I have plenty of time before work starts, but the heat is really kicking in, and I already feel myself slowing down. I put myself together and try to rush my legs a bit. Just as I start to walk faster, something unexpectedly falls on my feet. I look down. It’s a big, white envelope. I look surprised at it but still pick it up. No point in littering. I look at the name and the address on it.

They all belong to me.

I hear someone clear their throat. I look up and see a young girl, maybe in her mid-twenties. She’s slim, wearing a white t-shirt, black short, and dirty yellow snickers. The soles of her shoes are pink. I look at her shining blonde her. It’s wavy and reaches her shoulders. It seems to jump around when she moves her head. She stares at me irritated.

Freddy Marks?

Yes, that’s me. But how did you...

It’s a part of my job to know.

She crosses her arms and starts to chew a pink gum. She seems to be annoyed to even be here, let alone answer any stupid questions.

But I don’t understand. Who is this from?

I look at the envelope but there is no information on the back. I stare at my watch and notice that I am going to be late for work if I won’t stop talking to this girl. My mind is unmade as I stare at her snickers. I notice a purple skull drawing on her left shoe - it sparkles. I hear her clear her throat again, it seems to be a habit of hers.

Listen now, buddy. I was just supposed to deliver this to Freddy. So once again. Are you Freddy Marks? 55 Sherman Street, Bakersfield, California?

I feel unsettled when she bores those deep blue eyes at me.

Yes, that’s me, but...

No, that’s all I needed to know. Sign this.

She takes a piece of paper from the pocket of her black shorts, unfoldes it and hands it to me. She takes a white pen from the other pocket. I stare at the completely blank piece of paper, but I don’t move for a moment and notice her agitation grow. I feel my cheeks blush, even more, this time not just from the heat outside. I slowly take the paper and she turns around, pointing to her back. I furrow my eyebrows, not understanding for a moment.

Just put the paper on my back and sign the damn thing already. The pen doesn’t work otherwise, and apparently, I’m too “unreliable” to own a hard-pad. Whatever that means.

I do as I’m told and sign it. She turns around, grabs the paper and pen from my hand, and finally smiles. I’m so surprised by the sudden change in her attitude that I stumble back. She catches my hand before I can fall - and I take a deep breath, as I feel this strange electricity when her fingers touch mine.

You alright there?

Her smile turns into a smirk but she doesn’t let go. I force myself to be the one to do it.

Yeah, I think I will survive. It’s not like I got hit by the bus or anything.

She laughs out and my heart does an unexpected summersault. The heat must be getting to me more than I thought. This was a really weird day, and it started as such a boring one. I look at her and she starts to back away, already on her way. Then she decides to give me one more, long stare.

Pleasure doing business with you, Freddy. And make sure to do all the instruction as they are written there. Word by word.

What? What instruction? I don’t understand. Can you please tell me... wait, what is your name, and the company you’re working for?

She stops and gazes at me for a second. I start to sweat again.

Everything you have to know is in the envelope, stranger. All you need to know... and I’m Allison. Also, I don’t have a “company” or an office. I only have rules to follow - and those state: deliver the package. Done, finished.

Then who do you work for?

People, Freddy. I work for people. Now follow the instructions sweety pie, and everything will be alright.

She walks away quickly and I flinch as I stare at her hand. There is another envelope in there. It’s big and white. Just like mine. How did she do that? She doesn’t even have a bag. Just a t-shirt, shorts and a ridiculous pair of snickers.

I stare at the watch and freeze for a second. Then I break into almost a run and hope I won’t get fired. I feel the sweat on my forehead as my feet move faster and faster. My mind almost forgetting the envelope that is in my hand. Almost.

to be continued...

and here is part 2 from @tooldtocare

https://theprose.com/post/242914/the-package-part-ii

I get to work but I’m late, again. Mr. Gonzales notices I’m tardy and takes me aside to have a few words with me. “Mr. Marks your late for work again. I like you but if you’re late for work again, I’m going to have to let you go.” His voice is firm and swallow hard.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Gonzales. I missed the bus and I had to hot foot it here. It won’t happen again.” I replied.

