Prologue - The Day I Became

He loved her. He really, really did. But why did those words sound like a lie when they came from his lips? She moves on, and leaves him with a decision made. If he can't have her, nobody can.

Waves crash.
      No!

Warm wind brushes past my face.  I feel my eyelids fluttering, despite my attempts to hold them shut.
      No!  Don't wake up now!
The air smells of salt, the seaweed, and the clean ocean water.  There was also something else, something familiarly metallic.
      Not yet.  I can't wake up yet.

The voices of the seagulls grow louder; my sleeping body stirs.

Consciousness was here to take me whether I wanted it to or not.
      Why was it that the one time I want to die in my sleep, I don't?  In my life, all of my life-or-death experiences occurred while I was unconscious.  I was once grateful to have survived them.
      If I had died then, I wouldn't be here.  Here, trapped in this terrible villa.  I open my eyes and look around.  I lay on a bamboo mat to the left of a large bed, with crimson-stained sheets tossed haphazardly to the floor around me.  Stretching a trembling arm out, I lightly touch one.  Smooth and cool. 
      Silk.

I don't have to wonder what the red is.  Long-dried blood, and most likely my own.  My forehead throbs painfully, and I reach up to touch it.  Instead of skin, my fingertips meet with some rough fabric loosely encircling my head. 
      It's a bandage.
My hand circles around, until I am touching the nape of my neck.  The sharp realization hits me like a bucket of ice water: my hair is nowhere to be found.  Someone had sawed it off at the base of my neck with, most likely, a steak knife.

This was the first time in a long time I could admit that I was afraid.  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something.  A glass?
      If it's poisoned, I don't care.  I'm very thirsty.

I sit up slowly, attempting to ignore the soreness of my muscles, and peer into the tall glass.  To my disappointment, it wasn't water.
     Instead, to my utter disgust, it was a pair of orange safety scissors, stuffed in the middle of the long, brown locks which were once attached to my scalp.
      Chills make their way down my spine.


With trembling hands I take the scissors and stand up.  It wouldn't do much good against a knife or a gun, but it was all I had.
      My head clears a bit as I get my bearings.  To the right of my mat, there's the bathroom.  Light streams through the crack of the doorway.  Maybe someone is inside.

If I were caught, I would surely be killed.  Or tortured.  Something along those lines.  Suddenly it occurred to me that this person wouldn't leave me unattended.  My eyes move of their own accord, frantically probing the room for cameras.  Of course, there were none to be seen.  Obviously, my captor would not be that naive.
      So what could I do but hold my breath and run for the exit of this horrible place?  I say a silent prayer in my mind, clinging to the last threads of religious faith I still had.

There is no time or room to think.  I force my leg forward, then the other one.  Soon I am running unsteadily on these weak legs.  I feel blood rush through my face as frustration sunk in.  The wallpaper is the same monotonous yellow in every hallway I raced through.  There was no way to tell where I was or where I have been.  Maybe I am running in a continuous square.  Even if I were, I would never know.
      This is my labyrinth.  The walls seem to lean in towards me, threatening to collapse.  These hallways would get narrower and narrower until I am crushed.

I tumble to my knees, clutching my chest and gasping for air.  A choked sob escapes from my bruised lips.  A allow few tears find their way down my face, then I fumblingly struggle to my feet.  Dwelling in my terror lives anger.  If I ever got my hands on him...
      Desperation seems to physically weigh one down, I noticed, staggering a few meters forward.
      I see a room up ahead.  Creeping up, I cautiously peer inside, noting the aroma of cinnamon cologne and fresh, steaming coffee.  It appeared to be a living area, equipped with lush velvet sofas, a majestic brick fireplace, and the largest television I had ever seen. 
      It seems to be empty.  
     

Quietly stepping forward, the wood flooring becomes uncomfortably cold on my bare feet.  Placed neatly on the mahogany table across from the velvet couch, I see a mug of steaming black coffee and a folded robe.  I lightly sit down on the thick circle of carpet, not wanting to disturb anything else in this room.
      Something tells me that I shouldn't drink the coffee, but I ignore it and take a sip. Flowing rich and bitter down my throat, it slowly warms me.  The royal blue robe shines in the dim halogen lights hanging from above.  There is a calming glow to the material, so I tentatively reach out to stroke it.
      "Silk, again."  I say hoarsely, lifting it up before me.

I know that I should run and run and not look back, but something holds me here.  The memories, however dark, will not disappear just like this.  Running away will not kill this man.
      He'd hunt me down until he catches me.

I glance down and notice my attire.  It's very obviously a man's clothing, hanging loose around my unnaturally thin body.  The pants have been folded up to my mid-calf, so they wouldn't hang over my feet.  The pockets were deep, and as I reach inside one, I feel the scissors I had taken from the room.
      I felt safer, knowing it is still there.
      The shirt hangs to the middle of my thighs, and the sleeves were rolled up to my wrists.

They are red and very thin, made of a fabric I can't name.


