Alice Whitlock Cullen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
betagainstme) wrote2009-04-09 04:58 pm
betagainstme) wrote2009-04-09 04:58 pm
Biloxi, 1920
If Mary Alice Brandon could remember, she'd remember a childhood that was happy and carefree. She'd remember the rules of the time, and how she'd broken most of them as she pranced around outside, her dresses dirty. She'd remember a little sister, one that had annoyed her to no end. She'd remember the good and none of the bad.
If Mary Alice Brandon could remember, she'd remember the first vision she ever had and the last one she ever admitted to having. Something good, something bad, respectively. She'd remember clinging to her sister as they came to take her away. She'd remember how she screamed at her parents, how she begged them to keep her home, how she told them she wanted them to die. She'd remember the bad and none of the good.
If Mary Alice Brandon could remember, she'd remember her doctor, with his cold skin and angel face and how he promised to keep her safe. She'd remember him taking her away from something evil. She'd remember being left alone in the cold, the pain coursing through her body as transformations happen. She'd remember it all and all of it hurt.
If Mary Alice Brandon could feel, she'd be burning. Under her skin the flames rage on, make it hard for her to breathe. They kill her (they heal her), they hurt (she can't feel them) her. If she could feel, she'd feel her back arch against pain she would perceive. Her fingers would clench, her breath would stop.
If Mary Alice Brandon could feel, she'd feel her life slip away.
If Mary Alice Brandon was alive, she'd feel herself die.
If Alice was dead, she'd not be waking up three days later.
Alice doesn't remember. But she sees.
If Mary Alice Brandon could remember, she'd remember the first vision she ever had and the last one she ever admitted to having. Something good, something bad, respectively. She'd remember clinging to her sister as they came to take her away. She'd remember how she screamed at her parents, how she begged them to keep her home, how she told them she wanted them to die. She'd remember the bad and none of the good.
If Mary Alice Brandon could remember, she'd remember her doctor, with his cold skin and angel face and how he promised to keep her safe. She'd remember him taking her away from something evil. She'd remember being left alone in the cold, the pain coursing through her body as transformations happen. She'd remember it all and all of it hurt.
If Mary Alice Brandon could feel, she'd be burning. Under her skin the flames rage on, make it hard for her to breathe. They kill her (they heal her), they hurt (she can't feel them) her. If she could feel, she'd feel her back arch against pain she would perceive. Her fingers would clench, her breath would stop.
If Mary Alice Brandon could feel, she'd feel her life slip away.
If Mary Alice Brandon was alive, she'd feel herself die.
If Alice was dead, she'd not be waking up three days later.
Alice doesn't remember. But she sees.