Vital Info: This is a highly controversial story and I really do not want to offend anyone. She may act as if she is crazy and sadistic in the start, and she is, but only for the first few pages I swear. Yes, I basically focused this story on someone who will not appeal to every reader. In addition, it's from her point of view, which by now is a bit off, so bear with the confusing parts. If I offend, please write in the reviews what I have offended them in so I can fix it. If you're really unhappy, just tell me and I'll take the story off. This story is in a sort of made-up time when Zelda didn't leave, but Beth and Bindi did and there's both Tilpin and Brankos, but Endless didn't come yet. There are explanations for all the confusing parts on the bottom.
A step, a simple step. One brief moment and the distance between them shrunk. Step: the doctor. Step: the police. Step: the home for 'mentally unstable' children. Step: the graves. Step: death. Step: the psychologist. Step: the open window. Step: the chase. His walking held a strangely musical rhythm. Doctor. Police. Home. Grave. Death. Psychologist. Window. Chase. Death. Home. Chase. Window. Police. Grave. Doctor. Psychologist. It all became a jumble. Home. Death. Window. Death. Grave. Death. Doctor. Death. Chase. Death. Death. Death. God dammit, can't I think of anything else?
As the space decreased, her twisted mind raced more and more. Breathing heavily, she sought comfort in looking down at the dark, melancholy slate. An abandoned factory – what an ideal place to corner her. Only one locked door on the other side of the room, no windows. If he caught her, she would return to it all. The solitary confinement, the oppression, the psychiatrists. No, it was better if she finished what she started - death.
The tall, Mediterranean man seemed to have purposely slowed down, as if to elongate the moment. The moment he wanted to claim as his victory. One polished shoe came down, imbibing flecks of dust into the marble floor which was as smooth as her now tattered, little blue dress had been only two days ago. His steps made a clacking sound as he did so, much like that of falling rain.
He seemed oddly careless. She picked it up from the way his brow remained unfurrowed. The way he looked at her evenly while he was advancing. It was surprising that he did that – none of the other staff ever did. As if that ever helped them. As if they wouldn't look at her if she commanded them to. As if she needed eye contact to get the nurse to give her the key in the first place. This is why you don't lock up someone who's endowed. Admittedly, it was her other power which had caused most of the damage. . .
She wondered he saw in her? A small, malnourished, ignorant child, who's eyes were a little too big, a little too black, and a little too shiny? The girl who didn't flinch when she had ripped a plugged-in cable apart to see what was inside, treating the lightning which surged through her as a welcome thing? Or, maybe he thought that an ignorant freak, no matter how bloodstained their past had been, could be beaten with Calculus and AP English courses?
With his eloquent speech, impeccable manners, and electroshock therapy – it made her want to spit curses in his direction along with several vexes. She probably would have given in to the temptation, if she wasn't utterly dehydrated.
Her throat felt like someone had rubbed sandpaper over it, while her swollen tongue couldn't form words if her life had depended on it. If she had been more sensible, the girl would have stopped to think what her next move would be. She would escape, she'd make sure of it. But to where? Who wouldn't be suspicious if they saw a nine year old child wearing what by now had become little less than a rag which half-clung to her bare body along with what looked like it had originally been designed as a single shoe and hair which looked like it served double duty as a bird's nest? Who wouldn't reach for the nearest weapon when they saw someone desolately walking through the streets with enough blood on them to look like they had been the epicenter of WWII and holding a knife which looked sharp enough to cut a hair sideways? Adding in her eyes (people said they were the color of coal, but she preferred obsidian) and attraction to electricity, people were bound to notice something out of the ordinary. Besides, it wasn't as if they weren't warned by a prior source beforehand.
Every newspaper, every magazine, every spare bit of space in the cities had her bloodied face on it along with a lengthy warning about her and a worthwhile sum of money for her capture. Someone had even taken the care to post them on the tree trunks surrounding every low-down village supply store and clear river for miles around her. To look for an unknowing store would be pointless; to attempt to steal anything from one was suicide.
It was bad enough that every square mile of forest contained at least four search parties, two greedy townspeople, and a reported to boot. They swarmed the woods like ants would swarm around an injured bee before closing in for the kill. There hadn't been a single rock that had been left unturned. Or a single branch had been left unsnapped. Every blade of grass had been thoroughly sniffed through by scent hounds. And every body of water was being dutifully patrolled.
She dimly remembered a clip from a book she had read. "The human body is known to live up to three days without water and three weeks without food."
How long had it been?
She mused, I left this morning. Hid for half a day in the trees before running about 20 miles. Then I spent at least 20 hours in this building. She felt weird, almost dizzy. Rubbing her temples, the girl continued thinking. I saw the sun about seven times during my departure. . Was she sure it had been seven times. Yes, she consoled herself, she was sure. In fact, she could even recall every time it had happened. There was that time on the roof of the orphanage I had escaped. It was right after I ran 20 miles through the darkness after I had escaped it in the first place. Next, there was the time when I saw it through the trees on the boat I had floated in for a week in the ocean. She thought it was the ocean. There was water and land, what else could it have been? Several other times dimly resurface in her head, including the time in Africa and a long hike through a forest. I saw stars twice as well. That, as she saw it, proved that she had spent around two nights and seven days away from the orphanage. And since seven wasn't three, she sighed in relief. Death, it seemed, with all its tricks and deceptions, would not pull her in yet.