“Make sure that it doesn’t. Now get to work.” He answers.

I leave without responding and get to work. Work is hectic and I’m distracted. I can’t stop thinking about the strange girl with the wild sneakers and electric touch. It makes it hard to complete my tasks in a timely manner and my co-workers are clearly irritated with me but it doesn’t matter. I would love to run into that girl again but something tells me that isn’t going to happen. Still, she did tell me her name so maybe if she wants to run into me again she could make that happen. What am I thinking like that for, a girl like that wouldn’t waste time with a guy like me. I try to put it out of my mind. I had work to do.

When my shift was over I remember the envelope I was given. Anticipation overwhelms me as I wonder what is inside. I slowly open the envelope which reveals a single sheet of paper. On the paper is a list of instructions.

Instruction #1. Read everything before doing anything.

Okay, I think I can do that.

Instruction #2. Quit your job.

Instruction #3. Go to the downtown library.

Instruction #4. Check out the book “War and Peace”.

Instruction #5. Buy a bus ticket to Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Instruction #6. Give the bus ticket to the first person you see after buying the ticket at the bus station.

Instruction #7. Eat lunch 2 days from today at Dave’s Taco Shop.

Instruction #8. Order the Grande Burrito.

Instruction #9. Put an AD in the local paper with the caption “Lisa, please call me 661-245-6532”

Instruction #10. Pay for the AD to run for three days.

Instruction #11. Go visit your mother in the hospital.

Instruction #12. Bring her flowers.

Instruction #13. Go to the downtown library.

Instruction #14. Return the book “War and Peace”

Instruction #15. Say my name out loud.

That’s a really weird list. I can’t quit my job, if I quit my job I’ll be homeless in two weeks and my mother is not in the hospital and at the end whose name am I suppose to say out loud. The whole thing didn’t make any sense to me. This girl shows up seemingly out of nowhere and makes me sign for an envelope that tells me to do crazy things and I’m just suppose to do it. I have a life. It might not be much of a life but it is a life. I put the piece of paper back in the envelope. Now instead of thinking about the girl, I wrestle with whether I am going to actually follow all these strange directions.

I hardly get any sleep that night. The next day I made up my mind. I go into work the next day and I tell Mr. Gonzales that I quit and after that I walk downtown towards the library.

If you want to read part I, you can find it here

https://theprose.com/post/242913/the-package

Looking up into her eyes, I see the annoyance and shock there. Staring, waiting for a reply, she simply looks back as if she is used to this sort of thing from me.

Again I look around. The entire place is foreign. Hell, she is foreign. I mean really, what was with the get up? Who the hell dresses like that? She looks like some sort of badly dressed school marm.

Snapping back to my confusion and fear, I respond to her and shake my head for some clarity. I recalled in the cartoons of my childhood the characters often shook their heads quickly with the sound of some odd percussion and miraculously they were cognizant of whatever clever thought had eluded them. Well, fuck, that didn’t work at all.

Do I play along that I’m this Mr. Lockwood fellow or do I come clean and admit that I haven’t the slightest idea who that is?

Well, being a man and in this extraordinary place that I don’t recognize, but in which I seem to be expected I figure I can play it off.

“Yes ma’am,” I say, “who is it that is calling? I have a screaming headache. I wonder, could you kindly take a message and find out...could I return the call?”

Ever so rudely, she strolls over to the desk and lifts the receiver. She pushs the button on the phone for the current line that it is flashing in her eye saying it is on hold.

“Hello, yes oh, excusez moi. Oui français. Juste un peu. Mon anglais est meilleur,” she spoke into the phone.

For some reason I recognize this as French and that I had been speaking English. She continues in English with much more ease. What I hear next starts to connect the dots, that is if had any dots to connect. I wasn’t even sure if I had dots or why the living hell I was talking about dots.

I heard her end of the conversation. She was reminding someone of my “condition” for which she used air quotes. My mind started to wander. I have a “condition?” What the fuck bitch?

