Eva
By Ellie MacIntyre
Eva was supposed to come home today.
Morning dawned, and the sun rose from behind the forests, awaking the world with her gentle touch and warmth. The dark skies became alight with shades of pinks, reds, and oranges, and the moon faded into the depths of the horizon. A gentle breeze kissed the grass and rustled the trees. Harmonies drifted through the air, lovely and cheerful, as the birds roused from their nightly slumbers and greeted the new day. "Eva, Eva!" they seemed to sing, the melody ringing joyfully in my ears.
The flowers swayed to and fro, waving their arms majestically. The bumble bees buzzed about, humming fervently as they drifted through the summer wind. Even the tree, usually so austere and sullen, seemed to have lifted its trunk and stood tally with a sense of warmth. It was as if Nature had planned a gala in dear Eva's honor and welcomed her with open arms.
Her room was pink and garbed with frilly white drapes. It was filled to the brim with wonderful little treasures--the largess of her relatives, unopened toys, and piles of beautifully woven clothes. The wooden floors glowed with the sun's luminance, bright and beautiful against the pale pink walls. Everything was beautifully unmarred--new, pristine, seraphic--as if the room was awaiting her touch to come to life.
Night fell, and the austere moon swallowed the warming light of the sun. A chilling darkness swept over the house, and the once vibrant room sat empty and still, eerily illuminated by the lurid glow of the moon. The birds returned to their nests and huddled for warmth in the frigid night air, and the flowers fell limp, sagging their heads in contrition. The tree once again slumped toward the Earth, wilting with the weight of some unspeakable sorrow. Even the crickets lay silent, mourning a loss which resonated through the night. One slight movement was all it took to ripple the immaculate yet haunting silence that hung heavily in the dampened air.
I pressed a single finger against the cool glass of her window, feeling a chill run down the base of my spine. Though no words were spoken, the world around me told me more than enough. An owl gave one lachrymose hoot, and it echoed throughout the empty room.
I knew it would never be filled.
Moments later, the door opened behind me, and I was greeted by the all too sorrowful countenances of my parents.
Eva was supposed to come home today.
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“Rabbiting”
by - Eric Watterson
Time did not move slowly. It was not like in the movies; everything kept going at a normal
pace. There were no fiery explosions. There was no orchestra playing to my movement. No,
time ticked on at a steady pace- this I remember clearly. However, within those five seconds,
every detail is flawlessly recorded in my memory, the details as vivid as if the scene were freshly
painted before me. Perhaps this is why it feels slow to some. It is not often that our minds are
aware of everything around us, capturing each small detail. This would surely drive a man
insane, and likely has.
I remember clearly the force with which my body pulsed. My entire body flashed in and out of
existence with each heavy drum of my heart. Even the edges of my vision were fogged with its
tremendous blasts. Thump, thump, thump. My arms flexed and convulsed as my elbows turned
up violently in a chaotic rhythm, pulling my body forward. My legs had to bear the speed with
which I moved, not create it.
Behind, I could hear the growling of the dogs on my trail. Their voices rushed through my
ears, tearing at my drums with a brutal ferocity. Their voices like the wind against me both
discouraged and motivated. I thought of days long past spent running up rolling green hills, the wind similarly assaulting my ears; then it was delightful. Now it was a simple droning, a dull reminder of an eminent demise. I knew what I was doing. I knew I would be killed. Yet it was worth it. The chance of freedom was too tempting, and death would also hold the freedom I longed for. It was a split second decision. The blood rushed to my head as soon as I moved, and in a dizzy flurry I pushed back the security guards and darted away from the prison. There was no need to look back- no need to run at all. I already knew the outcome. Still, it was like knowing the end of a book: I was forced to go back and read the pages to see how the end of the story was realized, despite all of its predictabilities. I was moving faster than I knew I was capable, and yet I never succumbed to instinct as I thought I would. Though surely my natural instinct supplied the adrenaline that allowed me to move so swiftly, my thoughts never turned primal. My mind never decayed, was not turned to survival. As my time ran out, I waited for it to come. I waited for my eyes to close and for my limbs to flail in a desperate attempt to save themselves before the beasts tore me apart. I waited for that pang of regret to cross my mind. It never came. I woke up in the hospital some time later. I had been in critical condition, and yet I survived. Weeks were spent in the hospital, where I slowly recovered. There was no room for thought of what had happened; I was in a constant drug-induced haze. They all asked why I did it, and I told them only what they wanted to hear. Telling the truth would only make things worse. I had always known this. Once more I told everyone what they wanted to hear, and already I was once more in prison. When I was released from the hospital, I was tucked neatly back into my prison. It was no different from the hospital. It was no different than before my escape. Everything remained exactly where I left it. I was a prisoner once more, and I would probably remain one forever. I would be punished for my attempt at escape, it would be worse than before. Still, warped memories of a time before the prison tickled my imagination. The thought of escape tortured me once more, not permitting me to accept my fate like everyone else had long ago. Next time, I would choose a taller building.
