Moments from Alice's time in the mental-assylum.
theme might be a bit disturbing
1. Chapter 1
Rating 4/5 Word Count 570 Review this Chapter
They’re closing the door. No! It’s too dark. I don’t like the dark!
I can’t cry. I’ll be brave, Papa, like you told me to be. I’ll be a good girl.
Papa said he would be back soon. Papa will be back soon.
But it’s so dark.
She curls up on straw mattress in one corner of the dank, filthy little room, and squeezes her eyes shut.
I won’t cry, I won’t cry, I won’t cry.
I must get better. Then I can go home. Mama won’t cry every time she looks at me. I must get better.
I mustn’t cry. Papa would be disappointed.
Something scurries over the stone floor.
I won’t cry, I won’t cry, I won’t cry
How long have I been here?
She bangs on the door, but, when they answer, they just tell her to shut up.
Where is Papa?
“PAPA!! I WANT MY PAPA!”
Where is Papa? He said he would be back soon!
Papa must come back for me.
She bangs on the door again.
“WHERE IS MY PAPA! PAPA!! WHERE IS MY PAPA!”
Papa’s not coming back.
She crawls onto the filthy straw mattress.
Papa left me here because I’m bad. I want to go home. I don’t want to be bad anymore. I want to see my Mama. I want to see Papa again.
But Papa’s not coming back
That night, when the others that she cannot see begin to scream, she screams with them.
When they throw her back into her stone room, her eyes are burning. The bright light has left spots in her vision. She hasn’t seen the light for so long.
Her limbs are still twitching.
Shock-Therapy, they called it. She can’t stop herself from shaking.
Is my name Alice? I don’t remember.
I wonder why he called me Alice?
Am I really beautiful?
Sometimes I wonder how I got here. I don’t think I was born here.
But I don’t remember. The man, he calls me Alice. He says that my name is Mary Alice Brandon, but he likes the name Alice. So he calls me Alice.
He calls me beautiful. I don’t know what I look like. Am I beautiful?
What colour is my hair? What colour are my eyes?
I don’t remember!! I don’t remember anything!!!
That night, when she finally succumbs to the oblivion of unconsciousness, her fists are bloody from beating them against the door, and her throat is raw from screaming.
He enters the room silently. She is curled up on her filthy mattress. She doesn’t hear him, doesn’t see him.
By the time she notices him, he is on top of her, mouth at her throat. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t try to fight him off. He whispers softly to her, explanations and apologies.
When she feels his teeth, like white-hot needles, cutting through the skin at her neck, she only whimpers softly.
Only hours later, when the agony is so unbearable that she has no other choice, does she begin to scream.
Pain. So much pain. Like fire made liquid, coursing through her veins.
It throbs with the beating of her heart, pushing new waves of agony into the very marrow of her bones. There is no end. She must be in hell.
Pulsing, rolling agony, burning her alive.
It will end. I remember, he said it WILL end. It will end, and I will be safe.
He said I will be free.
She wakes up outside, and she remembers nothing but the endless pain of a liquid fire in her veins.