Under further exploration with my eyes only I can tell that this space is unrecognizable because I’ve never been here before. All the glamour and glory countered what I know of my modest space. I really preferred my modest, lowly, semi tidy, almost clean place to the pretense and enormity of where I sit now. She continues to blather on on the phone. I forgot to focus and listen. So, now when I get the hell out of here I don’t where to go.

I stand on what feel like wobbly legs. Steadying myself on the arm of the couch I turn to look out the window. She is clearly eyeballing me and it makes me uncomfortable. I stand up straight and with all the confidence and nobility I can muster I start to walk toward the large sparkling clean window. About halfway there I feel the floor coming toward my face. How is the floor rising to meet me? With a sigh of all the air in my lungs and a sense of embarrassment I realize it’s not. I’ve gone to meet it. My lower lip rolls along the parquet floor as I come to a stop. Through the muffle of the cheap plastic soles I hear the arrival of the woman at my side.

She makes the tsk..tsk sound with her mouth as she leans down to, what I assume is chide me, but with a kind and loving voice she simply says, “ Here let me help you.”

Getting me to my feet I shuffle bedside her to one of those odd couches. I flop down with the exhaustion of an old man. She fusses at me that I can’t keep making those kind of sudden moves or I’ll face plant every time. Perpetually lost, I ask her why she is calling me by that name? She tells me because it is my name.

“Why are you lying to me? Who are you?”

“I’m not. I’m Mrs. Lockwood. I’m your wife.”

“That’s impossible, that’s not my name. Furthermore, I wouldn’t marry anyone who dresses like that!”

Her eyes downcast and with a quiver of her lip, she looks into my eyes. She places the soft warm palm of her hand on my cheek and holds it there. There are tears in her eyes and one escapes and makes a trail down the mound of her cheek and off onto and over her myriad wrinkles. I look back and wonder how I can be married to such an old, but stubbornly pretty woman. Wiping her tears with the back of her hand she helps to steady me to standing. Slowly we shuffle over to a giant gold ostentatious mirror. What I see looking back at me is an old man. Grey hair, sagging face, stray whiskers. I must have trouble shaving, and piercing blue eyes that are looked on by her face from next to my shoulder that is slightly hunched. She smiles the truest dearest smile. I know not why I don’t know her any longer. I’m sure I did one day and I believe we made one another quite happy, but all I know now is that I don’t know myself and I don’t know her.

Maybe she’ll call me Mr. Lockwood until I die and maybe I’ll hear her for that long. I believe her smile and her tears tell me all I can grasp at this time.

“Now lady can you take me to the tennis courts? I am going to be late for my match.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Lockwood.”

Nothing I see makes any sense. Everything is in a complete disarray. I live in a small studio apartment, just with one big room sectioned into a living area. But where I am now, is not a small apartment. Where I’m standing, there are so many rooms, with brown wooden doors. I own only a few things in my house that are worthwhile. But, I’m in a luxurious house, a mansion if you’d call it. I only saw such glitters and palaces on the covers of magazines or postcards. So, where I’m? What am doing in someone’s house? How did I even get here?

It feels surreal. I hope it’s just a dream, not a nightmare.

I am in the middle of a big room. The room has lots of windows and curtains, and all the blindfolds are fully shut. I only see a dim light at the end corner of the room, where the stairs are. Wait, stairs? My house doesn’t have stairs. Everything feels weird and are out of places. I close my eyes and open them again. Still, nothing changes. I am not in my usual house.

I managed to tiptoe towards the dim light and opened the curtains. Then I found all the light switches and turned the lights on. The room is now lit with lots of shiny lights, like the heavens you’d see in Hollywood movies. There are so many shiny and expensive items in the room, yet covered with dust. This is definitely not my house.

