Hells gate

A beautiful Marrionette

The white walls couldn't shadow the true horrors that lurked inside asylum 13, the towns people stayed away from the cobble stone building on the hill. People would talk nearly everyday about the psychopaths that had made there way from society into the white chambers of hell. That's what everyone called the asylum, "the gates to hell". It was only shortly after my sister and I had been born, that the town had forbid anymore talk about asylum 13. The towns priest had warned us of being possibly possessed with insanity and dragged down into the asylum if anymore talk was to be heard about the cruel dark place. The day both Anita and I where born was the same day they said hell's gate released and let the demons from inside run free and rampage throughout the peaceful town, causing chaos and a parade of hell to dance freely through main street. Our mother was killed that day, but strangely enough I have held no remorse considering I never knew her in the first place. We lived out on the prairie, a small farmers town with very little to offer. Everyone here was ordinary, and ordinary didn't interest me. I chased things that weren't supposed to be chased. As a young lady left to a higher class family of wealthy nobles I was supposed to keep my family name by marrying a man of high stature. My sister had already been wedded off, it was her beauty and calmness that made her a jewel, priceless to love, only at the age of 13 as well, of course I was sadden to see my only family member alive that I loved more than anything to leave me. Anita was perhaps the only person I was able to truly connect with, here I was alone yet, but, being alone was something I came to appreciate over the years, even right now being alone was appreciated. As I sat quietly on Cheshire hill that over looked the river leaning against the old maple tree. I was too lost in my own thoughts to contain any control or elegance as a lady of the higher society. I kept my head in check while remembering my father, he was a cold cruel man who would only follow the church instead of his parental duties. Some times I reflect back and remember how he would scream and tell me that I was going straight to hell for the havoc I caused. I was a terrible child most of my life, I'm still a terrible person yet, even now I don't fully consider myself a lady, I much rather go outside and run away from this place. Yes that would be nice as my mind went silent at that peaceful thought while getting up off the ground and dusting myself off, I turned and started to head home. Walking alone on the dirt path as the sun had started to set down into the cold darkness of night. It was small moments like these where I wondered if running away from this feeble society would be worth it? Would it be worth all the treasure in the world to just once feel free? could I ever be free? So many unwanted questions, so very few right answers. Walking through darkness now I felt as if I was the maiden of the moon, my false mother or in other words the woman my father chased even while with my real mother. An ugly blonde woman with the mole the size of a wart that rested on her upper cheek was Barbra, my false mother. Of course when I was little we used to get along, now shes just a waste of air and some days I dream of what it would be like to poison the wine and kill her, but that would be a sin? isn't it?

