I collapse on the floor. I don't know if it's because of the shock, or because of the revelation.

He had blinded me, by giving me everything I had wanted. I thought he wanted to help me, but instead, by spoiling me, I was the one who gave him everything he needed. I had become a puppet, his puppet, letting him pull my strings.

Love is blind.

Now I truly understand why my mother hated love so much. Wait, it was never love anyway. He had only used me, a mere step to the next level. And being the naive soul I was, I had given him everything. Allowed him to manipulate me.

Turning my back, I prepare to walk out the door. He calls out to me, trying to give me "everything I needed", trying bribe me again.

Tempting. Without hesitation, I step past the threshold. 

Maybe it's time I pulled my own strings.

I found out something new today!

I have an ability,

An ability to be forgotten!

I can make a void in their memories,

And they'll forget all the good times we shared,

And everything we've ever done together.

What do you mean "no"?

Of course I have the ability to be forgotten!

People always say they remember me,

Or else why am I always left out or forgotten?

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

You are beautiful,

So always be you.

Rain, rain,

Go away.

Come again another day,

I want to go and play.

Rain, rain,

Come again.

How I love the smell of rain,

If only you would never go.

Rain, rain, 

Go away.

You are making me down today,

Pitter patter off you go.

Rain, rain,

Come again.

It'll be nice to sit in the rain,

All alone without a care.

Rain, rain,

Go away. 

The thunder's too loud and I am scared,

I don't want you here today.

Rain, rain,

Come again.

You are so unpredictable.

Gone one minute,

Here the next.

She watched as the paper swirled around her, the yellowed paper filled with the abandoned ideas she had since she was young. The clocks ticked by, the second hands twirling slowly. Her wavy red hair started to glint in the brightness of the white paper butterfly that drifted towards her.

You should finish what you started, was written on it. Suddenly, it unfolded to show her idea as a six-year-old. Goofy happy faces adorned it. The plot was about a little girl who turned into a princess with the help of her dog, Woolly. She closed her eyes. The current today was a fast-paced society. Her parents said that authors never make money, they works only a one-time hit. She didn’t believe them until she met the real world. Now, she barely had time to sleep. To write? That was a total joke.

Suddenly, the papers parted to form a clearing, showing a neat wooden desk with clean sheets of paper, a pencil beside. But the eraser... “My child, it is to ensure that you will not turn back and regret your decision later in your life.” A voice filled her head.

***

She set down in the wooden chair, picked up her pencil and started to write.

She had proved her parents wrong. She was not a one-time best seller, she was a renowned author, writing trilogies and cliff-hangers. She loved her job, no more pressure and definitely more supportive. Fantasia came back to her sometimes, showing her her past ideas, allowing her to put them in words that suit today’s society. She loved it. And she knew she wouldn’t regret it either.

The pillow muffles my screams of agony. Why is it whenever I try to cut myself it doesn't turn out the way I want it to be?

F*** innocence. By the time I knew what it truly meant, I was already immersed, sunken deep into the sea of reality. 

Bitch.

Hypocrite.

F*** you.

All those words were already slung my way, when I was barely even a teen. I was soooo innocent I barely knew what those words were. But my friends knew though, using them freely around me.

After that I learnt suicide. The beautiful act of killing yourself. The marks on my arm speaks for themselves. But reality has a way of not killing you and sinking you deeper into it, increasing your suffering. The vulgarities increased, and all the negative things started to suffocate me, leaving me gasping for air.

I throw the pillow of my head.

You're innocent? Please. Everyone isn't innocent, or will remain innocent for long.

I pick up the sheet that slipped through the door. Huh. Looks like they forgot to pin it properly again.

Patient: Brooklyn Harmony

Age: 16

Claims to be abducted by aliens. Parents say she is acting like a completely different person.

The same thing they put last time. Staring into the mirror in the bathroom, I noted the changes. From the girl with wavy locks, huge lively eyes and porcelain skin, I had transformed greatly, into a monster with sunken sallow cheeks, skin that was marked with scars, framed by stringy brown hair.

But it's true. I really was abducted by aliens. I can still remember when they pulled me out of my bed through the open window. Florescent lights greeted me, and I was plopped into a seat. Screaming and yelling didn't work. Their slimy tentacles were all over me, connecting some machine to my head with some weird tubes. They pressed a button, and I screamed in pain.

F***. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

I normally don't curse, but this sort of pain was uncalled for. It was like entire body was bitten by red ants, stung by bees and soaked in acid. I used the last of my energy to read what was reading on the huge screen in front of me. 

SOUL-SUCKING EXPERIMENT ONGOING

My heart plummeted to my stomach. They were I sucking out my soul. Finally, I blacked out, the huge red eye I saw pulsing, worming it's way into my head.

When I woke up, I was in my bed, but something... part of me was missing. I knew why though. So from the goody-two-shoes, book worm and friendly kid, I had turned into a smart-mouthed, bullying "brat" who was hooked onto drugs. My friends slowly ran away from me, my parents started screaming at me every night when I stumbled home drunk. I probably snapped something in them when I brought home Meth.

I could still feel the pain, my heart being wretched out.

Suddenly, guards burst into my room, forcing me into a straitjacket and leading into a room, paneled with one-way glass and a huge table in the centre. 

"Miss Harmony?"

"The name is Brooklyn, bit-" I cut myself off, the tiny part of me screaming to return to my normal self. I stare at "doctor"... psychiatrist, her perfect blond curls falling past her shoulders. Cautiously, I take a seat, feeling a million eyes staring at me through the glass. This has actually become a routine already, dragging me out of my "room" every month.

"So Mi- Harmony, your parents say you've changed, and I'm sure you know it too. Please, do you honestly know what caused this change? Teenage rebellion? Bad influence? What Brooklyn? I really want to help you."

Lies. Especially that last line. I remain silent.

"Brooklyn? Please tell me. I will believe whatever you say."

Letting the ends of my lips curl up into a smile, I happily say, "I was abducted by aliens, and sucked out my soul." 

Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

We all will learn to suffer,

With violence anew.

Nightmares after nightmares,

Plaguing your sleep.

The peace the generations before tried to sow,

We might never reap.

Everything seems so dark,

But hold on tight.

Because I'm sure we all will get there,

disappearing together into the night.

I watch as the flames lick at the paper and the bouquets of flowers, devouring them eagerly.

We used to pick flowers and yet, they all seemed to thrive only when you were around.

Now, the field seemed barren, the flowers wilting so slightly.

The flames.

They were like you.

Angry. Depressed. Hungry for more.

You used to be that girl who would dance among the flowers, petals collecting at your feet.

Yet the pursuit of perfection killed you, changed you. It made things seem so far away, made you more greedy, lifeless, less... you.

You turned everyone away, eyes only trained on perfection. Even me.

As usual, perfection claimed you, when you were finally about to push it away.

It made you perfect by erasing your existence.

And so... I lost you.