I wrap the robe around my body, tying it shut with a long purple ribbon that sat beside the coffee.  I feel something stiff in the silk pocket as I run my hands over the smooth fabric once more. 
      Discovering a folded piece of paper, I take it out and suspiciously peer at it.  It must have been placed here not too long ago because the creases are fresh and the paper is still crisp to the touch.

My heart beats faster as I slowly open it.  I feel sick to my stomach as I process the words. 

     
You were broken, so I've fixed you.  Be grateful.

The words are written in delicate, almost feminine, cursive, stretching long across the page.  The words resound in my head, beating around in my skull. 
      A humorless smile stretches across my face, tainting my features with evil.  This wasn't much of a fixing.

The sound of light footsteps approaching and the smell of expensive, cinnamon-scented cologne envelop my senses.  I don't turn--I can't.  Frozen in horror, I can't even breathe.  Time seems to pause.

"Welcome home."  He laughs, his familiar, warm hand coming to rest on my shoulder. 

Terror washes through my veins, coloring my vision.  This body can't seem to react, to pull the scissors out and stab this sick b*****d.  I want to end this. 
      Still, I know how he wants me to reply.  Back when I did reply to anything he said.

"Welcome home." He would say, his cheeks dimpling. 
      "I'm home!" I always replied cheerfully.

The horrible memories of our carefree past cause me to shudder in revulsion.  My hands clench into shaky fists.  Why can't I say anything?  I have always been too submissive to this overwhelming fear. 

"I'm home,"  I whisper, misery and shame seeping darkly into my voice.  "I'm... I'm home."


I turn around slowly, and watch his face twist into a disgustingly warm smile.  
      And I can't do a thing about it.

[Thanks to Bri Anne for helping me so much!]

  
     

Author's Note

Yes, the main character really does take this situation more calmly than any sane person would. She's definitely messed up in the head in her own little way.

Reviews

[Kaybrie93]

Wow. That was amazing!...it was very descriptive and intriguing and kept my attention the whole time! There were some typo's, but I'm assuming it's a rough draft, so it's okay. My biggest critique would be, that you need to decide whether you're writing in the present, or the past. Your words contradict themselves at times, because you skip from using words in past tense, to using them in present tense, but it's not a big deal :) Also, I was a little confused when the character stopped to drink coffee. If I were in that predicament, I would run, and wouldn't stop until I reached safety...but maybe I'm only thinking that because I don't know the whole story yet. Overall, great job!

[:-)]

Thank you soooo much for the critique. I've been needing stuff like this.

About the tense, I'll get to fixing that sooner or later. I typed this in probably less than ten minutes, and I haven't really read through it. Thanks for pointing it out!

I deliberately made the narrator go through this ordeal with much more nonchalance than any sane person would. I like to make each of my characters a little bit twisted in their own way. I tend to give my characters mental issues... Hmm.

Thanks, again!

[Kaybrie93]

Oh okay, I figured you had a plan in mind... but you did a really good job, I'd love to read more! There are so many unanswered questions :)

[:-)]

Hey, I would reeeeally appreciate it if you pointed out some of the typos, or phrases that didn't make sense. I mean, if you don't want to, then it's fine, but it would definitely help!

[Kaybrie93]

I sent it to your mailbox! :)

[:-)]

OMG THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU.

[Kaybrie93]

:)

[Imagine Blade]

I'm thinking of "Yandere" as I read this. Like you said, it's eerily strange that she's calm. Creepy...

It's great how the story kind of takes you away. But the best thing about this is that it keeps to a degree of surprise and suspense that just enough to make you interested and keep coming back for more, but careful that not everything is revealed.

Personally, I think stories told in the first person view are very very difficult to write because you have to take not of every feeling, every action, every movement they make. You have to be careful not to leave anything out but not too detailed that you're crowding the story too much with the character's spotlight.

But you did this one with flying colors.

P.S.

I'm gonna expect the character to be an eventual psychopath of sorts. I've seen enough to know. Hahaha. ^^

[:-)]

Aww, you're too nice. And I'm still slowly working on the other chapters and all the characters are complete freaks.

[Imagine Blade]

Are we going to see different kinds of freaks? Because I would really like to meet each and everyone of them soon. Yey psychopaths!

[:-)]

Everyone loves those! Haha, and yes. Everyone--even side characters--and insane in their own way.

[Sylvana]

I actually thought it had enough detail to give me a picture, but also to not tell me everything right away so I may find out later. The way you wrote this, I was trying to figure out what was going on and what was going to happen, which I like. You didn't flat out tell. It was a great beginning, and I can see emotion in the main character even though they seem to take it lightly.
The line to the note found in the pocket reminded me of a doll, too. Haha.
I can't really say I disliked anything or found anything you have to fix, and I'll look forward to more. (:

[:-)]

Thank you!

[∠( ᐛ 」..]

Excellent prologue!
I'm interested in reading more.
100/100

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Thanks! :)