    From the once dirt path into the towns cobble stone road ways and dim candle street lamps, from the dirty old hill to my unpleasant home. I glanced back before walking inside to the mansion sized house, I glanced back to only see a wish that would never come true fade away once I stepped through those doors. Walking in through the foyer and upstairs to my room I quickly slammed the door shut before Maria the house maid could get to me and yell at me for being out past curfew. I could hear her foot steps running up the stairs and then pausing in front of my door, leaning my head back against the wooden door to close my eyes for a second as I listened to her breathing and then walk away as if my presence was a genuine mistake. I took in a deep breathe and exhaled slowly as I ran to my drawer pulling it apart to find my blade. My knife. My razor. Anything that would help put my head back on track. It was an addiction, a pulse that kept calling and claiming me back for more. The act of cutting like this was indestructible, to me it was a reset button, I only need to do it every now and then, to keep my life focused. To keep myself sane from all the pains and gradual misfortunes I come across in my life. Nobody knew what it was like to graze the blade across fresh white skin to see blood scatter down your body like water does when it hits your skin. Except this wasn't water, it was the pure red jewel your heart loves more than air. Blood. Yes, I had acquired the need to relieve my head with more agony and pain to stay perfectly sane. It was an insane and inhumanly act to follow, but it was perhaps the only thing keeping me alive. Life wasn't a sweet candy you could enjoy, in fact life is like a stranger trying to get you to bite the poisoned apple and when you swallow you become sick and ill with pain and reality. Reality was something I never fully could grasp, I was an over thinker, a artist, a lover, and a dancer to myself when no one else was watching. There are times in my head where I play out scenes from books I've read, except my mind would alter them and create me as the antagonist. I never could grasp why, but I always loved the villain in every story I read, maybe perhaps it was the connection or link I could connect between our similarities and differences. An outcast, a jailer, a bird who was never allowed to fly. In some ways I felt like that, A beautiful red robin that had its beak and wings clipped so I never could fly or sing again. I laid in my bathtub looking up at the ceiling with my small razor blade resting off to the side on the edge of the bath. I looked over my naked torso and saw all the scars from over the past three years. Three years already... After discovering the corrupt method that only seemed to fixed myself. I was like a puppet to myself, always falling apart and having the puppet maker put me back together. One hundred and twenty five scars rested on my hips and stomach area, most healed and already faded, some still fresh and scabbed over. It was a sight only meant for me, knowing that if I ever was to marry, my poor husband would run scared from me and call me insane and send me to the asylum. Marriage was far from acceptable in my mind. Love is something you must find on your own, not chase after. I loved myself more than I could love any man that would dare don my doorstep and try to force my hand. Taking the blade from the side of the bath I carefully looked at it and then let the edge gently cut across my chest opening fresh skin and letting beads of blood form and fall down off my hip into the tub. It was a habit, an involuntary addiction that lead me to lust after blood and the stinging feeling you get from fresh cut flesh. More. I had to have more. More blood. More cuts. More scars. It was impulse, a sick twisted impulse that lead myself into only the most darkest of places I knew. 

   " Anastasia?" A knock came from the door rattling me up from the tub to grab my towel before Maria could come in and see my destruction and chaos. I wrapped the red towel tightly around myself as I answered the door to my room, looking at the small old grey haired bat the only thing I could manage to do was scowl at her for interrupting me and my business. "Good evening miss, would you like tea this evening?" Maria had asked sincerely and trying to make nice small chat. "Yes I'd love some, rose tea please" I responded and shut the door running the bath water to wash the stench of blood off my body and to get rid of what dry blood rests upon my skin now.  My long red hair soaking wet and myself smelling like a rose I pulled on some pajamas and headed downstairs to collect my nightly tea and then head back to my chamber to relax the rest of the evening in peace alone from anyone else. I yawned closing my eyes and turning in my bed exhausted by the events that took place like every other day in my existence. I drifted to sleep, dreaming of a beautiful marionette, she looked a lot like me, long red hair that lay flat and brushed over the shoulders with large doe eyes and a pale white face, wearing a small white dress. Except the sides where stained with blood. It was me. A marionette strung up ready to dance, act and sing. Except everything about the marionette doll symbolized me. The way the glass eyes peered up at nothing, there dark brown eyes that looked lifeless and dead. The hair that matched a rustic red silk that flowed un tamable by any brush, its curls where frizzed and soft looking, her lips resembled a light pink colour and everything else was white. Even the white lace corset dress that was strung tightly around her waist was white. The doll started to move slowly being moved by an unknown force, dancing slowly with her silken white ribbon lace up ballerina slippers. I didn't understand the look on her face, my face. The eyes held a sad look and the expression changed into a look of brokenness. A broken doll with blood starting to seep through the white material. Here I was dancing by the force of strings till my body ached in pain creating the cuts to open or spread out more to let the blood get absorbed by the innocent material. A stain that will never go away. I was told long ago that Innocence was a sin. My father had preached and chanted the bible to me ever since I was little, he had told me to always be honest but never to play innocent when I wasn't. The dress was white, a symbol for innocence and virgin status, the red was symbol for hatred and lust. The two colours aren't very pretty back to back, or against one another. I kept dancing even though I felt as if my chest where about to collapse and my legs about to give away to the strings that held me up dancing and jumping. I couldn't bare the pain any longer, I wanted out, I needed out. I couldn't take this dance much longer, that's when I saw it. The razor I had used earlier that night appear out of nowhere come and cut away the strings that held me up. Then I realized I was falling, those strings where keeping me up and now I fell onto the ground sprawled out like a broken toy.