The first time it happened
The first time it happened, I was only in seventh grade. It started with a shiver down my spine and a thought that I was being watched. I felt so distracted, so unsure and stupid. There was nobody watching me other than the group of friends I had been with. Yet my eyes traveled across the school’s courtyard; teachers roamed the halls, students piled out of the lunch room. Everything seemed to be normal but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me with intentions not so kind. The day went on and I tried keeping a straight face throughout, until eventually the feeling of paranoia went away. I thought it had just been a weird moment in the day and it wasn’t anything to worry about.
Unfortunately enough, it wasn’t just a weird moment I had. It had happened again, constantly and as if someone had been mindlessly shoving thoughts into my brain that weren’t mine. I was only in eighth grade when I experienced my first mental-break, as I like to call it. I can’t remember what might have triggered it but my thoughts were going hay-wire. It was the summer and I had locked myself up in my room for nearly a week. I avoided my parents, avoided my friends, or any outside contact for that matter. My parents were worried; they thought I was being anti-social and crazy. Which is exactly why I couldn’t tell them what demons had been scratching at the inside of my skull. I was not crazy. There were just these thoughts, maybe voices that were telling me I shouldn’t step outside. Leaving my room meant I’d be at risk of being hunted, killed. From whom was I hiding? I wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was every stranger that looked at me on the street from their seat in their car, or maybe the many people who passed me on the sidewalk and stared at me a little too long. How could I know I was safe? Every single person that had seen me could have been plotting to murder me within the next 72 hours.
I was sat in my bed, my heartbeat going faster with every new thought that entered my mind and every beam of sweat that rolled down my forehead. My breathing was shallow as I snapped my head towards the window. It was a loud bang, followed by another; it sounded like metal being hit. I sat still, like a statue, completely stiff as I held my breath. They were outside, they were here; I had been found. But every time I peeked out from behind the curtain there was nobody there.
“I’m fucking insane, Kim, there’s no one there!” I hissed angrily at myself.
But I was sure someone was there, I could hear them, their breath right by my ear, the crunching of the rocks outside beneath the soles of their shoes. He was here, somebody was here. My fingers shook violently as I ran them through my thick, black hair; I couldn’t stop pulling at my hair. I wanted it to stop; I wanted him to leave me alone!
“Just go away! Please!” I heard the crunching of the rocks once more.
I was crying now; fast, hot tears rushed down my cheeks as I bit my bottom lip to stop from making noise. He already knew I was here but it wouldn’t hurt to stay silent just to be safe. It was a fear I had felt like no other. It had me wanting to claw at my scalp because as much as I knew it was all in my head, it seemed too real to believe right then. To make matters worse, my parents weren’t home to help. It’s not like I’d tell them anyway. I thought, maybe suffering in silence was better than looking like a complete fool. I thought, maybe it’d go away someday; this was all just a horrible phase I was experiencing in my life. It would stop soon, it had to.
By the end of that day when it was time for bed, the notion that someone was outside of my house was gone and replaced with the feeling that they’d be back again, and next time they’d find out how to get in. I went to sleep and finally had a clear head as I dreamt of better days. My disastrous week hadn’t ended yet and within the following days, my head formed even broader, more inventive beliefs than I thought possible.
This is one moment from that first mental-break that I would never forget. I was in the shower, trying to relax after feeling watched all day. I had been jumpy to every slight sound and shadow in sight. The short period of feeling relaxed ended rather quickly when I heard a buzzing sound. It was a fly. A little thing right next to my ear that a normal person wouldn’t freak out about but in my head, no, this fly had cameras in its eyes and oh, my god, I was being recorded.
“No, no, no! Not again, please!” I cried.
The tears were like an automatic response to my fear by now and hyperventilating had become an everyday occurrence within the week. This fly was probably being controlled by the man who was after me. Was he broadcasting this on TV somewhere?
Three heavy knocks on the bathroom door sounded and I slipped on the tile of the shower floor.
“Estas bien?” It was my mom speaking in her soft usual tone in Spanish.
“Yes, I’m okay!” I called back. I held my hand over my mouth so she wouldn’t hear that I was crying. A moment of silence and her soft footsteps slowly went away.
I removed my hand from my mouth and let myself cry on the shower floor. I tried to do it as quietly as I could and covered my ears so I wouldn’t hear the buzzing of the fly above me. I waited to catch my breath and then got up fast, turning the water off and hopping out of the shower to get dry and to my room where it was safe, as fast as I could.
To this day, I can remember that week vividly. It still makes me quiver, it still triggers me. I’m just a person with a mind that needs a little helping from time to time.
It wasn’t me
I rocked myself back and forth as I hit the side of my head. It wasn’t me, no, it was my horrible stepmother. She had done it, she had killed my father.
“It wasn’t me!” I closed my eyes.
“It wasn’t me.” I laid myself on the floor.
“It wasn’t me…” I let my breathing slow.
