(no subject)
Jan. 8th, 2009 08:00 pm"No, stop it." Alice giggled, chasing Edward through the house, their footsteps light as they dodged couches and tables and expensive decorations.
Esme glanced up as the two circled the piano, Edward's grin broad and Alice's giggles infectuous. "What's going on?"
"He won't settle on a decision!" Alice put her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. "He's giving me a headache."
Edward laughed and took off towards the kitchen, Alice on his heels. They scampered outside and Alice tackled him, knocking him to the side. He laughed again and grab her, spinning in circles.
"Make a decision." She whispered over the wind.
He shut his eyes and sighed, twirling her away from him, still holding her hand. "Fine."
Her eyes unfocused and she looked at peace as he watched her, watching the future play out in her mind. "Thanks," She whispered, glancing back at him. "For only torturing me for so long."
Edward laughed again, obnoxiously happy with his sister. "You know I only torture because I love."
Alice snorted. You're a meanie.
"Stick out your tongue and stomp your foot again while thinking that, you'll look like a child again."
She shoved him as she skipped back inside.
Pfft, brothers.
Esme glanced up as the two circled the piano, Edward's grin broad and Alice's giggles infectuous. "What's going on?"
"He won't settle on a decision!" Alice put her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. "He's giving me a headache."
Edward laughed and took off towards the kitchen, Alice on his heels. They scampered outside and Alice tackled him, knocking him to the side. He laughed again and grab her, spinning in circles.
"Make a decision." She whispered over the wind.
He shut his eyes and sighed, twirling her away from him, still holding her hand. "Fine."
Her eyes unfocused and she looked at peace as he watched her, watching the future play out in her mind. "Thanks," She whispered, glancing back at him. "For only torturing me for so long."
Edward laughed again, obnoxiously happy with his sister. "You know I only torture because I love."
Alice snorted. You're a meanie.
"Stick out your tongue and stomp your foot again while thinking that, you'll look like a child again."
She shoved him as she skipped back inside.
Pfft, brothers.
(no subject)
Dec. 10th, 2008 01:02 amfoul demons of the earth and air.
from this their wonted haunt exiled,
shall flee before thy presence fair.
- ave maria (english translation)
from this their wonted haunt exiled,
shall flee before thy presence fair.
- ave maria (english translation)
It's Christmas Eve. She wouldn't know if they hadn't told her, hadn't made her wear a dress and fix her hair and go to the chapel with all the other girls and the doctors and nurses. He's there, her angel-doctor. He has an angel's name too, Gabriel. She turns her head to watch him walk by, lips parted, and his hand grazes hers, his icy, hers burning hot.
She feels like she's on fire, every day she's here. Her throat is forever dry and her hands feel papery thin. The girls all sit as the reverend stands before them, giving the sermon and she stares at a bandage around her finger. She's not even sure she remembers how it happened, the small cut there. All she knows is that Gabriel held his breath as he taped it around her finger.
They stand again and Mary Alice feels lightheaded. She licks her lips and listens to the nurses and doctors sing, while none of the other girls even try. The operatic voice of the matron nurse fills the small chapel, leading them in a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria.
At least, Mary Alice thinks it is beautiful. She has lost her ability to see the beauty in things, she thinks. She idly listens as she counts bruises on her arms. She vaguely remembers the words to the song, from a life she has not acknowledged since she left (since two days before when she saw it coming). She tries to sing along, her voice cracking and her eyes filling with tears.
She has to stop. She's remembering too much and she needs to not do that. She focuses on her bandage again, always making the conscious decision to not remember.
They serve cookies and punch after the service, a rare treat for the girls. Music wafts over the loudspeaker, the sounds of choirs singing Christmas hymns filling the small room. The older girls stand there with their plates in one hand, cups of punch in the other, too far gone to enjoy anything, while the younger, newer additions try to chat with one another, have some vague semblance of what their lives used to be.
Mary Alice stands on her own, staring at the bandage. She's trying to remember what happened, how she got hurt, but the memory doesn't recall. She takes a bite of her cookie and finds it tastes like dust. The punch is mildly better so she sticks to that. Her angel-doctor wanders the room, checking on all the girls before lingering at Mary Alice.
"Do you not like your cookie, Ms. Brandon?" His voice sounds so soft and musical, she could almost dance to it, if she felt she could move without hesitating, clunky steps.
"It tastes like dirt." She whispers and he smiles, sharp and bright and his laugh is soft, like they've just shared a private joke. Her lips turn upward, just slightly.
"Dirt-cookies are no good. You look tired, Ms. Brandon. Do you want to go to bed?" He holds his hand out for her.
She takes it, nodding. She can't remember if she liked to socialize when she was younger, but the only people to socialize with here are people just like her and she can't bear it. She'd feign all the sleepiness in the world if it meant leaving them, if it meant Gabriel escorting her to her room. He stops outside the door, lifts her papery hand to his lips and kisses it.
His eyes are sad as he calls her his Mary Alice. And he promises her it'll be okay, soon, he promises. He drops her hand and opens her door, murmuring a "Merry Christmas" to her.
