Young Writers Society

This is going to be fairly hard to read because I pasted it from my computer and I don't have time to fix it.

Laying in the dark. Silence encloses like the binding of one long book, the seams on a never ending wound. Keeping me prisoner in this dark cave

of never ending perils. I can hear through the layers of bedding the thin, ungoing ticking of my watch, over and over. One task, a burden always met -

for life. Shadows of the cars on the highway below, slipping, winding by, reflecions dancing on the chipped wallpaper, coughing out the gas put into

them. Lightly, I can see the shadows of my knees, pushed up to my chest, scarred, rough. My hands, rubbing the itch where the damage has started

to repair it's self. Why am I crying? There's nothing wrong. Plenty of people have it worse than me. And yet, here I am, the tears slipping down my face,

stinging the scars on my knees, staining the bedspread a deeper color. I can't cry - it's conceided. Imagine all those, starving, dieing people in this world

who don't shed a tear. And I can't stop. I can't stop. This darkness - it frightness me - but not in the way a young child imagines things. Not an innocent

fear. Things - bad things have happened to me in the dark - things parents would shun their young children from, things that will spoil a good mood.

Things no one wants to know about. Shadows leak from the opened window, the curtains bow in the breeze. The computer screen flashes on and off.

From the next room, someone shifts, coughs. Silence. This darkness is binding me, killing me. I can't take it. My frozen hands grop for the light switch.

Fake, blue light incircles me, so that I can see each deatail in a clear vision. The cracked mirror across reflects my sweaty face, my hair drawn to clumps on

my grey face. The beauro, photos watching me, one moment frozen in time. A trip to Disney Land when we were six - Emily and I. Me, in some stupid

plastic visor, her crouched behind me waving a plastic wand. Our last trip together - to the Grand Canyon. Six weeks before her dissipearence. And Jesus,

how could be so neive to the future? So stupid? That dumb picture of my last boyfriend flashing some asshole generated smile, in front of the Lucky Spin

and me, so damn happy.

Before it all happened.

I can't stand to look at those photos, all watching me, frozen in time, smiling, happy. Mocking me for what I don't have. What I havn't done. The trees

outside crack and snap against the window, their finger like shadows grasping me, choking me.

He's sitting in the tree. He's eyes, clear as day, watching us, unblinkingly. Emily is sleeping. I am awake, watching him, as he cracks another limb off

tree. I am awake but Emily is asleep. I should have said something. He took my voice, surendered my powers. Maybe I thought it was all I dream. Maybe

I wish. His foot slips onto the window latch. I shiver, try to make my voice work but he has poisened it. Taken it. He has a gun. His fingers poise the triggor, his

thin mouth curls into an uneven smile. The shadows reveal only his stature, not his name. His voice is strong but hoarse. The words he speaks mean nothing.

He points the gun toward me, it's metal teeth flashing in the shadows. Emily stirs, but does not wake. One false move and it's over. His hands, strong, clasp

Emily's right arm. I finally manage to mumble something but he says nothing. The gun flashes again. He draws it closer to my flesh, so that I can almost

feel it's heat. Emily has awoken confused. He has both her arms now. She wimpers. I hear with one deadning thud as he drags her across the floor, out the

window. By the time I have the voice to scream, he is gone.

I sit up, pull myself off the bed. The bathroom door is half open, revealing another blanket of shadows. I trip over my feet. Switch on the light so that all around me,

light is vigle. Cold water trickles onto my hands, my face again glares back at me from the mirror. Emily looks back at me. How can I not even look at myself

without seeing my sister. How? The water, rushung cold water, seeps in full force out of the tap. My hands have become hard with cold. Voices scream inside my head.

How?

Another veiw of the city is available from the bathroom window. The Bronx, higher buildings, stronger lights. Cars whiz by on the rain streaked road below, their

headlights purple in the artificial light. I turn off the water, turn from the mirror and focus on the street below.

The mask was what kept justice from being served. The mask which shrowded his face, revealing only his grey eyes, his lifeless grey eyes. The screams still

echo in my head, over and over. "Help me Aden! Help! Why arn't you helping me?" And I, just sitting there frozen. Unable, unwilling to risk my own life.

The water runs hot from the tub, reflecting on the half broken glass of the mirror. Running, on and on. It's soul pourpous. I am sitting on the edge of the tub,

my fingers gently tracing the ripples, watching the lights outside flash and daze in the falling rain. What is rain? Is it merely an illusin of our senses? I would have asked

Emily. Emily and I could go deep into things without bringing religon into it. Emily was me. I was Emily. We were one person, standing as two.

Sitting in the tub, my naked self under water. Overnight I have changed from a child to a woman. One day I was the care-free, daring, happy go lucky twin. The next I am

the lone person, twinless, torn, hateful. Breasts have come from my chest, small, but visable lumps bracing my chest. Something has changed inside of me. Something

I can't even recognize.

The razor is sitting on the ledge of the tub, beckoning. Not tonight, I don't want the mess tonight. It's calling me. I can feel my hands reaching out, grasping onto the silted rubber handle. Blades that flash in the light. I didn't save her. I needed to save her. I need to pay. The razor makes the water a thick, murky crimson. The razor is stained,

the taps are stained, my skin is stained. I smile in pain at my absolute distruction. I've done it. For Emily.

The blood swirls and mimicks the relflections in the water. I can feel myself falling, deeper. My chin, gently brushing the edge of the water, my neck. Chokeing on the

water, coughing. No. Emily died. My other half. I have to live for us. To represent.