#...like... i realized recently that my hands shouldn't be in AGONY when warm water is ran over them when it's SLIGHTLY cold inside or out...

[uncanny-tranny]

Basically, my philosophy around disability fakers is: I would rather a thousand people fake a disability than have one disabled person suffer without care, aids, compassion, or any help.

[schmonkey04-blog]

The Shadows In Her Mind

CHAPTER I

As the blood covered girl sits on the cold lime colored tiles, she thinks about what could, should, have been. A dark shadow stares at her, wondering why she wasn’t jumping for joy, after all, she had gotten what she deserved. Tears start to race down her pale face, as the lyrics of a sad melody flow through her ears. The isolated shadow studied the weeping brunette, desperately wanting to understand what made her feel this way and how he could fix it. The grey-eyed teenager stared at the shining silver knife in her hands, unaware of the conflicted darkness watching her. She couldn't help but remember how she had come to this state.

The memory flooded through her...

“Hayden, wait up,” a black-haired boy called out, running after his friend. As soon as he reached her, Hayden saw his dazzling smile.

“Guess what?” the hazel-eyed boy, Dylan asked after catching his breath.

“What?” she inquired as she tried not to trip on the stairs leaving the building. When she saw the excitement in his eyes, she was surprised he wasn’t jumping up and down.

“I got an A on my calculus test!” Dylan exclaimed. Of course, he always did the best, Hayden thought with a sigh. Every time she was proud of herself for doing well, he did better.

“Oh, good job,” Hayden said, blinking to make sure her eyes weren’t becoming glossy.

“So there's a party on Friday and I know we were planning on watching your favorite movie, but do you think we could reschedule. Amanda’s going to be there and you know how long I’ve had feelings for her,” Dylan quickly stated, as though saying it faster would make it a more appealing idea. It was her birthday on Friday. It felt as though someone had taken a scolding hot knife and plugged it through her heart, only to fill it with bone-chilling water. She should have seen this coming, he always ended up leaving her for someone better.

Hayden hid the tears in her eyes as she quietly said, “Of course, we can go to the movies another time. Have fun at the party.” Hayden rushed toward her car, wanting to leave so no one could see her cry.

Dylan Hanson was her vision of perfect. He was intelligent, athletic, and took time out of his day to spend time with her.

Hayden couldn’t understand why she had killed him.

Hayden was trying to escape the real world with pages of ink and paper when she felt a chill go through her tall body. She wrapped the white knitted blanket closer to herself, pretending that it would protect her from whatever lurked in the shadows. What she didn’t know, was that she didn’t need to fear what was in the shadows, but the shadows themselves. And these shadows wanted revenge.

With shaking hands, Hayden started to remember what she hopelessly wanted to forget.

The crimson blood was messily splattered on the walls, like paint on an unprepared canvas. She could see an indescribable body on the ground ruining the fluffy white rug beneath it. There was a copper kitchen knife sitting still in the neck of what used to be a human being. Hayden looked at her trembling hands, that was covered in a warm liquid. Blood. She could feel her intakes of air getting shorter. Her heart was pounding in her ears making it impossible to focus on something else, anything else. She backed into a corner when the walls started to close in on her. She grabbed frantically at the enclosing structure, mentally begging for it to stop closing in on her. It felt like she had fallen into a river made only of rapids. Every time she tried to get air she was pulled down again. She felt her heart stop when she suddenly she heard a whisper, “He deserved it. You did the right thing.”

“No,” Hayden whispered to herself in denial. “He broke your heart over and over again. He didn’t deserve to be alive.” This was worse than riptides, this was a cold, dark, empty, never-ending ocean of nothingness. Hayden could only shake her head and whisper the same word over and over again as if it would change anything. How could all this have happened, when she was just visiting his house to give him his book back. She could only remember one thing. Her hearing whispering coming from the empty shadows of Dylan's house. The house of the man she just killed.

As she looked at the gleaming knife in her oddly still hands, she realized she should apologize first. She should apologize to the people that the blood on her hands belonged to. After Hayden set the sharp tipped knife on the floor, remembering where she put it for later uses. She then grabbed a piece of paper that was ripped from her journal, a pen from some insignificant drawer, and wrote the names of those she took the beauty of life away from.

First, she delicately wrote the name of her best friend, Dylan Johnson. She paused for a moment as she unwillingly thought back to how the next name or names joined the list.

