Missing Shadows

Title: Missing Shadows
Genre: Speculative fiction (It sounds a lot cooler than it really is :P)
Word Count: 747
Yeah. Under normal circumstances I easily break the 1k limit but somehow when I'm trying to build up to 50k, I fall short. Cruel, cruel world.

A/N: This was supposed to be the first chapter of my novel. *sigh* Anyhow, it's a short story now.

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I am awake. Conscious at the very least. I can feel my mind stirring, slowly shaking off the drowsiness induced by my late night. My world is still dark. I take a deep breath and try to open my eyes.

My eyelids feel heavy, not the kind of heavy caused by a late night at work or a night out gone wrong. It feels as though someone's glued my eyes shut, as though my neurotransmitters have switched off and my brain is isolated from the rest of my body. Trapped inside the shell it once controlled.

Panic strikes and I feel my breathing getting irregular. My hands get clammy, my heart starts to beat faster, my body starts to shiver. I try to regain control over my mind and I force myself to take slow, deep breaths. It works. Somewhat. My heart slows down to a more normal pace, my body stops shivering. My hands are still clammy. I attempt to open my eyes again.

The world is pitch black. I sit up, frantically looking around. There is nothing to see. No light, no objects, not even shadows. I can't see.

I fall back onto the bed and cover my face with my hands. I will myself to calm down, I start breathing normally again. Baby steps. I try to visualize what I would see.

The faded yellow walls, the painting on the far end. The dim light from the lamp mounted on the wall behind me. The clock on the bedside table, it probably would be indicating that it is 8 am. The dressing table on the side, the mirror reflecting the thick, wine red curtains on the opposite wall.

I sit up and slowly open my eyes. It is a little blurry at first but then the lines become sharper. The room is exactly as I imagined it would be. The yellow of the walls, the dim light from the lamp, the clock showing 8 am, the dressing table, the mirror reflecting the wine red curtains.

Rubbing my eyes in an attempt to kick start my stalling consciousness, I stretch and get off the bed. I walk over to the dressing table and finger comb my hair into a ponytail. It has been getting long, my hair. I need to get a haircut. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I see that my hair which I usually maintain at about shoulder length, has grown up to my elbows. I am not quite sure how it escaped my notice for this long. I guess I have just been that busy. I search the table for an elastic, I can't find one. I end up braiding my hair instead, to keep it out of my face. I notice the clock in the reflection, it's still 8 am.

Maybe the battery is dead. I walk up to the table and pick it up, I hit it against the palm of my other hand a few times in a futile attempt to bring it to life. I know I have a couple of spare batteries somewhere, I open a drawer to check.

It is pitch black. Nothing at all. Not even a shadow.

I look up and start to notice the things I'd missed. The parts of the room that I hadn't visualized are still blurry. The headboard of the bed, my slippers, the door. I rip the curtains open and it's pitch black outside. I turn around and come face to face my reflection in the mirror.

She's screaming, I can't hear it though. I can see the terror in her eyes. Her hair grows longer, the dark brown tendrils twisting around her neck forming a noose. Like a giant rope that's come to life, it tightens around the pale skin of her throat. She clutches at the bonds with white trembling fingers. Her knuckles are pale and she grapples against the stronghold, the noose is getting tighter, her eyes grow wide, her face grows pale.

My hands fly up to my neck as I start to feel something tightening around it. I touch my throat but I can't feel anything but my skin. The pressure is getting unbearable and something twists my face to look at my reflection in the mirror. She's looking at me, her eyes are begging me to help. I feel myself get lifted off the ground, I'm choking, the world is growing darker. I'm feeling dizzy.

With a loud crash the mirror shatters. It's over.

Explanations

Here you go, for anyone who is interested, if anyone is still interested - my pathetic attempts at an explanation for the ridiculously long amount of time that has gone by without a post.

Attempt 1: Writing 'Won't Close My Eyes' got me feeling a little drained.

Attempt 2: I'm actually a very lazy person.

Attempt 3: I've had exams? I'm sorry, I apologize for even pretending that matters.

Attempt 4: I've been on a technology ban. Well, I needed to rest my eyes so as a result, I was kept away computers or phones or laptops. Well. Admittedly that did not prevent me from watching 57 (and counting) episodes of One Piece so ignore this pathetic excuse-wannabe-attempt-thing.

Credit: XxCookie-FreakxX (on deviantart)

Attempt 5: I'm a stubborn person. I will not write if you do not ask me nicely. (Not referring to any of you wonderful readers and since I've been lazy I thank you now for the 3835 pageviews. Each and every view means so much to me. Lots and lots of hugs and kissies. :* I shall stop now.)

Attempt 6: Catch.com betrayed me! :( But I've found a way! (Imagine a chibi me with my fist clenched in determination) :P (That ':P' is intended at you. Yes, you.)

Attempt 7: Aw screw it.

Anyhow. I'm sorry. *hangs head in shame*

Man. I've been reading too much manga these days.

