How are villains made? From the paper ash of despair.
Tormented by her past, Ivy runs from the present. With her world turned upside down, she struggles with reality, sanity and loss---and hiding her darkest secret. With everything ripped away and...
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Monday, December 3, 2007
Guest Bedroom
Pretoria, South Africa
Written the night after in secrecy by moonlight.
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The guest bedroom was sparse, not having one ounce of personal belongings in it, only the closet held clothes haphazardly tossed inside. That's all that was needed in this god forsaken world. There shouldn't be any past reminders. No love, and no comfort.
The night the dairy was found, the moon cast a pale glow through the window. Ivy woke in sheer panic, eyes searching frantically in the darkness. For a split second she saw them again---mom, dad, Riaan---then noticed this wasn't her home, this wasn't her room, and all over again her heart was broken... but much like a clock beating its last resonating toll, her heart eventually retreated back into its normal empty void of numbness once again and by then her eyes would adjust to the light, a deep breath is drawn and the sweat-streaked strands of hair pushed away.
They're here again...
The soft whispers in the dark came ghost-like and taunting, but only as a mere hint of something, fading in and out. She wasn't scared this time, just curious. More than once they'd been heard; strange subtle hints of sound drifting from somewhere in the room, just drifting barely on the edge of existence, like a forgotten memory. This had been thought of many times---was she going crazy? Were they---whatever they were---supposed to be terrifying?
Tonight, she decided, had to be the night. They had to be found, the source of the voices.
Jumping headlong into all efforts, concentrating profusely on anything else but her own excitement, it started. The loud crickets chirping outside, the tall clock thrumming in the hallway against the wall, her heart beat...there! Jumping out of bed and sliding on the floorboards with her socks, she shoved the closet doors open wide. Screech they slid in protest like angry accordions and folded against the frame.
Empty. Of course it was. Empty of anything except a pile of dirty clothes in a suitcase. Shoving those aside she searched the dark walls, looking for a secret compartment, door, button, box, knob-
