her other self [.01]
pg-13
warning: contains abuse, violence and dissociative identity disorder
The spring sunlight filtered through the thicket of leaves that grew in vast abundance from the low hanging branches of the poplar trees, fly across, cutting over the gentle breeze and surely landed on the floor of one particular room, awakening the consciousness within a girl who has been staring up the ceiling on the floor a red, perfect bloodstained red apple in her hand. She twirls the freshly bought apple in frenzy; it's a symmetrical object, a perfect one, unscratched and perfect. She loves it, because perfection is bliss and bliss is joy to life.
Ah, she mutters under her breath, if only perfection comes in two. But no, perfection doesn't even come in one or two or three or more than you think, perfection is unreal. No no, you can't be perfect, no you can't be number one. You can either be the best or be the worst, a battle of life or so she thinks and to her being the best is already perfection. The floor is getting colder and colder, loveless and lifeless but she likes cold, she loves it anyway, rather than the bed that was offering its comfort before her eyes, unlike the floor, the bed is warm and comfortable. No no, she hates comfort, she loves coldness and bitterness of the world. She smiles to herself. It's time for a rest, she thought, for she is too tired to think about complicated things like the police siren echoing throughout the neighborhood, or cries and screams of people and families over a dead, pitiful and beautifully dead eight year old boy somewhere in one particular painted gray colored house. She smirks at the thought. They are never going to find her, never, not when she's still breathing somewhere in this world, they will never never be able to catch her, or witness her deeds. Never, never. She smiles, closes her eyes and rest for a while.
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Tap. Tap. Tap. Her footsteps are heavy, so heavy it can probably break the floor's surface if they were meant to be made by wood (but no,they were not meant to be fragile as to be made by wood, so it's fine for the heavy footsteps to cross over). The grip to her duffel bag is getting tighter, the same uptight perception engulfs her tiny, timid heart. There's no student, not even a single female student in the school wears duffel bags, especially an old, dusty duffel bag. Big deal? Yes, a very big deal. School is just another socially activated community where people talk to each other. Talk, socialize - her weakness. She hates being the alien in the school, every one wither at her appearance; old dusty duffel bag, but a perfectly clean uniform and quite an old pair of white shoes. They smirks at her appearance, they smirks at her shy, timid character. They laugh at almost everything in her, even her brain that was considered to be the best. They laugh, people laugh at her.
Umika hates being the center of attention.
Her pair of almond eyes (beautiful, they are beautiful but still, every one laugh at her. People still laugh.) were kept low staring at the ugly, plain floors until she reached her seat which has always been at the corner of the class, just perfect beside the window. And still every one stare at her, until a high pitched unwanted (annoying annoying very annoying) chuckle bursts out just like that. Someone laugh at her (who else if it wasn't meant for her?) and points to her table. Flabbergasted, she tries her very best to wipe away the kanji word that was written on her desk - "death". Nonetheless, it wasn't her luck, she failed to wipe it away. And shy, uneasy Umika can only ignore the people's laughter and stares.
Umika hates being the entertainer. For once, she wants to be the audience instead.
Pretty,beautiful pair of almond eyes. But they still laugh at her. Why? Why? She wants to ask, but no, she can't do that. She will just make them laugh more and points and spit out repulsive words. Mama always said she's a beautiful little angel, doesn't she? Mama always said Umika is her beautiful, flawless little angel. Beautiful, loved, flawless. Mama always said so, but why why why does people think the opposite? Pretty, beautiful pair of almond eyes stare at the mirror above the sink full of anger and hatred. No, they shouldn't be laughing at her. They shouldn't be. They have to, they must, say she's beautiful because Mama says so, every day and what Mama says is always right. She is beautiful, flawless little angel and she is loved. So everyone have to love her, just like what Mama does. Yes, they must....
But she is timid, she is shy. She can't make them like her, she can't make - force - the people to accept her. She is nervous, her heart is always overwhelmed with uneasiness. No, there's no way she can make them accept her. She is the shy, timid Umika. There's no way she can turn the world upside down, make them accept her for who she is, make them accept the fact that she comes from a poor, poor family.
She is a nobody, and the other students are always "a somebody". A nobody can never be a somebody, no no she can't make them accept.
Life is never simple, but let's just assume it is. And if it still isn't simple like how you want it to be, then you can just force it to be simple.
If she can't make them accept her, she can't force them either. If the people can't be asked kindly and with gratitude, then she'll make it simple. Just force their lips closed and shut with a special lock and key she only knows and have so that they will accept her forever. Yes, that's a smart idea,isn't it? She smiles at the pleasure of her thought...
15.00 PM sharp. She is twirling the apple, again, like she always does. It's the fifth apple for the day, and it's still perfect, flawless, beautiful and most of all, red. The first apple was half-bitten, and was dumped carelessly on the soft soft,flawless maroon hotel carpet. The second apple was not bitten at all, but it has a heart shape crafted on its red,red body by a razor blade. The third apple has its alluring skin peeled off, leaving it naked and abandoned on the carpet. The fourth apple, however, was still clean, full of skin and most notably, like the fifth apple she is currently playing with. Red is lovely, she always thinks so. Five minutes later, the hotel door's lock flickered and he enters. He carries with him a bouquet of red rose. Just perfect, she breaths in and let her nose smells the stunning fragrance of roses, and they are red ones.
He told her it's bad to waste an apple because it can cry because of being abandoned, she smiles at the jokes thinking how stupid he is for someone whose age is older by four years than her. In return, she told her that being abandoned isn't such a bad thing at all and he understands. He understands how she was abandoned, she told him everything. He understands how she felt for wanting a permanent body, she told him everything. He thought he understands his love, he thought he understands her the most but he's wrong. He never understands her, not even one bit. If he understands her, he should have stayed away from her ever since their eyes met. But he can't, and she loves that fact.
The night was cold and unfriendly, along with the bloodcurdling scream that holds for, was it, three minutes.
Crunch. One. She has always been beautiful.
Crunch. Two. She has always been someone else.
Crunch. Three. She is not alone. No, she has someone else resting within.
Crunch. Four. They shouldn't have believed her in the first place.
Crunch. Five. And now the fifth apple is no longer flawless and clean. Too bad that she is that fifth apple herself.
Mama said she's beautiful, mama said too that she was her radiant, marvelous, gorgeous angel. Mama said all the good adjectives she found in dictionary to describe her daughter. But the woman forgets one thing she wanted to hear the most, the word 'perfect'.
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Author's note:
dedicated to urufuchinen and surprisingly a chaptered fic and is pretty confusing I admit.
if you're confuse about the story, well.. I can give you hints a little bit. just ask. ;)
disclaimer: this is purely fictional so read it with an open mind. I do not own them and will never do.