Cold, so cold, your freezing and you can barely open your eyes but how… why? Where are you, why is there a gun in your hand? The gun, it calls your name and you can't help but stare at it for what feels like eternity. Its mysterious and dangerous and beautiful all at the same time. In your hand you hold what could be the balance of life and death but why, why do you have it? In your other hand, a doll, a beautiful porcelain doll, you remember it but you can't figure out how.This whole room is full of mystery. Why is it dark, why do you have a gun, why do you have this doll, where are you. The dolls smile is so comforting, you stare into its eyes and then it hits you. Mazy. How could you not have noticed this before, the doll has her eyes and her hair and her smile, oh how you miss her smile, you dont remember how long its been since you've seen her smile but it's been long too long. There's something different about it now. She doesn't have that same joyful glow that she usually does. Mazy looks… almost crazy, but it can't be. Mazy is the kindest sweetest person you've ever met. you place her down ever so gently in the corner and start walk around trying to find something, anything. You look back at the doll and see the gun only a few feet away from the doll. You thought you left it in the middle of the room but there's no way it couldn't have moved on its own... right? You continue to look around then you hear a very faint voice,
“You never were a good friend,” it says as you look around frantically to see where it is coming from, “more like... a frenemy. You lied to me and you hurt me, and now I will hurt you.”
Now you are scared but then, you hear a loud, sharp, CRACK! Your head spins around so fast it could have gone flying off your head but the second it does, everything goes black.
Where are they?
"Wh... What happened? Where am I? Why is it so cold in here?" An angel said as she picked herself up and felt a sharp pain in her wing.
She dropped down and saw a perfect porcelain doll on the floor. She also felt her right hand get a little heavy as she picked the doll up. She looked and saw a revolver.
"Why do I have this gun? Why is there a porcelain doll in here? Answer me!!" She yelled as she looked around.
"Do you not remember? Do you think I should tell you? So many questions and yet, you cannot answer them yourself, SCP-90198." A mysterious male voice said.
"Wait a minute, sir. Tell me what happened and why do I have this gun!!" She yelled as she tried to fly upwards toward the glass.
She fell to the ground after she flew a few feet off the ground. She dropped the revolver and started getting angry. She threw the porcelain doll at the wall in anger. It hit the wall, shattering the head and a lavender coloured and scented mist rose from it. She smelt it and turned around to see it in the figure of her home she used to live in. A mansion with her mother, father, and 3 siblings. She was the only one in the family that had wings. The good memories came back to her. She remembered and sat down. She started crying as she sat there on the floor in the cold room.
Then she heard a tiny voice say, "Raina!! Help me, I'm scared!!"
She watched the mist play out what happened from Laila in danger on some ice.
"Tis okay, sister Laila. Just listen to my directions. Take a step forward slowly."
"I... I can't. It's too thin and I will fall."
"Listen to me. I won't misguide you, sister promise."
Laila stepped forward and the ice cracked underneath her. Raina flew toward her and grabbed her before the ice broke completely. She fell with Laila into a snow bank. Then, it disappears and shows a different memory, a bad one.
She looked at it and the bad memories come flooding back. She screamed as she saw someone behind the glass window.
"Give up. It is no use to fight it." The mysterious voice says.
"I ain't that easy to crack. Tis only a memory and will stay that way." She said as the floor started to rise.
Then, she saw her brother, Skotcher. She looked at him surprised as he pushed a button and opened his mouth.
"Hello, sister. What are you doing here? Oh that's right... I turned you into SCP to come get you when you fell on the front door step. Remember?" He said as the mist appeared again and she watched it.
"Dead, headshot, done for, killed 'em!" a Raina figure screamed as she shot her revolver and flew above everyone during a war period.
"Kill that damned flyer!!! She's our main threat!!!" A male figure said.
The others saluted as she gracefully landed on the ground behind the enemy and silently killed with her deadly blade tail. Then, someone grabbed her wing and broke it, causing immense pain through the wing resulting with her screaming. He turned arpound and saw her. She smiled and pulled her revolver with one bullet left, out. She aimed it at him.
"Little bird can't fly no more, huh?"
"I ain't no bird."
She shot him and he dropped dead. She picked up a porcelian doll and put it in her pocket. She got up and ran all the way to her home. When she got there, she fell onto the front porch. She fell asleep and it ended.
"Wait... You are behind this? Let me out!!" Raina screamed as her blade tail showed up.
She hit the glass over and over again until it shattered. She grabbed a lever and pushed it down. The floor started moving downwards until normal level. The door opened and she killed the guard immediately with her tail.
He came onto the intercom and said, "Code Z!!! She is deadly and must be contained again soon."