With a jolt, I awoke in my room alone. The walls were a shade of pink but they had started to look red. With the absence of my father, everything looked red these days. I held so much pent up anger for my stepmother that my teeth almost always, were clenched. I sat in my bed, still tired and looked towards the left where my door had just opened slightly.
“Who’s there?” I asked. I gripped the sheets of my bed and tilted my head as it opened the rest of the way to reveal my two stepsisters, Annette and Jeanne.
“Oh, relax. We’re just here to take you out.” Annette smirked.
“No. Not again! All you two ever do is get me into trouble.” I snarled.
“Hmm, how so? I don’t think I remember.” Jeanne asked. She came over and sat next to me on my bed. Annette stood at the doorway.
“Are you kidding? Because of you…” I cut myself short. I lowered my voice. “Because of you, some poor guy was put in the hospital.”
“Oh my god, Cinderella, please! It wasn’t that bad, it’s not like he died.” Jeanne groaned. “Annette, come here, we need to get her dressed.”
Annette began to walk to my dresser, then laying out some clothes. I still wasn’t sure about this; going out again. It had only been four months since my father was killed…four months since I had stabbed a stranger because of the news announcing his departure. I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for Annette and Jeanne. They said it was good for blowing off steam. So I did it. And I felt so much better. But there was no way I would be doing something as stupid as that again. So I was nervous as I got dressed.
I was in a vulnerable place before…I was desperate to feel better after my father’s death and for some reason, when my stepsisters had suggested I hurt someone…I thought it was okay to do. My judgment was clouded and I responded the way they wanted me to. I wouldn’t let it happen this time, not again.
“You both have to promise me we’re not doing anything stupid this time.” I frowned.
“Cinderella, we promise. Right, Jeanne?” Annette smiled at her sister.
“Right.” Jeanne smirked.
Hours later and we were out on the town, practically skipping through the streets. We were being total girls; following and drooling over the prince we had spotted. I guess you could call it creepy, but it was totally harmless. We were just curious as to what the prince had been doing out so late. We thought we were being sly but no, he turned his head as he walked and stopped. His eyes caught mine and I gasped.
“Cinderella, are you okay?” The prince asked. His eyes were like pools of chocolate and I was ready to take a dive.
“Um, Yes.” I laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be? I-Wait, how do you know my name?” I questioned.
“We’ve met before.” He smiled. “I think you’re having a d-“
“Cinderella, we should go. He’s weird. This was a bad idea.” Jeanne spoke, frantic. Annette nodded her head and they both desperately tried pulling me away.
“No! What is wrong with you two?” I spat. I looked back at the prince. “Sorry, my sisters are a bit of a handful sometimes.” I laughed.
“Your sisters? Cinderella, there’s nobody here but us…”
I stood there baffled. I looked at Annette and Jeanne who looked at me.
“See, I told you he was weird.” Jeanne spoke.
“What?” I shut my eyes, I was feeling unsteady.
“Cinderella, I think you’re having a delusion.” The prince spoke concerned.
“Shut up!” Annette yelled. She placed a knife in my hand. “Shut up! Shut up!”
I shook my head furiously. Everything felt fast. They were too loud.
“Shut up! Shut up!”
I gripped the knife in my hand and opened my eyes to look at the prince.
“Do it, Cinderella, stab him! He’s lying! He’s a liar!” Annette yelled. And in a second, Jeanne pushed me and with the knife in my hand, I let it rip a hole right through his stomach.
I dropped the knife in a panic; I shook my head with my eyes shut. I opened them up again and shook with fear and confusion as I saw my stepmother yelling at someone out in the hallway. A hallway. I wasn’t outside, I was in a room. White walls, white lights, a white gown on my body.
“No, no, no, no…” I looked at the blood on my hands. I looked down at somebody on the floor, bleeding out. He looked like a doctor but when he looked up at me, my heart dropped. It was my prince.
I backed away from him and the blood and the knife.
“It wasn’t me!” I screamed. I closed my eyes.
“It wasn’t me.” I laid myself on the floor. I cried.
“It wasn’t me…” I let my breathing slow.
I felt someone touch my shoulder and I jumped, my eyes opened. It was my stepmother. It was her, she killed my prince.
“You did it again! You killed him!” I screamed, hitting her. She cried, holding down my arms.
“No baby…no, it wasn’t me. It’s okay, you’re okay.” She whispered. I pushed her away. I cried for my father and I cried for my prince.
I rocked myself back and forth as I hit the side of my head. It wasn’t me, no, it was my horrible stepmother. She had done it, she had killed my prince.
Day One: A Nightmare Begins
I never thought I'd be writing this but...the day has come and the zombie apocalypse is here. I can hear them scratching at my door, their heavy breathing and snarls getting louder as they continue to try and break past the door. I'm all alone. I'm 17 and I'm gonna die, ripped apart and gutted by the dead. I'm going to be dragged by my feet and torn limb by limb until I'm beaten and bloody, until my guts have spilled and I'm looking at dead eyes who stare back at me as they chew up my once beating heart.