We

1

I wake up and look around.

Everywhere is dark.

So so dark.

I blink and see clearly,

I am under my bed.

Long forgotten toys around me and keeping me company.

How did I get here?

And then I remember.

She is back.

She is here.

She is me and she is her.

We are one and two.

Two but one.

I hear the door open.

It is father.

His steady but quiet footsteps reach my ears.

I cannot move.

I cannot scream.

I cannot tell him not to come.

Come to me.

To her.

To her that looks like me.

Hey princess, father says.

Hey daddy, she says.

I see father.

He is looking at me – at her.

I can see from my eyes as she can see from my eyes.

We see the same person.

Father is leaning down to kiss her forehead.

No No No.

Don’t kiss her.

She is not me.

She is her.

And she is me.

But she is her.

Daddy, could you check under my bed for monsters? she asks.

Father laughs.

Sure sweetie.

Father looks under the bed.

He blinks.

I blink.

She giggles.

Are you okay Maddy? he asks.

He looks at her.

She burst into laughter.

Father is confused.

Maddy? Madeline?

She continues laughing.

Father is thinking.

What is your mother’s name, he asks.

Mother’s name? I do not know.

Father never told me.

So I do not know.

She stops laughing and looks at father.

Annabelle! she laughs out.

Father takes a step back.

He knows.

She knows.

I know.

He knows that she is not me.

That I am her and she is me but not me.

He knows.

He knows.

He knows! She sings.

Her laughter fills the room.

She is excited, happy.

He knows, no one must know.

She can kill him.

She can kill father.

No, I wanted to scream but I can’t.

Go away demon, father screams.

She stops laughing and cocks her head to the side.

Demon? No.

She is not demon.

Something else but not demon.

Something worse.

Far far worse.

She stands up from my bed and dances round.

He knows.

He knows.

He knows!

And then she lunges for him.

And then everything turns black.

= = = = = = =

I wake up and I look around me.

My room is in a pretty red.

I have always liked red.

The floor, the walls, the bed and oh, the dresser.

Even my hands, no, her hands are colored with the pretty red.

I look further and I see.

I see the owner of the pretty red lying all around me.

Father is on the floor.

A huge ugly gash on his forehead.

His brains sticking out.

His eyes gored out and scratches all over.

His body is bent in an awkward angle.

His mouth, open in a never ending scream.

He is still, so still and pale, so pale.

She looks to her front.

Her, no, my white nightdress is colored in father’s paint.

It is soaked with it.

She lifts my finger to my mouth and tastes the paint.

It is weird.

Metallic but sweet.

She likes it.

I like it.

We both like the paint.

She is in front of the mirror.

The paint splashed all over it too.

She raises a hand and I follow.

Our hands meet each other on the mirror.

She looks around again before looking back at me.

And then she smiles.

And then I smile.

For she is her.

And I am me.

But she is me.

And I am her.

We are two and one.

Two but one.

One body two people.

We are the same.

We are one.