Chasing Sillhouettes

CHAPTER 3- FEELING BLUE

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Chapter 3- Feeling blue

Memories-They come to me in snippets. Sometimes when I'm floating around the dark and other times when I'm watching the girl, Rosa. I'm able to keep track of time now; Rosa has a calendar and a clock in her room. That's where I'm standing now, her room. A big red 'X' has been drawn in with a felt tip pen, marking today as the 20th of August 2013. The first day that I'd been here, I had seen something absolutely horrific, something so awful, it couldn't even be spoken about. It was so gruesome; so terrifying.

Nah, I'm just pulling your leg. Rosa had slashed her wrist. Sure, I was taken aback for a minute, I even tried leaving, but it turns out some invisible force has me tethered to this girl, making sure I'm never more than 5 feet away from her. After watching the girl for almost a week, I've come to the conclusion that she has 'Dissociative Identity Disorder'. Also known as' Multiple Personality Disorder' for those of you with an IQ in negatives. She's really happy and hyper one minute, like a little kid who had one too many skittles. She even acts normal, doing homework and taking to her airheaded cheerleader friends. At others times, she gets a vacant look in her eyes, wraps herself up in blankets and slashes her wrists mumbling some BS about forgetting things. When she snaps out of her 'emo moments' she doesn't remember a thing she's done. Do I feel sorry for her? Of course not.

I don't think her family really cares about what she's doing. I've never really seen any of them up here in Rosa's room but I've managed to catch a few glimpses of them around the too-big-mansion-like-house. There's a father and a mother and a little dog that barks at me. I've heard that animals can see ghosts. Would that mean I'm a ghost? I don't know. I don't even care. It doesn't matter. I wonder how I died. There must have been no blood. Or a lot of blood. I hope I wasn't autopsied. That would have been degrading. I'm rambling. I should really stop. Anyway, back to her family. They're eyes look empty and clouded over and they move with stiff gestures. They seem to do things because they have to, like following a routine that they cannot ignore. There is also a girl, one who looks like the complete opposite of Rosa and her family. She has long black hair that falls in ringlets and dark brown eyes. Strong, high cheekbones that look like glass, cupid-bow shaped lips and a thick fringe of lashes complete her exotic features. She must have been one of those snotty, stuck up brats with daddy's credit card at their disposal. I've never seen the girl in the flesh of course, but there are many framed pictures in the rooms I've been to in the house. She's piqued my interest but I've never seen her around so whatever.

I assume many of you think I'm a cold hearted bitch with no sympathy or emotion whatsoever. Being tossed in a never ending pit of darkness, then being introduced to a messed up girl who likes to self-harm and having no idea what you are supposed to be doing there does that to a person. I wasn't always like this though; like I said, I've been recovering a few memories.

My first memory came to me when we, that is Rosa and I, were with her blonde Barbie friends. We were passing the park on the way to a smoothie store when I glanced up and saw a little brunette child on the swings, giggling uncontrollably as her mother pushed her gently. For a split second, I was back in the black abyss then pulled back to the present. The child was suspended in the air, her lips pulled back to reveal her pearly whites, her mother's head thrown back as she laughed; her arms outstretched. Rosa chatting animatedly with her friends. Leaves dancing in the wind. The hands of the large clock in the bakery across the narrow street. Everything was frozen. Then something moved- me. I reach out tentatively to and make contact with Rosa's skin for a fleeting second before I am surrounded by a spinning vortex of blurring images. I had been transported to another time frame now and my head pounds with the effort to keep track of what's happening. There's a different girl on the swings. A young one, probably 5 or 6, with a long ash coloured braid down her back and a yellow sundress. Her rosy cheeks and beautiful features would get her a reputation as a heart breaker soon. She sits on the edge of the swing's seat, attempting to touch the ground with her toes so that she can push herself off the ground. Slowly but surely, she's swinging back and forth. Higher; a little bit more. She's bubbling with laughter; the exhilaration of being able to touch the sky. The child is going to fall. There is no doubt about it. I try my hardest to move my feet; to stop the inevitable. One second is all it takes and she's free falling-but she never hits the ground. A man has caught her, abruptly stopping her descent. He's talking to her in a soothing voice; consoling her, telling her not to cry. There is a firm undertone however and he insists that she never do that again. She doesn't pay much attention; she's too busy bawling her eyes out. The man sighs softly and looks away from the child in his arms.

His eyes meet mine. They widen in recognition for a second before he shakes his head and looks back. The look of recognition is gone; he doesn't see me anymore. He blinks once, twice, picks up the child and walks away. He doesn't look back.

That was my very first memory. The very first insight as to who I was. I know those people. Don't ask me how, I just do. The man was my father; the child, me.

Anthara Jain

The girl is back. She's happy today, a gentle smile gracing her gorgeous features. She has just finished telling Anthara about her trip to the smoothie store with her friends the previous day. She tells her about how much she likes chocolates and how she prefers smoothies over sundaes any day. Anthara watches the girl, trying her best not to let her ecstasy show. The child has opened up to her. It was very little; the girl had only told her about her outing, but it was still much better than before, when she had refused to tell Anthara anything.

Anthara wants to try something new. She wants the girl to feel love and to be able to give love. She walks over to the adjoining room and picks up a small black box off a table. She walks back and places it before the girl and watches as she studies its contents with surprise and confusion.

A small, ragged ginger feline stretches, purring softly as it does so. It watches the humans before it with curious eyes, studying their every move.

' Irecently got this little one here but I'm not able to take care of her all the time. Do you think you could help me with her?' ,Anthara asks slowly, stressing on her words as though she were speaking to a toddler. The girl's eyes immediately light up. She nodded her head vigorously, without even snapping at Anthara for using a 'superior' tone like she usually would have.

Anthara could only hope that what she had in mind would work, and bring her one step closer to the hefty sum that her family was offering.