The Morgue: Silicone

Morgue Story #2

She skips. Through the tall grass of the meadow, she chases after butterflies and the fairies only she can see. Her arms reach to touch the velvet wings that are just beyond her grasp. Giggles float through the air as she prances along. Her jeans covered in grass stains, her black shirt covered in dandelion seeds, she's in her own world.

POP! POP! POP!

She's covered in warm, red. Her hands run over her jeans, desperate to get the red off. Why won't it come off? Whimpers escape her lips. Scared, desperate, did anyone see? She gets up and runs. Her long brown hair floats out behind her, catching in the long grass, leaving strips of red behind. It's everywhere. There's footsteps behind her. Someone saw.

Shaking, trembling, crouched behind an old shed, she breathes heavily. Her chest caves in with each breath, but there he is. He found her. His shoes, his pants, covered in red, just like her. She's innocent, clear streams flow from her eyes, staining her cheeks with each drop. He grabs her, wrapping a crimson hand around her tiny arm. She screams, but is silenced.

...

"Paranoid schizophrenic," the doctor tells mom and dad. "She would be best to stay with us. We can erase this memory, ease her nightmares. But she will never be the same." She watches from the glass. Banging, screaming for them to not sign her life away. She's not sick. She wants to go home. She wants to be free.

The last day of visiting, mom can't even look at her. I hold my hand up to the glass, my last connection with my sister. I look into the eyes that are the same as my own. I know she's not crazy. I know she doesn't belong here. Mom pulls me away. It's time to go. My hand slips from the glass. Her eyes are now emotionless as she watches me walk away.

...

She's awoken in her room. What is the time? 5am? Why so early? The guards come in, grabbing her from her bed. She's scared, she knows what's happening. She needs to get away, but how? The screams echo through the hall. A long flow of deep brown hair swings behind her in a tattered mess as she flails in the guards' arms, desperate for escape. The chair comes up in front of her, the snapping of the doctor's gloves rings in her ears as the water from the faucet squeaks closed. No. It's coming. Think! Think...

She relaxes, accepts her fate. The guards smile at her, pleased with her newfound sense of acceptance. They place her in the chair, but don't strap her in. They step back, letting the doctor in to examine her. The light shines in her eye, he's right in front of her. Now's her chance.

With a swift kick to his knee, he was down. She was out of the chair, down the hall. Their footsteps clunked behind her, moving closer. Her lungs burned as she ran. She turned a corner, there's another room, another operating room. She looks behind her, they're right there. She looks towards the room and trips upon entry, falling on a tray of instruments. She does not get up.

"Brittney? Get up. This is not a game," one guard scolds. Then gasps, there is a pool of blood. She is hurt. He turns her, looks at her face and steps back. He calls for a doctor, but it is too late. The guards look over at her. One eye, completely open in a terrified expression. The other, blood pouring everywhere as a scalpel shines in the lights of the room. The breathing stops, her heart slows to nothing. She is gone.

...

The smell of the lilies fill the noses of the guests. Her favourite flower. The cremation is over. The wake is at the home that I shared with my sister and parents. I hate them now. I hate that they sent her away. Maybe she would still be here. My best friend holds my hand, my husband holds the other. We are sat away from everyone else, in the darkest corner of the house. Just silence. Then a bird chirps out of nowhere. We look up, and we see her. A white, smiling face. Her brown eyes are now a light blue, with one slightly lighter than the other. Her war wound. The long, dark hair has changed to a soft, platinum blond. She's not a ghost. She is real.

We watch her, she says nothing. She just smiles at all of us. The girlish grin that made her who she is remains on her lips. Then she puts her hand to her pale lips and blows us a kiss. She turns her back to us, and skips away into nothing, her blond hair flowing behind her, just like it used to.