Friday, 13 March 2009

7: Childhood Fantasies Turn into Obsession


Victoria crouched on the floor,

"No" she whimpered.

Her dead father's precious lamp was gone, and so was Stephanie. Victoria shook with anger, that was her father's favourite item in his entire collection. He once explained how there was a Genie inside, and how that Genie had given him everything his heart had wished for.

"Daddy.. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cried, over and over again, clenching her bloody hands, which had been cut open by the glass shards on the floor. She had spent hours digging through them all, desperately looking for the lamp and the wretched slave.

She picked herself off the ground, and knew what she had to do. She thought of her plan as she climbed the winding staircase into her private room, fumbled for her keys, and opened the heavy, oak door.

Victoria pulled the cloth off of her big, black pot. She breathed heavily into it. The last time she used this wasn't too long ago, and she knew she had to control herself. She had to stop, but she couldn't. The obsession, it was taking over her, making her do the craziest things, only to be flooded with regret later on in the night. Ever since the mirror's answers changed, her night's were spent scrubbing her hands with bleach until they were raw, the sink flooded with blood, this wasn't the Victoria she used to be. This wasn't her at all.

She faced the mirror. Framed with ivory and rosewood, engraved with delicate swirls, Victoria loved it when she was younger. Her mother often read to her when she was alive, and Victoria's favourite story included a mirror, too. Every night, before sleeping, she asked her own mirror the same question the queen asked.

But that was before. Victoria changed once she hit adulthood, and the mirror started giving her the answers she didn't want to hear.
Victoria screamed and threw her crystals onto the floor. They didn't break, which made her angrier. She opened her jars and ripped seeds out of her plants, she squeezed the juices out of the rare flowers and she chopped up the animal corpses, throwing them all into the pot, and singing to the mirror,

"Mirror, how can you do this to me? You love torturing me, you love seeing me like this, wild with insanity. Mirror, what is wrong with me? Why are you not saying MY name? Why her? Stephanie of all people, she is nothing but a maid, I've dressed her in rags, for in rags she should be! How dare you? How dare you call that slave fairer than me, mirror. I will take care of her, once and for all. She'll just be another body six feet under, and it will be because of you, mirror."

Victoria picked up one the apples from the basket, and dipped it into the stew. It sizzled and smoked, and revealed a ruby red, juicy apple. She marveled at the beauty of it, and laughed. She held her stomach and laughed and laughed and laughed some more, hooting into the moonlight. Tears ran down her face, bringing streaks of black with them. Her eyes open wide, her laughter shaking the room, Victoria slowly turned to face the mirror. Stroking the hard surface, she lay her cheek against it, a deranged smile snuck onto her face, and with a clenched jaw, she said,


"Wish Me Luck,"

2 comments:

Mina said...

oh my god, loved especially the whole rippin stuff out of the jars and stuff so nice such alive imagery love it u phsycotic imaginater. :)

Lienne said...

Wow, I didn't expect that.
Amazing, still :)