I attempted a novel by the way, for National Novel Writing Month, November (NaNoWriMo for short).

Quite a lame attempt, really. I tried doing this whole psychological sci-fi, speculative fiction sort of thing I haven't tried before. I didn't get very far. But yeah. Next time. *determined*

Anyhow. As soon as I can think of names, I'm thinking I'll put up excerpts from that unborn(*sob*) novel as short stories so hopefully, I'll have something for any of you still interested in reading what little old me has to say. Soon. Hopefully.

And that's that. 

Won't Close My Eyes

It's not something she remembers very well. It's not something she thinks about often. She just knows that it happened. She just knows that no matter what she becomes, this will always be a part of her.

You ask her something about her life, anything. Start with her name, her age, her family. As you get close to her, ask who her first crush was, who her first boyfriend was, how long did they last. Ask her when her first kiss was and she'll name a date and a place, she'll name a boy she used to love. You'll smile and maybe you'll say 'That's so cute!' and she'll smile and the conversation is done there. Maybe you'll talk for a while and maybe you'll meet her again someday, but that there, was the first lie she ever will tell you.

Her first kiss was not a boy she loved. It was a man who claimed to be her tutor. It's not something she dwells upon, but if she tries to focus, she remembers meeting her eyes in the mirror and stubbornly refusing to close them, because somewhere in that twelve year old girl's mind, she had this idea that you close your eyes when you kiss someone you love. She didn't love this man. She wouldn't close her eyes.

Ask her how long it went on, she wouldn't know. It's almost as though her mind has locked this part of her memory in a box and hidden it away in a dusty corner. Ask her when it started, she won't know. She can't remember. All she knows is that he used to ask her to study something he'd just explained, and she would, head bowed over her book, and she'd study while he groped her under the table. Then he'd ask her questions and she wouldn't know the answers and he'd shout. She never cried when he yelled, she stared obstinately back into his eyes.

He'd stop when he heard footsteps outside the door. He was a religious man, someone who taught the ways of God, her parents never had even the slightest doubt. When they'd come in to check on her, he'd be on his best behaviour and she'd say nothing.

She doesn't know why but the thought of telling her parents scared her. Once she was older, she read something on child abuse, it said that the victims feel fear and guilt. She thinks that maybe she was too young to comprehend it, what she felt back then was guilt. She doesn't quite remember those emotions, not vividly, not at all. As though it's too painful to remember. As though her mind is protecting her from herself.
She tried to protest in her way. She'd arrange the table and chairs in such a way that he couldn't reach her under the table. She'd wear two, maybe three pairs of trousers. She'd wear a pair of jeans with a belt. She had wanted to lock herself away, she was angry, but mostly she was scared.

She wonders what went through his mind. Did he ever feel fear? Of being caught, at the very least. She didn't expect him to fear the God he taught her about, he probably knew that all of what he taught was lies. She remembers him whispering that she should tell him if she was uncomfortable, and not her parents. She remained quiet. He kept insisting, he made her walk over to his chair and stand by him and told her again. She nods and he kisses her. She locks eyes with the girl in the mirror.

He had to leave to some place for some reason she doesn't remember anymore and she wished he'd never come back. She wished he'd just disappear from her life, it'd make everything a lot easier. But one day her mother tells her he's back and that he'd called and she'd be starting classes from the next week. And she breaks down and cries. The words coming out aren't coherent. She doesn't know how long she cried, or even how long it took for her to make sense. She doesn't know anymore. But she knows it ended then.

She's not sure how it has affected her. Sure, she's a little uncomfortable with physical contact, but that's probably just personal space issues, she thinks. She doesn't break down into tears when she thinks about it, she doesn't think it haunts her. She just knows that it is a part of her. She was lucky that it stopped with just that. She thinks of all these children, boys and girls alike, who go through this and so much worse and she can feel their pain. All their innocence, all of their carefree childhood, taken away with just one act.

She wishes she could go back in time, and pull that man off her younger self, slap him across his face and rip those hands off his wrists. She wants to hold that twelve year old girl close and tell her that she did no wrong, that she will grow up to be stronger than she ever expected to be.

She wipes the tears off her face and puts her memories back in their box, and puts the box back in its dusty corner. It doesn't do anyone good to dwell upon the past, she thinks as she holds her own little girl close. Her baby brother sleeps in a cot nearby and she thinks she wants to protect them from the world. Put them away in little boxes and shield them from all the negativity until they are old enough to face it. She knows she wouldn't ever deem them old enough, she knows she wouldn't be able to.

She stands up and walks across the soft carpet. She turns around and takes one last look before she shuts the door and walks over to her own room. She climbs into her bed and pulls the covers over her head. As though she's hiding from herself. She doesn't want to be seen crying, not even by herself. She's stronger than that.

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Dial CHILDLINE: 1098 from any phone service in India  to report a child in distress. The CHILDLINE service is a free 24x7 tele-outreach helpline service for children in need of care and protection. For more information, visit www.childlineindia.org.in