The Mystery that Is my Life

Look, I’m gonna skip right to the chase okay? No stupid introductions no “Hi, my name is…” Got it? Cool. I guess you could say I’m on the run but I’d like to think it’s a bit more interesting than that. It’s more like this is a secret only you get to hear. This is the part where you jump up and down with joy by the way. No? Okay. Well it’s the life they don’t know about and I’d like to keep it that way. SO that means puny human life form, keep your big mouth shut. Now this is extremely confusing even for me so just go with it. I’m Elizabeth, just Elizabeth. I’m 6,939 days old in Earth years, so nine-teen basically. But I lost count of my real age a while ago. I've got long wavy light purple hair. A lip piercing, several tattoos and gray eyes brimmed with green and some flecks of the jade color near my pupils. That’s all you need to know for now. I shall now spill my deepest darkest memories onto these pages. I hope you enjoy the mystery that is my life.


2. Just a Dream

Light streams in through the open window of my bedroom, causing me to open my eyes ever so slowly. Before I am even fully awake I am pulled down, my eyes shut. I feel the world shift back and forth. I’m in the middle of a gray city, everything around is being played in slow motion. Every move is emphasized, from my hollow breathing to the hands grasping my legs and the mask being slipped over my face. My vision goes black, but my mind stays alert. The rain drops fall onto my skin and my screams echo throughout the city but no one is coming to rescue me, everyone is just observing. That is what they always do. They sit at home in their recently ironed gray pajamas and watch as the life is sucked out of me. They shove popcorn in their cruel mouths and smile wickedly to them it is not my life they are seeing, but a form of entertainment. They don’t view me as a person but as a star on their favorite show, but I am real and I am not their celebrity, I am me and no one will change that. I struggle to open my eyes, forcing them to open but they won’t budge they want me to suffer, to be reminded that nothing is okay and nothing will ever be. To remind me that I need revenge on these sick people and that they need to pay for what they have made me into. They have control. They are making me see these things. I feel the electricity course through my body and remember the countless tests they put me through but only one thing sticks out like a sore thumb, it is the thought they embedded into my brain until they were sure that I understood my place in these worlds. They repeated and repeated it, cut it in to my brain with the sharp knifes of their cruelty and they left me to fend on my own. They made my life a show and told me to tell them a joke. The phrase they spoke repeats in my brain, bouncing of the walls I have put up to keep intruders away and through the screen that holds my powers. Where I make everything happen where I trick them into thinking I am just a fool, if only they knew. I feel sweat begin to form on my forehead. I try to force the memory back, this is not real. I am real they are not. Yes they are we are real and here to take you back. The voices of millions of the cities inhabitants whisper in my ear and the fight inside me leaves. I am overcome with sorrow as I let my mind be invaded. The flashback completely takes over, I am transported back to that awful day. They day my life was taken. My body was much smaller then, I was barely a teen, yet I lived as an adult. I stand on a street that looks like every other in this god forbidden town. I curse under my breath looking around. I can feel them coming, my sensitive ears pick up on the pulsing of their hearts and I hear the puffs of their breaths. My mind feels the excitement in their blood. They are driven forward with adrenaline, driven by the fact that they will be the ones to bring me back to the ruler. I won’t let them I remember thinking. I was caked in sweat by now, my clothes clinging to my body, I could barely breath. I was running out of time and yet I stay standing here. I look around in a blind hope, there is no way out. Desperation fills my body until it chokes the life out of me. My eyes scan the scene my mind is weak, dulled by my own fear. The fear that I would be dead in a matter of seconds. They are coming this is never going to end. I let out a harsh cry of frustration. I feel the tears fill my eyes. Pain is for the weak, emotions are for those who have a reason to feel them, for those who are loved. I am not loved, I do not have emotions I do not feel fear. Then why am I frozen? The scene before me shifts. I see a man and woman in front of me holding something, the women is weeping, her body contorting with every sob. The man just stands there looking blankly at the door. “It’s time” I hear him say and the words echo in my mind. The sound of his voice arouses something in me. The woman sets the object on the floor and I see the face of a newborn baby, eyes closed in a deep slumber. Then they disappear, it wasn't real but I remember feeling it was the most vivid thing I had ever experienced. They forced the memory into my mind, to make me believe I had a reason to give into to them. The tears began to fall and questions flooded my adolescent mind. Was that me? Were those my parents? I don’t have time to think. The men are here. They radiate an intense hunger for blood. Once again time is slowed. The pulsing in my ears grows louder as I am thrown on the ground. I feel the hard asphalt tearing open my clothing. The harsh laughter of the guards fills my ears. This is weak. Weak, weak, weak. But my mind was too numb to care. I let them drag me and when they command me to get up, I do as I am told. I was weak, useless. Why the hell did they want me so damn much? I was thrown head first