shadowed walls because she can. She is is. It is what she is. Nothing. Am I contracted to demand she enlist her valued assaults daily? No. She rips into them like she's candy girl; I hated candy girls, they must be sliced apart.
But she is in trouble for me.
And that is what demands them to see what I can do. I shan't be bored now. It is late. They see; I see; she sees.
But she likes me to go to the shadowed walls.
Because it is she who slices...and not me.
***
Mom denied she was a Mom when she erased me.
That hurt.
Dad was no better.
He had sex with others; Dad had aids and didn't care. Or did care, but didn't. His idea of caring was staring at Cara, my other self, and stating that she looked better than his old wife. How inconsiderate; how terrible to know she enjoyed it. Or me, shifting in the self. And be like a mental illness subject like those books and movies I saw.
She stared at me like I loved to cut.
That isn't true.
I didn't belong in my self...
...Because my self was in the shadowed walls, laughing.
~~~~
Cara always seemed composed.
She had a sensible way of kicking people through the shadowed walls. She was the shadowed walls; she was me.
I invoked a pleasure at seeing mom and dad suffer. It was my delusional states intweeen lucid and not lucid; between rage and no rage, that the blood splattered over the shadowed walls one night; the blood that Cara splattered was mine, when she cut me with her butcher knife that she stole, and they didn't know that I wasn't the one who'd had murdered them all in the rooms.
~~~~
Page 2.
YOU ARE READING
Shadowed Walls
HorrorA YA novel about a teenage girl's mental illness, and how it affects her. The new horror novel by Robert Helliger, author of The Self trilogy, and The Mirror trilogy. Warning: Rated PG-13 for strong violence, sex scenes, some coarse language, and s...
