the southern wood, day 6

The white light breaks the colors that entrapped me in the terrible hallucination. I wake up back in my own bed to the sounds of Lyds and Kat running downstairs. My mother calls after them in her endearingly strident voice, saying something. It’s mostly likely about the gossip of the District. My mother’s ability to hear everything while not being subtle is a skill that I will never understand. Janae is standing in front of the closet, looking for an outfit to wear for the day?

“Where are we going?” I ask groggily as I sit myself up, trying to make the scenery in my room clearer. The edges are still blurred as the weariness of the morning slowly dissipates. I can hear her voice, but cannot make out the words. It’s as if I’m still lost in the dream, trying to find my way back into my own body. Janae doesn’t wait for my response as she steps behind the divider to get get changed.

“Good morning Papa,” I say to him cheerily as I kiss the top of his head. I don’t remember dressing myself, but I find myself downstairs in father’s office, his face buried in the newspaper as takes a sip of tea.

“Good morning dear Izzy, hope you slept well.” He responds, his own voice sounding like it’s not fully awake either. I turn to the mirror that sits above the mantle of his fireplace. Neither of our faces are clear as our reflections are blurred colors trying to imitate us.

“When was the last time the house cleaner came by?” I ask as I start to reach for a clean rag. Only I now find myself in the dining room, Moira playing the piano quietly as my mother and I clean up after breakfast.

“I’m telling you Izzabel, we need to find you a good man soon. While your beauty is only second to your sister’s, your recalcitrant attitude isn’t going to attract many young suitors.” The tremble of her nerves shakes in her voice.

“Mama we’ve already discussed this I-“ Something stops me in my tracks.

“Why is there someone with red hair walking outside?” I ask as I try to get a better angle from the window.

“My dear Izzy, what are you talking about? You know Charlize has mousy brown hair. She’s about to become a spinster at her age. Oh what the Lucases must think having a grown daughter still at home at her age. If only she were as handsome as you or Janae” My mother rambles on as she starts to head towards the kitchen. I don’t even bother trying to explain myself to her as I make my way out towards the back, not realizing that the plates that were my hand had disappeared.

I turn the corner to see a girl dressed rather peculiarly, as if she was dressing for a faire of some kind. She’s adorned with tunics and britches, boots on her feels, and a leather belt adorned with an empty sheath. Her body is covered in cuts as the blood flows from the various wounds, yet she walks as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. She turns the corner and when I follow, I’m greeted by the sight of a young blond girl.

She’s missing a leg, and when she looks up at me, a blade is sticking out of her eye. She smiles when we make eye contact contact, and I let out a silent scream. Her smile is kind and warm, and she acts like nothing is wrong, that this is just a typical day for her. Panic rises like bile in my throat as I turn back to run into the house, only to be ambushed by the sight of Moira slumped over the piano.

Crimson paints the ivory keys red as it spills freely from her body. I try to escape into my father’s office only to find the sight of damn maroon paper covering his body. In every room I find a different family member, bleeding and posed in some sort of grotesque position, I keep running around until I finally end up in my room room, and walk into the sight of me standing over Janae’s body. The smile on my other self is twisted as I look down at her, blood pooling from her throat as I hold a blade in my hand.

She turns up to look at me, the blade twisting almost gleefully between her fingers as she cocks her head to one side. Why would I do this? Why would I kill my own family? Yes they annoy me at times but I truly love them dearly, why would I do this?

These thought spiral in my head as I fall to my knees, not even feeling the impact of the force of the hardwood floors. The last thing I see is the other, twisted version of me now stand over me, dagger ready to strike.

_[DARS]