into the backseat of a sleek grey car. The smell of incense filled my nostrils making my eyes water. They hauled me away to headquarters and the events that were about to follow are too shameful to even think about. I remember laying there on my back a mask tightly placed over my eyes. The voice of the men providing an ironic rhythm, my heartbeat was the bass and the pulsing in my ear was the melody. The car sped up and I rolled off the seat landing harshly on the floor. I need to get a grip. I need to take control before this gets out of hand. The image of a digital clock flashes before my eyes. It reads 11:59 a.m. If I don’t stop this now I will loose myself, I will become part of their game again. This is just a dream. This is just a dream. THIS IS JUST A GODDAMN DREAM. I shout at myself, trying to shake the fog in my brain. I have 30 seconds. I know this isn't real. I need to take control. This is my world. This is my fucking world. I feel calloused hands take a hold of me now. Crap, crap, crap. Get a grip get a grip. I am dragged out of the car. I can’t see. I need music. Help. I am losing they are going to take me. NO, NO, NO. No more weakness, I refuse to go back. I scream and scream and scream. I struggle in the strong grip of the men. I remember that these are the men who have watched me on a screen every day of my life. They've watched me suffer. Now it is time to make them feel the agony of revenge. Feel the power that lies within what they think is just a stupid little girl. I may have been stupid back then but I’m not anymore. They made me immortal so they could always have a channel to tune into when they were bored, well now they will feel exactly what immortal means. Time to put an end to this. The ground begins to tremble uncontrollably. Yes, I encourage it more and more. I can hear the cement cracking. The men lose their balance, now comes their dignity, followed by their pride. I’m not stopping, no not today. I feel my powers flow through the depths of my mind and into the city I hate so freaking much. The men loose their hold on me and as soon as I hit the floor I let all hell break loose. You bastards want a show? I’ll give you a show. Placing my palms flat on the floor I release what has begged me for freedom, the animal caged inside of me. The ground rumbles beneath my finger tips, they saw this coming. They think they can enter my mind whenever they want to, that they can invade my mind and try to steal me back, too bad. History is not being re-written, not today, not ever. I am in control. The city explodes. Debris rains down on me, ash fills my nostrils. I witness the belongings of these uptight losers crumple. I watch their lives vanish. I let myself enjoy the scene I only have 10 seconds left. Time to make my exit but not before I rebelliously stick my middle finger up high. The steady beat of music fills my ears, my escape, and cue for dramatic affect. Drum solo, hear comes the guitar. 5…4…3…2… I let a smile spread across my face. The atmosphere shifts. I feel the soft fur of my sheets. Breathing out I open my eyes fully and let my image falter for a brief second but long enough that they notice. Just to tease them. How does it feel to be the joke is the message I am trying to convey. I hear the typing, I see myself on a large screen in the center of a large town, with towering skyscrapers and men and women dressed in pressed suits.  Those dammed assholes. I let a laugh escape my lips and I hold the image of my face before my mind. (Jeez does my hair look that bad in the morning?) On the screen I am displayed with wide eyes full of terror and my signature smirk as if to see ha you thought you had me didn’t you? My facial features look innocent as if they have just caught me in the middle of a huge lie. Like a child about to be reprimanded for stealing a cookie or staying up too late. But I am not a child and I have no one to reprimand me. I let the image fade away along with the now slow monotone typing and the large exhale of the cities residents as they realize that today is not any different than the day before. I can basically see them rubbing their heads in frustration. I hope they think I’m a lost cause, but I know they will never give up on me. I am still their gem, they still have some string of pathetic hope that I will come back and make them laugh, cause them joy. They want their movie star back, how cute. It’s time for me to get up. I prop myself up on my elbows and I can feel my hair sticking out in all directions, gross. I raise my hand tentatively to my hair and sigh. I’m a mess. I swing my legs from underneath the mounds of blankets and over so my pale legs dangle before me. I rub my hands over my face. I live in a very small apartment, where everything is in the same room, except for the bathroom. My bed is in one corner, the kitchen ahead of me and a small couch to the right. This is not the room they see. I don’t own a television it’d be way too creepy. I know that here on Earth the actors on the screen are actually acting; it’s not like my life. I know that they are paid and that they’re real lives are not recorded. Their every move is not being typed. No one is watching them constantly. I have a small brown cabinet filled with clothes, nothing gray. I have just about every other color though. A loud car horn makes me jump out of my skin. Goddamn New Yorkers. Yes, I live in the…big apple? Is that what it is called? I don’t keep up with the English dialect. I slip on a black pair of skinny jeans and a black long sleeved shirt. It’s 12:30 a.m. I brush my teeth and comb my long purple hair before securing it tightly in a bun. As I walk out, I hear the words I have tried so hard to escape. The words they wrote on me in permanent marker. 

“You are ours”

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