(no subject)
Nathalie’s room is empty. She’s gone. And everything that had given any hint of her occupation of the single bedroom is gone.
Everything, except three sheets of paper on the desk.
Scrawled in Nathalie’s neat cursive handwriting reads:
I know I may not remain here much longer, and I wished to inform someone about my life. This is the only autobiography I’ll ever write, and to think I’m writing it on three sheets of paper in a interdimensional mansion filled with alternates of the people I grew up alongside. There are many reasons why I’m doing this; the most predominate being that I am lonely. Another, because after meeting with the multiples running amok, I have come to realize that I am from a world unlike the others.
I was born to a very small family of trapeze artists, an only child. I don’t remember much of those days, but I do remember the day they died. There had been a malfunction with the net; a brittle rod, I believe; and they plummeted to their deaths. I remember exactly how they looked - splattered on the center ring as if they were unsuspecting insects that hit the windshield of a speeding car. The event was traumatizing to the point where I developed a fear of heights, which is ironic when you consider my act involves being on a steel beam fifty or so feet in the air - without a net.
Soon, I was adopted by a man named L. Not as a daughter, mind you, but as a sister. We did not treat each other as ‘proper’ family, per se. He simply gave me a place to sleep and a warm meal, for which I was grateful. My family died when I was three, and it can never be replaced.
Life progressed steadily as I became an accomplished contortionist. It was not the most pleasant of choices, I do admit, but there is not much one can do when they are home-schooled and raised to continue their family’s name. I am not a genius, nor am I ambitious, or detective material. I do what I can with what I have; which is not very much.
There was a fire in 2009, caused by one of the fire breathers and a stray gust of wind. The performer, sadly, died. Many were injured, the most notable being Mihael Keehl - my world’s ‘Mello’.
I had known Mihael since early childhood. He was a very ambitious boy, determined to be a tightrope walker, though he did possess a profound talent in the impalement arts. I once had the opportunity of being his ‘target girl’ for a single show, though it went horribly wrong when the knife grazed my shoulder. I have the scar to this day, unsurprisingly.
Mihael, after recovering from his injuries, appeased to Rodger - our ringmaster - for the addition of another act. Reluctantly, Rodger agreed, and thus came The Wheels of Death.
Due to my excellent balance, I was scheduled to perform alongside Mihael, which (obviously) resulted in total failure during the early stages. Eventually, we did manage to get along to the point of performing a successful show, which was difficult as I had to remain blindfolded for fear that my vertigo would kick in. We succeeded, and the act became an achievement.
A week before my arrival in the mansion, the pivot point of the wheel jammed, causing Mihael and myself to fall. He was able to walk away with a sprained ankle, though my wrist had broken upon impact. My actual stay in the mansion was not unlike the rest of my life. I endured, and I managed to overcome. Few of the residents did manage to leave lasting imprints upon me, for which I thank them dearly for, even if they should never read this. I’m afraid that, due to the lack of space, I must cut this here.
Thank you for reading.
~Nathalie River.
Everything, except three sheets of paper on the desk.
Scrawled in Nathalie’s neat cursive handwriting reads:
I know I may not remain here much longer, and I wished to inform someone about my life. This is the only autobiography I’ll ever write, and to think I’m writing it on three sheets of paper in a interdimensional mansion filled with alternates of the people I grew up alongside. There are many reasons why I’m doing this; the most predominate being that I am lonely. Another, because after meeting with the multiples running amok, I have come to realize that I am from a world unlike the others.
I was born to a very small family of trapeze artists, an only child. I don’t remember much of those days, but I do remember the day they died. There had been a malfunction with the net; a brittle rod, I believe; and they plummeted to their deaths. I remember exactly how they looked - splattered on the center ring as if they were unsuspecting insects that hit the windshield of a speeding car. The event was traumatizing to the point where I developed a fear of heights, which is ironic when you consider my act involves being on a steel beam fifty or so feet in the air - without a net.
Soon, I was adopted by a man named L. Not as a daughter, mind you, but as a sister. We did not treat each other as ‘proper’ family, per se. He simply gave me a place to sleep and a warm meal, for which I was grateful. My family died when I was three, and it can never be replaced.
Life progressed steadily as I became an accomplished contortionist. It was not the most pleasant of choices, I do admit, but there is not much one can do when they are home-schooled and raised to continue their family’s name. I am not a genius, nor am I ambitious, or detective material. I do what I can with what I have; which is not very much.
There was a fire in 2009, caused by one of the fire breathers and a stray gust of wind. The performer, sadly, died. Many were injured, the most notable being Mihael Keehl - my world’s ‘Mello’.
I had known Mihael since early childhood. He was a very ambitious boy, determined to be a tightrope walker, though he did possess a profound talent in the impalement arts. I once had the opportunity of being his ‘target girl’ for a single show, though it went horribly wrong when the knife grazed my shoulder. I have the scar to this day, unsurprisingly.
Mihael, after recovering from his injuries, appeased to Rodger - our ringmaster - for the addition of another act. Reluctantly, Rodger agreed, and thus came The Wheels of Death.
Due to my excellent balance, I was scheduled to perform alongside Mihael, which (obviously) resulted in total failure during the early stages. Eventually, we did manage to get along to the point of performing a successful show, which was difficult as I had to remain blindfolded for fear that my vertigo would kick in. We succeeded, and the act became an achievement.
A week before my arrival in the mansion, the pivot point of the wheel jammed, causing Mihael and myself to fall. He was able to walk away with a sprained ankle, though my wrist had broken upon impact. My actual stay in the mansion was not unlike the rest of my life. I endured, and I managed to overcome. Few of the residents did manage to leave lasting imprints upon me, for which I thank them dearly for, even if they should never read this. I’m afraid that, due to the lack of space, I must cut this here.
Thank you for reading.
~Nathalie River.