SPLIT IN TWO110Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡApK88dJQ4H
I’m running. I do not know where I am, or why I’m running, but I know one thing: I’m afraid. What I’m afraid of, I couldn’t tell you, because I myself don’t know why I’m afraid. But I’m running. Almost for my life. Something or someone is trying to hurt me, and my only defense is to flee. I run through a black, endless void, where nothing exists but the ground beneath me, myself, and whatever is behind me. I don’t dare turn back out of fear of my pursuer, so I keep running. Endlessly. Tirelessly. It’s catching up. It’s footsteps only a few feet away from my own. It’s breath just a few feet away, just close enough for me to feel it on the back of my neck, making my hairs stand on end. I’m full on sprinting, trying to get away from it, tears streaking across my face as I come to the sudden realization. I don’t have to look behind me. I know what’s chasing me. I keep running. Running from my inevitable doom. I know it’s pointless. I know it’s no use. Eventually, I’ll slow down. Then bam. That’s when it’ll get me. Sure enough, my breathing becomes shallow and I gradually decelerate, feeling its presence closing in on me. I turn to look at my captor, and I’m met with a horrifying image of myself, engulfed in flames and cackling wildly, reaching out it’s burning hand to catch its prey. I feel a surge of heat and…-
My eyes shoot open. My heart is racing uncontrollably as I gasp for air. I put my hand over my chest as it rises and falls, my heart almost beating out of it. I stare at my ceiling, slowly trying to catch my breath. There’s a sudden knock on my door that almost makes me jump out of my bed. “Lizzy, sweetie, it’s time for school! C’mon, don’t be late for your first day!” Oh yeah, school. In my panicking state I totally forgot I had to deal with other people today for the first time in months. A part of me wishes I were back in the black void, running from the flaming version of myself, trying to stay alive. At least it was just me, myself, and I. In a few hours, it’s going to be me, myself, and about three-thousand other people.
“Elizabeth Grey!” My mother shouts from the other end of my door, banging impatiently. “You need to wake up, NOW!” I wanted to respond with something witty and snarky, like “How many times do you hear that when someone catches you day-dreaming about a man that won’t come back” but instead I muttered something really intelligent, like “Ughhhh—,” and sit up in my bed. My mom keeps knocking the door incessantly, as if trying to break it down. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!” I call back to her as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and trudge to my door. I open it to a very angry woman in her late 30’s, wearing sweatpants and a black zip-up hoodie. Her arms are crossed, and her weight is shifted on her left hip, diva style. “Your bus leaves in twenty minutes, Liz! You need to—” She looks at me, noticing that I’m still not dressed for school and my hair is a mess. Her expression changes from annoyed to frustrated. “Liz where are your pants? Brush your hair! Put on some makeup! Do SOMETHING to yourself to look at least somewhat approachable!”
“Ah, you see, Mom,” I say with triumph, “I don’t WANT to be approached. I don’t want people to talk to me, and I don’t want to know what you consider to be ‘approachable.’” But I sigh. I know she has my best interests at heart. She believes that one day I’m going to make a man very happy. She believes that I’m going to live a happy life, unlike the one she lived, and thrive as a human being and create more human beings to carry on my legacy. There’s nothing wrong with that at all, except one factor: Man. Men are dumb. They don’t understand basic signals, they talk about subjects that are almost irrelevant, and they can’t seem to grasp the concept of “No.” Of course, there are some men that stand out from their horny, unethical brethren, but you get what I’m saying. I don’t want to make a MAN happy. I want someone to make ME happy. I need that happiness. I need it now more than anything in the world…
However, my mother grabs my shoulders and pushes me into the room, demanding I get changed. I looked down at my current attire, which consists of an oversized maroon sweater with grey stripes down the sides. That’s it. My mom slams the door to my room and yells at me to get dressed again. I groan and search through my closet full of clothes. I decide to pick out a red t-shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans with holes in them, and my signature grey zip-up hoodie. I go over to my full body mirror to look at myself, but when I look in the mirror, I see nothing. The mirror reflects my room perfectly fine, but as I stand in front of the mirror, it doesn’t reflect me. It’s almost like the mirror refuses to believe I exist. Then my image slowly fades into view, but it isn’t me. It’s a different version of me. Mirror me looks sinister, smirking and shifting her weight on one hip. Small embers curl around her, and fires dance across her body.
Oh, I know her.
She laughs evilly, and I can feel her laugh resonate throughout my body as if it came out of my own mouth. It probably did. Then her body is engulfed in flames, then the flames spiral out of existence, taking mirror me with them, and leaving me staring at my own reflection with a nonchalant expression. I shrug, grab a brush from my bedside table, and start brushing my long, blue hair. I put it in a ponytail and walk out of my bedroom. I walk down the stairs and I observe the controlled chaos that is my family. My older sister is making food in the kitchen frantically, as if she were rushing to make breakfast for an event. My younger sister is arguing with my younger brother about something stupid, probably about if water is wet, or which Sonic the Hedgehog character is the fastest. They always argue about stupid things like that, even at the age of 14. It’s kind of sad. My mother is nowhere to be seen. I walk over to Jasmine, the older sister.
“Jas, what’re you doing?” I ask as she’s speed-walking back and forth between the stove with eggs and bacon and the stove with biscuits and sausage. “There’s a potluck for the Sophomore class at LSU. I’m bringing breakfast stuff because I’m too lazy to make anything too big. Besides,” she says as she rushes to the seasoning cabinet, “people love breakfast.” “Riiiight—” I say as I turn around from the chaotic tornado zooming back and forth between the kitchen. “Mom went to work,” she calls after me. “And you need to catch your bus, don’t wanna be late on your first day.” “Are you sure Mom went to work or did her soul possess you?” I mutter slightly to myself as I grab my backpack off the rack next to the front door and walk out the door.
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