She rolled her eyes and walked to the main door. She left the building and ran home. She got there and opened the door to see her mother, father, Laila, and Fauna. She started crying and hugged them tightly. Fauna went and grabbed the wing kit and "fixed" Raina's wing.
She was finally home and sat on their kitchen floor, half asleep. She stood up and went to bed to rest.
Where am I?
I wake up. Blinking I survey my surroundings. Everything seems cold, dark. There is a gun in my right hand and a porcelain doll in my left. What??? I drop the doll. As it hits the ground it shatters sending an echo that seems to travel on forever. I grip the gun. Without thinking I pull the trigger, it clicks, empty. Confusion spreads. What is going on here? Suddenly I hear a sound.
*Drip drip drip*
I swing around brandishing my gun high in the air. "Who's there?" Nothing answers except an echo. A wave of unease courses through me. I begin to shake. Tears fall. I tremble as I realise they are only coming from one of my eyes. I reach up. There is a sticky wet spot near my right eyebrow. I apply pressure and my fingers start to sink but no pain comes. I look again at the gun in my hand. I am sitting in a pool of blood. My blood. In fact, I am covered in blood. Where am I? Is this supposed to be Heaven? Or is this Hell? Who am I? What have I done? Why???
“Hello beautiful.” A voice said, seeming to come out of nowhere. “Are you awake?”
Opening my eyes, I tried to find the voice, but I couldn’t: it was too dark and my eyes had not adjusted themselves yet. Then after trying to lift my hand, I was shocked that I also couldn’t move it. Panick started to settle in and in my fear-fed frenzy, I tried to move other parts of my body: legs, arms, anything; but the only thing that could move—it seemed—were my eyes.
“Ahahaha...Try all you want darling, but you are no longer in control anymore.”
No longer in control? What the hell did that mean? I thought, before a light overhead turned on and to my horror, there I was: a woman of medium height, brunette hair—that was now dishelved—brown eyes, and bruises on her face. I stared at myself, wondering what the hell was going on. Who are you? I thought.
“I am you,” the woman replied, briefly smiling before her arm lifted up to where I could see it from my position. In her hand, rested a well-maintained handgun—a Smith and Wesson 9mm to be exact—“Sadly, one of us has to go though.” The other me crooned, sending chills down my spine.
What do you mean? I asked.
“Well, look at you. A sad, broken, porcelain doll. About to shatter at any given moment.”
I’m not a doll! I vehemently said.
“You’re not? Take a look at yourself.” Taking the gun, she moved the barrel closer to my face. Within the reflection from the metal, I could see that she was right: I was now a broken, porcelain doll. My body was literally falling to pieces—which explained why I couldn’t move—and I had cracks everywhere.
Who did this to me? I asked, now glaring at myself, also while trying to ignore the fact that the gun was literally centimeters from my face.
“You did it to yourself...You let them abuse and weaken you both physically and mentally. You didn’t fight back, or defend yourself. Pity, you were such a smart, nice, girl. Don’t you feel blessed?” The other me replied before using her one free hand to turn the safety on the gun off. With her finger on the trigger now and the barrel pointed at my head. I dared to ask her one more question:
Why should I feel blessed?
“Because once you are gone, I’ll be strong enough to survive. Survive the pain, the horror, the abuse. When you are gone, we can then be reborn...” Without warning, I heard the click: then I was dead...
With a start I woke up: surrounded by white walls and floors, freshly-changed beds and dazzling sunshine. After having rubbed my eyes, I then notice something else, or rather someone else: it was my mother, fast asleep in the chair nearest me, muttering “I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry.” Confused, I just stared at her, wondering what she meant.
It wasn’t until later, after my mother woke up, did she tell me that I had been raped, beaten and left for dead by my father...
#xjenvanx, #jenvan91, #abuse, #challenge, #shortstory, #story
The black air was suffocating. My eyes fluttered open, still I could see nothing but darkness. My right hand was wrapped around some kind of hard metal... A gun, I think. My left hand however, held something small, and delicate. Warm and sticky, some gruesome substance, probably blood soaked the front of my shirt. How... how did I get here? I didn’t know, or at least couldn’t remember. Whose blood was this? I couldn’t answer any of my own questions... I couldn’t recall my own name. “Hello??” my voice squeaked in the void, echoing back to me a thousand times over. “Hello, hello, hello, hello...” I covered my ears sheilding them from the peircing sound.The air swirled around me, my head light and disoriented. I tried to pull myself up to stand, only to fall back down. "Ow.." the floor was hard, and I landed with a thud. I sat for a moment, and put my hands out in front of me. There was nothing but air. As my head began to unfog, I noticed a distinct smell - decay. How long had I been here? Wherever 'here' is. I got on my feet again, and this time I stayed up. I started walking, slowly and carefully, my hands out in front of me. I felt for a wall, a door, anything... but all I felt was more air. The smell was becoming unbearable when my hands finally hit something solid, and sticky. Sticky like my shirt, like blood soaked cloth over flesh. Only... only this flesh wasn't breathing. It moved slightly as my hands made contact with it, so it must have been hanging from the ceiling. I stepped backwards, stumbling over my own feet, and landing on the ground - again. Nausea returned, and I couldn't keep the sludge from escaping my throat. Now I , (whoever I was), was covered in blood and vomit, trapped somewhere in the dark with at least one body and no memory. "Great," I muttered sarcastically. "Now how the hell do I get out of here?"
