I'm baaaack.
So...this is a sort of fanfiction of Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper" and FH Batacan's "The Gyutou". It's for school. Heh.
We’ve been here for days. But somehow it feels like weeks. It’s that blasted wallpaper! I can feel it robbing me of my time, my energy. I haven’t been so fixated at something for so long before. At night, I get restless. How could John sleep with that woman creeping around all night? She’s started doing it at daytime, too. I don’t know what’s happening. The house must be getting to me. I need to check the baby.
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This is horrible. All this blood, I’m getting confused. There are too many images from this woman, horrible images. All those parties and alcohol, it’s overwhelming me. Just as I thought I was going to break, a man pulls me out of her body. His face is frozen. He’s pale and almost as confused as I am. I can feel the anger in his grip. He thinks it’s her fault -- my owner, my master. He doesn’t understand what’s happened. He doesn’t understand what he’s done.
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John tells me I'm getting better. He says I've been eating more and gaining some color in my cheeks. But I don't feel any better. I've been awake for weeks, keeping silent in the night so John doesn't notice. I’ve started seeing a pattern in the woman’s movements. She moves when I’m not looking at her. She stops when I fix my eyes on her. And she gets restless when John leaves the room. Sometimes, she follows him outside, maybe to see what he’s up to. I don’t think she knows. But I do. I've heard the noises they make, he and that new maid. He sneaks out of our bedroom when he thinks I'm asleep. He doesn't know I follow.
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He’s started to run around the house. I don’t what he thinks he’s doing, running around with me in his hands. He yells something I can’t understand. I think he’s yelling for an ambulance. That’s a bad idea, I tell him. You’re holding me. I think he realized it just in time. A knocking came from the door. He looked around the room wildly and saw an open window. Surely you don’t mean to throw me out on the street! Haven’t you done enough damage already? But if he heard me, he didn’t show it. He ran to the window, checked if anybody was there. There was a woman walking along a few blocks away. But she was too far to be of any consequence. I hit the asphalt, hard.
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I think I’ve really gotten better. I get out more. John just left for a meeting in the city, so I decided to challenge a little walk. The maid couldn’t wait for me to leave the house. I smile at her a little longer than I should, hoping she sees more than I show. It was night-time and the streets were empty. I don’t like this. I miss the safety of the four walls, the assurance of boundaries and borders. I hate the open space. By the time I decided to turn back, a glint of metal caught my eye. It was a knife, lying on its own on the black asphalt. I ran to it. Bloodied and chipped at the handle, it was beautiful. There was an intricate carving on the handle, a language I don’t understand. The steel blade was shining, and when the streetlights hit, it was a beautiful crimson.
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She held me tightly, and if I could breathe I knew I would be dead. But I could only look at her. I saw her skin, sallow and pale. Her face was hollow and emaciated, though I don’t think it’s because of the moon. And her eyes, oh her eyes. So beautiful and bright with wonder and curiosity, but so blood-shot and cold, desperately fixated at me. There was something in her eyes I didn’t like, something too familiar. Once, with another woman, I would have been glad at the attention. But not now, not like this. This time, it's different.