in my head // pilot

The night was treacherous, glinting mischievously with black blood and smiling silently in the darkness with all of my deepest fears and horrendous nightmares embedded into it’s rotten teeth. The monsters revealed themselves from under my bed, they emerged from the shadows of my closets. They crept under the glow of the slow moon light, peeking up at me with hazy gazes and yellow eyes. Layers after layers of blanket don’t stop me from shivering or from my teeth rattling in my mouth. We don’t speak, we only stare, as I pray silently begging to God to save me from whatever horrors lie before me. Sweat dribbles down the back of my neck and forehead as the night drones on, and I continue to imagine what other sufferings I must go through tonight. Even with my eyes clenched shut, and sleep sweetly calling me to dream haven, I am jolted from such slumber from the creak of the floor boards, from the wind knocking on my window. Paranoia runs through my tired brain, and I can not stop the scenes playing in my mind.

Oh, but what imprints in my mind aren’t these sickly, hazy eyed creatures. Despite their unflinching stares, they all remain innocent to me - they pose no threat upon me other than plain fear itself. No, the voices that curdle my own and twists inside my fragile and feeble mind is what makes me want to scream and tear out my hair. The voice that whispers sacred nightmares and horrific images of death. It buries me alive in my own pain, and I suffocate, gasping hard to survive yet another sleepless night. Oh, Blanche, why must you fight against me? It murmurs in a sigh - as if disappointed at my reluctance. It’s breath tickles the bare flesh of my ear as the words graze against my skin. I only tremble, and feel my response grow into a lump in the middle of my throat. There was once a princess named Blanche Derilium. She lived in a tower by herself, longing company and friendship for she had nothing but solitude. These words send me into a tremor. It isn’t until I feel my lungs violently shaking that I've realized that I stopped breathing. When, one day the princess was blessed with a friend. Yet, she casts her new friend away. Only making it cling to her even closer. The sick fairy tale leaves me screaming bloody obscenities, and even as my throat goes rasp as it exhausts my chilling cries, it cannot mute the voice and it’s haunting tale.

I don’t sleep this night. But, then again, I hardly ever do.

But still, I cling onto the first ray of Sun that will stream through my bedroom window in the morning, like a banner of rich silk. I desperately hold on to this morning light, knowing that if I dare let go, I will be dropped into the darkness of the night. Leaving me more scarred and scathed than ever.

And, when this hopeful banner finally makes its first golden and long awaited appearance in my room, the sweat clamped on my forehead smooths away as the voice kisses me good bye for the night. Good bye, good bye for now. Oh, but I’ve lived long enough for me to realize that the voice will always come back by the time I least expect it to. I recoil wildly as I feel it touch me, but relax ever so slightly once I know it has retreated for the morning.

And this leaves me with only my own voice to worry about.

Sit up, Blanche. This is me. I know it’s me because of the shaky unsteadiness of my voice, whereas the voice is never unstable. Breathe, Blanche. I do. My chest and rib cage aches as I heave in a gulp of the musty air.

I don’t bother changing out of my dressing gown, instead, throw on a long pea coat that almost completely covers the gauze material. I don’t bother looking in the mirror to untangle the wild nest that serves as my hair, because I know that my reflection will reflect a hideous monster shattering the glass into pieces instead of reflecting me. Or maybe I really am just that hideous monster. I leave the horrible room before the voice can stop me from doing so.

It’s early in the district. Too early for anyone to be awake. My hands and knuckles are chilled to the bone as the sun barely begins to peek over the horizons like a seemingly curious child. The events surrounding me send me into a wild frenzy - I witness talking mice on the sides of the damp street, I witness a group of men using each others eye balls as targets to throw darts in, I refuse the tempting urges to enter a gaping hole in the middle of the street that beckons me to enter it. It’s nothing new though. Nothing weirder than what I’ve seen before. Some “normal” bystanders who see me yelp at the talking mice, or gasp at the group of men, or avoid the large hole raise a quizzical brow at me. I don’t return it, though, once their faces begin to morph into that of bloodied corpse. I keep my eyes to the ground, a small song bubbling on the edges of my lips to keep the images out. This only gains me more stares of the walking corpses.

The ringing of a bell indicates my entering the coffee shop. I hear people shift in their seats as they spot me - ”the freak.” None make room for me in their tables, so I turn to the tiny counter, where only few other customers sit. I take a seat next to a man bending over his coffee.

I don’t order, not just yet. I sit with my fingers twiddling on the counter before me, intently staring at them as if my life depended on it.