Oranges. It smells like oranges, I think. But, not the ones you dig a finger nail into just before revealing the flesh, the ones you find in cylinders to cover the real smell. The shit. The stink. The smell of polyester and sweat. Vomit and disgust. The basement bathroom, the house guest uses because the veal parmesian wasn't 'sitting right'. I think.
My mind struggles in the balance. The edge of conciousness and sleep. The tidal slack. High. Low tide. Who fucking knows.
My right hand instinctively thumbs the safety. My left, glides over the features of a doll, I guess. Its over exagerated features. Chin. Cheeks. Hips. Too dark to tell what configuration the doll is trying to exude. On the other hand. The gun. Simple. Metal. Speed. Death. If loaded. I checked the clip. Empty.
It's too goddam dark in here. Air is hot, stiffling, throat drying. Water. I wish I had water. My throat feels like sandpaper. I think. I lie.
My thumb glances over what I can only imagine are painted blue eyes hovering below thin brows.
Hands are the only thing moving, working against the dark restraint. My back. Hurts like a mother fucker. Blood caked lips. Nose broken, I think.
"On your feet."
A tin canned voice.
Too dark. Smells like shitty oranges and something else. I think.
"ON YOUR FEET"
A little more stearnly, but still mechanical.
"Do you know where you are."
I nodded. I think.
"Do you know who you are?"
I nodded. Who the fuck am I? I thought.
Safety on, safety off. Some cobwebbed space in my mind wished the gun was loaded.
I held the doll by the thinness between it's disproportionate head and shoulder. Choking, inanimatley.
"Very good. Move onto the next room, please."
Pain shot through my body as I woke up on the cold concrete floor. I collected myself as I tried to sit up. As soon as I felt the gun in my right hand and doll in my left I was immidiately nervous and confused. It was Melissa's doll. My daughter. Why did I have it? I felt the walls for a lightswitch. When I found it I realized I was in the basement in my own house and must have fallen down the flight of stairs. Looking down at myself I saw lots of blood and a tiny handprint on my white shirt. What happened?
I ran up the stairs and started checking rooms. As I approached my daughters I knew deep down what I was about to find. When I opened the door my suspicions were confirmed. There she was, my little 4 year old angel, laying on the ground with a bullet hole to the chest. I became overwhelmed with so many emotions.
Then a sobbing sound came from behind me and I turned to see my wife. She looked like she had been in a fight.
"How could you!" She screamed "She was our daughter, I thought you loved her, I thought you loved me! I saw what you did to her and I can't look at you anymore. You're a monster!"
I didn't know what I had done. But had a feeling of what it was. I assumed it was my wife who pushed me down those stairs.
"I'm so sorry" I muttered as a loud bang filled the room and the final sound I heard was the breaking of a porcelain doll against the cold hard floor.
Truth or Dare
My eyes open but it is dark and I fear I've gone blind! I don't move. I hear voices of laughter and I smell coffee. What's this in my hand? A plastic toy gun? I roll over to my side and this head of hair clunks to the floor next to me. Oh my head hurts. I follow the light from the base of a door by crawling and feeling for objects. I find the light switch. Click! I'm in a child's room!
The last thing I can remember is playing truth or dare.
My friends will have to fill me in. I stand and see the porcelin doll has lipstick all over her face.
Opening the door there is a roar of laughter at me.
"Good Morning baby killer!" My friends can hardly speak through hysterical laughter. Apparently my lipstick is all over my cheeks and chin. I look a hot mess. Still holding the gun I "shoot myself." Again the room erupts and phones are aimed at me.
What a party.
I can't see any way to get much in the way of anything from this.
With no memories, you're unable to even think, let alone reason your way out of a situation. Even if such reasoning is somehow available, why would anything feel unusual.
With no memories, the room would just be the status quo. Nothing unusual at all. Just how it's always been and may always be.
I doubt in such a situation you'd even think to try to open the door. You might spend a few days just playing with the doll before hunger and thirst became too uncomfortable to endure and you were forced to explore the room more fully. Even if you did encounter food and water, you wouldn't know what to do with it without instruction.
You are the sum of your memories. Without them, there's nothing. No personality, no motivation, just a blank slate.