Opheliac

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   (Not completely finished)

It had finally sunken in, the boulder had managed to break loose and shove itself deep into Alexa's core. Everyone else in her family was dead. Dead, nothing but broken ashes that will never again return to earth. The imaginary presence Alexa had felt just a few minutes back, had vanished. Everyone had simply vanished.

The texture of the rough tree bark rubbed up against Alexa's back, fire ants making their way into her shirt, tugging at her skin. Her brain was an extinguished fire. Once it burnt bright and knew of happiness and light; a future seemed presentable. In these ashes there is nothing to even renew a spark. All she could do was huddle on the wrecked forest floor, allowing it to rob her of her true senses. Her world isn't really there at all, like it was stolen and replaced with something empty, photoshopped, fake. Either it was taken away or she was; every second of every minute of every day all Alexa could do is float in the void. The forest that was once so alive now is chilling. Same concept with her soul. The trees that sheltered so many with their spreading canopy of greens and provided so much are now lifeless sticks of charcoal, no more vibrant than the old lamp-posts in the city. The unfettered light illuminates the scorched ground and still that smell of burning lingers, despite the rain. Death surrounded Alexa.

She walked as her hair fluttered in the air, her clothes clung to her body, arms tightly wrapped around herself. Alexa felt the cold wind stroking her skin, wanting to rip her clothes clean off, as if she were its enemy. The teardrops at the corners of her eyes had dried and with each stride her mind became more clear, more resolute. She continued on.

The land rolled smoothly under the grass like it was sculpted. The forest came to an abrupt end where the grass met grainy cement. The flashing city lights danced in the distance, yet Alexa was drawn to the nearest large building. A classic mansion of redbrick and white columns, left to decay with weathering and gravity, yet ten times the size of even the most ostentatious of local dwellings.

"Alexa Brooke" the blonde receptionist fake smiled as she scanned Alexa up and down. "You're a little late, but I'm sure we can still accept you, you were submitted two years ago, glad you're finally here, I guess it's never too late to get help!" The lady eyes widened with each word, she leaned in closer to the edge of the desk, her chest now pressing into the wood. Alexa stepped away from the front desk, her voice cracking in fear, "I was never signed up, what is this." Alexa began pacing towards the sliding glass doors. "Well, someone must have signed you up." The receptionist stood up, running towards Alexa, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the doors. Alexa attempted to pull away, as she saw a heap of nurses and what seemed to be guards rush in from around the corner, and come charging towards her.

The pressure of the gathered nurses above her continued to push down. Their gritty hands clasped onto Alexa's like handcuffs. She began shouting and thrashing, popping veins ran down her hands and her knuckles faded white with pressure. Panic overrides any sensation of pain in one wave, the wave of guards that's surrounded Alexa, closing in. They began grabbing her torso and hooking it into leather chains. Alexa was too exhausted to move, only breathing in the smell of her own demise. She couldn't fight, Alexa's body now seemed to be theirs, her screams dissolved into silence and her hands relaxed. The guards carried her through the halls. As they passed different cells, the patients inside starred, starred at her like as if they were the normal ones and she was the alien.

I guess it must have felt right to them, after all, the "crazy" need to be locked up just the same as the criminals. The staff looked happy, like this was all some board game and the several patients were simply players one, two, three, and four. The effect was catastrophic. They brought in the fragile psychotics, the beleaguered schizophrenics, and threw them in the old holding cells. In every room was a mattress, a bucket and iron bars. The place was foggy and the stone floors stole every lick of heat from the patient's bare feet. They stood shivering in their hospital gowns, a few in straight jackets.

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: Aug 21, 2016 ⏰

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