The man lifted his second foot with great difficulty, moaning slightly and grimacing as he did so. This time it left not only dust, but blood. So I didn't miss with the gun. A small flicker of satisfaction, a brief smirk, passed across her face. Given the conditions, it didn't last very long. In a mere amount of seconds, she had retracted once more into her typical emotionless state. But the weapon now lay at least twenty feet away from her, and try as she might, there was no way she could reach it. How many steps separated them now? - Twenty, twenty-one?
Limping slightly, the leg came down once more. The same metallic click resounded, for what seemed like an eternity. Nineteen steps left. That would be ninety five percent.
The psychiatrists had thought her ignorant. ". . . We left books, hoping it would prompt her to talk, but she disregarded them . . . never shows interest in words . . . nor wanted to learn math . . . mentally disabled . . . autism. . . ignorant without help. If only we had taken her from her parents earlier – maybe then there would have been hope. "
What about my medical files which I hid? And those notes from the speech therapist – they didn't walk off on their own. No, they had assumed she was too stupid; they had called her 'mental'. A stereotype and a false one at that. But, that didn't matter now. They had paid, every one of them. Every limb, every bone crushed, until the last one had ceased to draw breath. Forever trapped under the ashes, they wouldn't even have a proper burial.
She was glad she wasn't addle minded. Even in times like these, she still had enough brain left to figure out her surroundings and what was going on around her. At this moment, she clearly saw that there was a man advancing on her. It really had been smart of him to corner her in a schoolhouse. Funny, she almost felt like saying "factory" for a second. Maybe the water loss really had begun to wear on her. She almost laughed at her stupidity. It takes three years to die without water. You read that in a book, remember? At least she wasn't crazy enough to forget that four months, the time she had gone without provisions, still gave her several weeks to find a source of water before she "kicked the bucket," as her orphanage friends used to say.
Another clack brought her away from her thoughts. Ninety percent. He only need to get to ten percent to reach me, so eighty-nine percent. Or should it have been eighty? The pale girl resurfaced into her fantasies as the looming man drew nearer. The corner of his mouth was drawn up in a grimace which widened every time he stepped on his lame leg. But his eyes, they sparked with victory. Her defeat, his dominion, or so he thought. Clack: eighty-three/ seventy-five. Click: seventy-seven, seventy. Death. Clack: Seve – Death. Click: Death. Death. Death. Death.
The sheer pressure of the word left her breathless. It was a word, a simple word – a mixture of vocal noises, nothing more, but it weighed her mind deown. She wasn't made stone – every death was like a missile colliding into a wall. With every hole, every empty gap, a bit of her reason seemed to leave. The wall was strong, but not indomitable. It was upright now, but it wouldn't be long until it crashed, bringing her down with it.
She pondered if she had gone insane. In truth, the two years in solitary confinement had most definitely taken a toll on her mind mentally, albeit, she had been in a coma for the vast majority of it. But no, as a final decision, she decided that she was not completely 'out there.' Slightly masochistic? – Yes. A tad bit traumatized? – Yes, as well. A sadistic, ruthless killer? – On occasion. Mentally imbalanced? – Perhaps. But insane? – Definitely not. I'm broken, shattered, void of all rational thought, and I don't even mind. Nothing goes through my head without being forever lost in the endless abyss, that being my mind. It was all twisted in there. Twisted, and deranged far beyond any comprehension. Every move, every word, every action was trapped inside her head until the voices in there screamed them back at her. But then, it came back demented, with the meaning long forgotten, a mere slur of human-like sounds. She didn't understand what had happened from two days before onwards, and she didn't try to comprehend. It was as if the girl treaded in an imaginary desert. Stumbling on without cause nor reason, time itself seemed to be frozen. The only things which seemed real were the mirages.
The man continued advancing on her, but this time, she couldn't even see the school. Instead, she saw a field of black, with gray-ish shapes in the background. But she still saw him, and that was what mattered.
It amused the girl slightly that she could perceive certain things but not others. It was like her mind was a frayed net – the kind that fishermen used to bring in the day's supply of minnows, or other tasty, small morsels. With its frayed edges and glaring holes, it drew a firm line between what stayed in and what fell out into the corrupted, mixed jumble of a sea where it was soon swept away by the current.
He had to die. Her enormous eyes perceived his mouth moving, forming words. But that all didn't matter, she had made her choice, already decided upon his fate. Anything he said wasn't part of the mirage.
Triumphantly, he reached out to grab her, finally showing his triumph. He held out her hand as if in open gesture of subordination. They linked, she felt him flinch slightly at the coldness of her skin, and for a half-second, his face seemed to gloat, happy that he could 'save' one more soul from eternal damnation.
He thinks I have surrendered, that I have played all of my cards. But that was not to happen. The man screamed bloody murder, his silly grin frozen on his face. Over two hundred volts went through the two of them. Surprised, are you? A second passed. Then, his heavy frame collapsed.
Stepping over her victim, the girl reached out one delicate hand to feel his pulse. The white porcelain skin stood out strangely against the doctor's olive tan.
He was not dead, but it was only a matter of seconds; nothing could save him now.
Without warning, he caught her floating arm in mid-air, the real one, not the bionic one, for mechanical things had always put him on edge. Drawing his last breath, he muttered his final words.
She heard the noise, but could not understand what he had said.
With that, the man passed on, leaving Nepenthe to somewhat guiltily arrange any burial means. If she had known any biblical passages, she would have recited them. Or rather, if she could talk. Seeing how she couldn't do either, the girl satisfied herself with cutting open her finger and painting out a scarlet cross on the floor.
Do you think that it's better than the first version? Please review. Thank you in advance.