"Hey Mom," Hayden said as she walked into the living room, only to look around, confused. "And Dad?" she questioned, trying not to show the disappointment flooding through her.

"Your father came home early. I thought we could eat dinner together," Hayden's mom explained. Hayden internally sighed, she could already tell that tonight wasn't going to end well.

But the fate of this dinner was already decided, and it was a lot worse than Hayden could have ever imagined.

CHAPTER II

The family of three was sitting in a beige booth, the elders on the same side of an imaginary war.

"Well, this is really fun," Hayden stated sarcastically, adding an annoyed eye roll at the end.

"Hayden," her mother scolded, looking at her with disapproving eyes, "Behave. Your father cut his trip short so he could see you on your birthday." The teenage girl loathed her frequently leaving father. Hayden could feel the frustrated gaze of the man who sat across from her, with an empty space where his heart should be.

"Your mother mentioned that you quit hockey, in spite of the fact that we spent a great deal of money on practices and equipment," the forty-year-old man announced, as soon as his ex-wife left to use the restroom.

"She also told me that your grades have been dropping recently," he continued, staring at his daughter with his topaz eyes. Hayden scoffed in disbelief. Now she knew the real reason he had come home, to tell her how much of a failure she was. Hayden shouldn't have gotten her hopes up, due to the fact that this wasn't even the first time it had happened and probably not the last.

"You need to get your grades up if you are going to an Ivy League school, which you are," Hayden's father firmly stated, leaving no room to argue.

“I’m really disappointed in you Hayden,” He said, searching her face for a reaction, “You’ve let down me and your mother.” Through Hayden knew he was wrong, she couldn’t help but feel her heart sink in her chest. She casted her eyes onto the tan table, trying to look anywhere but his unforgiving stare. "You should get a tutor. What about that smart friend of yours? Dylan, I think his name was." Mr. Wicklow glanced out the window. "Your mother told me that he has a job here, I wonder where he is." Dead. He was dead. She had killed him. It was at this moment when Hayden finally realized, that this wasn't a dream she was going to wake up from. This was the cold-hearted reality.

Hayden's ash-colored eyes were shining, as she remembered the rest of the night.

She plunged the knife deep into the man's ribs for the fifth time, not even fazed when more red colored liquid splattered on her roseate cheeks. The life had faded from his round eyes long ago. The long-haired girl sighed as if she was satisfied with what she had accomplished.

All of a sudden Hayden's almond eyes widened like she just woke up from a terrible dream. She felt as if her heart had stopped, as she realized what just happened. "No no no no no no," she wailed, shaking the lifeless body in agony. While trying to ignore the whispering from the dark corner of the room, Hayden, silently sobbing, grabbed the rough handle of the thin knife and gradually pulled it out of his chest. She had killed another man.

“He never appreciated you. He made you hate yourself.”

"No one should ever die like that," Her voice was hoarse as she whispered, while shaking her head, "No one deserves a fate that horrible." “He didn't deserve you, you should be glad you killed him.” I didn't mean to, was the single thought in the weeping girls head.

Hayden carefully wrote the name she knew her father by, Lucas Wicklow. The next name to be added on to the list happened on the same day as her father was murdered.

"Oh my god," Mrs. Wicklow blurted out, as she fell to the ground looking at the scene in front of her.

The only response the girl covered in blood had was a trembling, "I'm sorry." Hayden's mind was racing, thinking of any possible answers to this inconvenient problem. She couldn't think of any that ended well for both of them. Hayden looked at her bawling mother as a solution she hadn't thought of was whispered in her ear. Kill her.

"No, I can't," Hayden murmured, almost silently. “You need to kill her.” "No," the girl who was now had lost all emotions, repeated, more demanding this time. But her protests didn't matter as she looked into her mother's hazel eyes for the last time.

Ruby Wicklow was now written on the list, right beneath her husband. Hayden took her time writing the last name because it was the only name that deserved to be there.

Hayden grasped the shimmering luminous knife, humming the lyrics to an old lullaby. She aimed the blade towards a place on her next prey that would cause almost immediate death. The broken girl took a deep breath and closed her eyes, before suddenly shoving the knife into her victim's neck.

The last name on the list was written in perfect cursive. It read Hayden Wicklow.