She hums Ave Maria as she crawls in bed.
(no subject)
Dec. 1st, 2008 04:12 amMary Alice sees things she shouldn't.
She's seven years old when she warns Papa that he shouldn't leave the pasture gates tied together with the twine he'd been using for years. "Nonsense," He scoffed at her and kept on going through the day.
The cows escape in the middle of the night and she sits in her window, watching her father chase them down. She doesn't smile.
Mary Alice is twelve when she lets Robert from down the street hold her hand and kiss her cheek on the way to Sunday School. She just clicks her tongue and told him she knew it would happen. He snorts and kicks dirt on her shoes before running off.
She begs Cynthia, at eighteen to not let them take her. She knows it's coming soon, she knows. Mama stopped talking to her, Daddy coughed politely when she was in the room, she knows. She knows.
Her fingers are tight in Cynthia's nightgown, her hair long and curling at the ends, falling into her face as she whispers between clenched teeth: "You can't let them take me, Cynthia. You can't." She sobs, she begs, she's so terrified. She's only heard horror stories of the asylum, and she doesn't know what she's done to deserve to go there.
Her visions are a gift, she thought. Now she realizes they're a curse.
Three days after her nineteenth birthday she stops begging. She stops speaking. She pins her hair up and dresses in a very nice dress and she calmly tells her mother that she will never forgive her for this, and when the men come to take her, she walks to their car and gets in.
They cut her hair. She's ready for it. She makes small talk with the woman cutting it, asking her if she looks anything like the famous movie stars do, the ones who are making this style fashionable. They take her dress. She's ready for it. She makes a joke about the stockings they give her.
She stares out the tiny window she has and does not cry on the first night. Or the second.
The third night, she loses herself completely and can't stop crying, her pillow wet and her throat raw as she screams.
She goes silent again after that. Shock therapy rids her of her voice for days, her throat dry and scratchy. Idly her fingers touch the marks on her temples.
Mary Alice sits on her bed and watches the older man that comes to talk to her. He's kind and she likes his sharp-toothed smile. She vaguely tries to tell him this. He asks her about her visions.
She can't remember what she sees anymore.
The older man comes into her room one night, frantic, whispering that he's found them and he'll kill her, his poor child. Poor Mary Alice. He takes her away, tries to keep her safe, finally knowing what he has to do. She's so far gone when he bites her, she doesn't even feel it. She plummets into darkness.
She burns. She screams.
She feels like she's on fire.
She never predicted this.
She wakes up alone, her throat dry and burning.
Alice remembers nothing of being human, as she runs her tongue over her sharp teeth and catches glimpse of her bright red eyes.
Alice remembers nothing.
She's seven years old when she warns Papa that he shouldn't leave the pasture gates tied together with the twine he'd been using for years. "Nonsense," He scoffed at her and kept on going through the day.
The cows escape in the middle of the night and she sits in her window, watching her father chase them down. She doesn't smile.
Mary Alice is twelve when she lets Robert from down the street hold her hand and kiss her cheek on the way to Sunday School. She just clicks her tongue and told him she knew it would happen. He snorts and kicks dirt on her shoes before running off.
She begs Cynthia, at eighteen to not let them take her. She knows it's coming soon, she knows. Mama stopped talking to her, Daddy coughed politely when she was in the room, she knows. She knows.
Her fingers are tight in Cynthia's nightgown, her hair long and curling at the ends, falling into her face as she whispers between clenched teeth: "You can't let them take me, Cynthia. You can't." She sobs, she begs, she's so terrified. She's only heard horror stories of the asylum, and she doesn't know what she's done to deserve to go there.
Her visions are a gift, she thought. Now she realizes they're a curse.
Three days after her nineteenth birthday she stops begging. She stops speaking. She pins her hair up and dresses in a very nice dress and she calmly tells her mother that she will never forgive her for this, and when the men come to take her, she walks to their car and gets in.
They cut her hair. She's ready for it. She makes small talk with the woman cutting it, asking her if she looks anything like the famous movie stars do, the ones who are making this style fashionable. They take her dress. She's ready for it. She makes a joke about the stockings they give her.
She stares out the tiny window she has and does not cry on the first night. Or the second.
The third night, she loses herself completely and can't stop crying, her pillow wet and her throat raw as she screams.
She goes silent again after that. Shock therapy rids her of her voice for days, her throat dry and scratchy. Idly her fingers touch the marks on her temples.
Mary Alice sits on her bed and watches the older man that comes to talk to her. He's kind and she likes his sharp-toothed smile. She vaguely tries to tell him this. He asks her about her visions.
She can't remember what she sees anymore.
The older man comes into her room one night, frantic, whispering that he's found them and he'll kill her, his poor child. Poor Mary Alice. He takes her away, tries to keep her safe, finally knowing what he has to do. She's so far gone when he bites her, she doesn't even feel it. She plummets into darkness.
She burns. She screams.
She feels like she's on fire.
She never predicted this.
She wakes up alone, her throat dry and burning.
Alice remembers nothing of being human, as she runs her tongue over her sharp teeth and catches glimpse of her bright red eyes.
Alice remembers nothing.
