What did I do! This isn't me, I didn't do this! At least I didn't mean to! She thought, tears filling her eyes.
She quickly stood, backing away from the two mangled victims, and ran off school grounds, towards the forest.
She ran into her bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet, searching for medicine to clean the wounds she had caused herself. She poured the alcohol onto the cuts and used to wash off the blood. She watched the small white bubbles foam inside each cut on her hands and her elbow. Once she bandaged her wounds, she rested her hands on the counter and starred at herself in the bathroom mirror.
"What did I just do? Did I-I snap? Had I done this before?" she whispered to herself, questions swimming around in her head.
"Oh, no.....of course not. I just had to protect you....." her mouth answered, using her own voice.
Alice jumped back, eyes widened, face pale. Her reflection just spoke to her.
"What! Who are you!" she asked, shaking.
After a long pause, the raspy voice finally spoke once more.
"I am your best friend. Don't you remember?" said her lips.
Tears ran down her warm cheeks. Her head began to pound as she fell to the ground, grasping her head, screaming. The voice was inside her head, screaming the same phrase over and over again.
Don't you remember me, Alice. I'm your best friend....your only friend....
The next few weeks, the voice did not return. But, Alice did not return to the girl she once was; she became violent, angry at almost everything, had violent fits of laughter out of nowhere and often fought or stole from others. It was strange, she felt as if her mind was replaced with someone else's. And of course, after being expelled, she had no choice, but to stay in her room, not eating, not talking, completely void of interaction.
This continued for many months, until her migraines became worse, her head pounded against her skull until she screamed and cried, begging for it to stop. She couldn't go to a doctor or a therapist, they would surely call her insane and put her into an asylum. She couldn't let that happen.
Then one day after a particular violent drunk outburst from Mr. Rogers that left her with cuts over her arms. As she sobbed and her mind pounded against its chamber, she began to feel weaker and weaker until her vision went black.
When she awoke, she found herself laying on the floor of her bedroom, her muscles ached as if they were torn apart, only to be slowly sewn together. She got up, headache gone, but extremely tired and hungry. She walked downstairs, stumbling towards the kitchen, violently opening the fridge door. Nothing, it was almost completely bare. Sighing, she pulled on her hoodie, and slipping on her black converse and walked out the door.
Walking out of the closest grocery store, she past a television store when a particular news report caught her interests on one of the televisions.
"Breaking news! Man found violently beaten to death with blunt instrument. More at 11." said the brunette news woman.
Alice continued to walk home, the cold autumn wind flowing past her, grocery bags slumped at her sides. When she entered the home, there was no sign of Mr. Rogers. Relieved, she threw the bags onto the counter of the kitchen, grabbing a can of soup to make for dinner. She turned on the television, flipping to the channel of the news station from earlier, the same brunette woman sitting, holding papers in her manicured hands.
"Man killed at 6:15 pm today, found in alleyway of Richards street. He was a Caucasian male around his mid 40s, several of the limbs and even the head of the corpse are missing, so his identity is unrecognizable....." the woman continued with insignificant details.
After finishing her soup, she walked up the stairs. She stopped when she smelled something putrid. She continued to walk up the steps until she froze. A sledge hammer lay in the hallway, covered in blood. In a panic, she ran into her bedroom and slammed the door. She breathed heavily, her heart pounding against her ears, until she let out a bloodcurdling scream. Her room was completely covered in circles written in blood, from the walls to the ceiling. And atop her bed, lay the caved in skull attached to the head of Mr. Rogers. She ran out of the room, but tripping over the handle of the blunt instrument, she fell down the flight of stairs. When she reached the bottom, her head slammed against a solid cabinet, knocking her out cold.
She woke up in a dark room, when she stood she noticed it was a room filled with hundreds of mirrors. Her reflections was projected in every part of her view, everywhere she looked she saw her sickly face and exhausted eyes. Her heart began to pound, where was she?