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Judgement Day
By Anonymous
Her legs quivered with anticipation and fear, of the worst kind. Her stomach ached of the most heinous anxiety and moaned in agony for the full it had not received in three days. Her hands, brittle skeletons covered by a taut white leather, ghosted above the doorknob: hesitantly, yet with anticipation. Bony fingers pried the door open, and it swung back invitingly, beckoning her forth.
The room was dark, save for the faint glimmer of a mirror that hung above the bathroom sink. It was square and framed by a thin, white plastic mold, small enough to complement the room's contemporary feel, yet large enough to easily offer a fair view of whoever stood before it. It sat, unnerving and ridiculing despite its inanimate simplicity, and leered back through the reflection of its user.
She entered, feet dragging on the baggy sweatpants that barely clung to the protruding bones of her hips. A shirt that was much too large for her swamped her torso, acting as a second skin for the ribs that jutted from her thinned-out skin. Her eyes sunk into the gaunt outline of her skull, half-lidded and darkened by exhaustion. Chapped lips pulled into a deep frown, pale and smothered in lip balm in an attempt to moisten them. Long, golden hair that once held such a beautiful luster hung limp and dry, like rolls of hay that saw too much sunlight. Slowly, she closed the door behind her, turning the lock. A single click echoed throughout the room, and then the silence returned.
One skeletal finger apprehensively made its way to the light switch, and flicked it on. A dim light filled the room, barely bright enough to distinguish her attenuated frame from the darkness. A shallow breath escaped her lungs, and she took a step forward, angling herself so that the corner of her jaw was slightly visible on the mirror's reflective countenance. She trailed a single hand up the side of her neck, face bereft of emotion, and stared lifelessly into the depths of her reflection.
A girl stared back at her, bearing the same features--except dirtier. Dull, straw-like locks of dirty blonde hair, clinging to her oversized cheeks. Eyes that were too big for her delicate face, bulging repulsively. Lips that were terribly red and inflamed, cracked with blood. She challenged her emaciated onlooker with an empty stare, eyes piercing through the glass of the mirror and right into the other girl's heart.
Subconciously, the cadaverous shadow of a girl moved her entire body in front of the mirror, hands quaking as she lifted her shirt over her head, peeling it off of her skeletal frame. She tossed it across the room, watching it fall in a heap for a moment before returning her attention back the anathema that glared at her from the mirror.
The abomination leered back at her, naked from the waist up, just as she was. The rotundity of her face stood out against her too short neck and stocky shoulders. Her arms, thick and doughy, limply hung by her sides like separate tumorous entities. Her chest, though not entirely flat, was dwarfed by the excess fat that hung from her stomach. It spilled over the too-tight waistband of her sweatpants, puffing out like a horrifically grotesque muffin that was too big for its pan. Stretch marks, scars of the repulsive and the ugly, adorned her every limb--thigh, arm, hand foot--without fail.
The emaciated girl stared into the mirror, transfixed by the incessant urge to scrutinize every aspect of the disgusting beast that inhabited it. Her hands trailed up her sides, watching the other girl mirror her every movement. Straw-like fingers pinched the pale skin that stretched over her bones, sectioning off whatever felt soft and fleshy. The revolting clone followed her, chubby fingers groping a thick layer of excess skin and fat. Disconcerted, the thinned-out girl feverishly began to grab at her face, pulling her cheeks back with her palms. The heavy beast imitated her once more, shoving her large and unsightly hands over her face, lifting the fat that hung from her cheeks and chin. Her eyes, still bulging like a bull frog's, did not once break contact with her doppelganger.
A cry escaped the girl's mouth, like a ghoul moaning whilst haunting the night. Her hands flew to her eyes, trembling, and she broke into a fit of sobs. Every bone jutted out with disturbing prominence, as if the skin that covered them was too thin and vitiated to offer any protection. She sobbed, insides aching, stomach growling, head screaming with fatigue: yet there could be no release. Judgement day had come and gone, and just like the last, and the last, and the one before that one, she'd failed. She fell to the ground, burying her face between bony arms, and sobbed for the perfection that is skinny. Her eyes, so sharp and attentive to the mirror's gaze, could not see the truth of the matter: they could not see the skeleton that she decomposed to, the skeleton that caged her tormented soul. She let out one final sob, hoping that the next day, she'd finally find acceptance. Praying that the mirror would grant her the release that she so wished to find.
The mirror grinned down at her, in its lurid glimmer, with a derisive smile of destruction.
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