First of all, I hate dust. I mean that in a literal sense, because I’m allergic to moist and dust. This room smells so dump. That’s how I know, this is not my room. Everything is different. Second, the room is full of items I’ve never had—expensive jewelry, chandeliers, China cabinet, wooden mahogany dining table, or red dusty coaches. A red coach? Hell no! I am a fashionable man to know that the red coach doesn’t go with my living room. And on top of that, I can’t even afford to buy a sofa, let alone paintings I had only seen in modern art museums, which are now hanging on the walls of this strange dusty room. Everywhere. I don’t have a multi-level family house. But, I am staring at the walls going upstairs, they’re decorated with family portraits and photos in age orders. I can tell that by the way they’re arranged. I’m never married nor ever I had any kids. I’m the only child and never have I met my parents.

However, what my eyes see does not add up. It feels like I’m in a vault. Am I? Was I kidnapped and being framed for a robbery? I begin to shiver and look for an exit door, so I can just open it and run as fast as I could. But, I don’t know which one is the exit door though.

Too many valuables for one room to hold. This is absolutely not my room.

I only have a few things in my room. I sleep on an old worn out mattress on the floor, not on the bed. I have a computer desk. I look around and can’t find any of them. My wallet and car key are missing. I don’t see my 55 inch TV in my small and cozy living room. I don’t see my bookshelves. Oh no, where are my books? I don’t care losing anything, but not my books. I have collections of books from all genres. My entire living room is basically built into continuously attached bookshelves; it is rather a library than a living area, I suppose. I live and breathe books. Now, they’re gone. I see a sign that read “Library,” which I never had.

My head is spinning out of control as if I’m orbiting around the sun. Where am I? Where the fuck did all my stuff go? What’s that lavender smell? It is coming from the candles, lit and sitting on the long dining table.

As I look for a place to sit and unwind, I see someone walking towards me. She is tall, wore aprons, white shirts with black skirts and flat black shoes with white socks. When she gets close, her eyes look away and down politely. She puts her two hands behind her back and says, ”Excuse me Mr. Lockwood, there is a phone call for you. I forwarded it to your library desk.” I was really stunned. I frowned at her, as if she insulted me on public. My mind couldn’t process the latest information she just uploaded into my mainframes. I tried to speak but no words came out of my mouth. Finally, I managed to say, “I am sorry, who did you call me?” My eyes now are even opened widely and eagerly awaiting for her response. To my surprise, she said, “Are you okay Mr. Lockwood?”

She’s still standing there, until I responded. But, I remained silent.

My mind begins its quest. Where am I? Who am I?

Though nothing is still making much sense, I am processing all the available raw data. Maybe, just maybe, there is a chance that I might be who she said I am.

“Mr. Lockwood!”

"I'll trade philosophy for heart," says Mr. Popcorn. It's 2018, an era where profit and loss are viewed differently, and bartering standards are restructured upon the new rhythm, again. Mr. Popcorn has arisen from the sands, after being mummified and buried under the dust for so many years, along with his belongings; a handful of old papyrus and philosophy.

Where he came from, he was respected as kings, and as simple as a humble farmer. But, in this new era, he seemed worthless, vague and squishy, no one takes him seriously, for what he looked like. His outer appearance was quite miserable, like a hermit: His clothes were ripped off and dusty, his hair was all tangled and fuzzy; he walked barefoot and has no titles or royal jewelry on his shoulders. Mr. Popcorn had nothing but the handful of old papyrus and philosophy... And a body without a heart; as he walks across the nation looking for the only one who would trade him only his philosophy... for her heart, to restore his half-dead body, before his time in this world is over and the gods send him back to the eternity of nowhere, where he will be harvesting wheat from the field, for the rest of the eternity.

He started off his journey by wondering in the streets of the new era, observing the new world: The streets were noisy and people were always in a hurry. And when they spoke, they were too fast and loud. Sights were all over the surroundings, in all shapes, and in many colors, filled with psychological phrases like, "You Need This!" or "You Need One Of This, Like Everyone Else!" And the word 'Now,' was mostly used with two or three exclamation marks. Most of the people were on their "new technology" while walking, that they called it cellphone. They often walked in groups, black with black, and white with white. The rich ones walked with their alike, and so did the poor ones.

Mr. Popcorn sees all this and wonders, " does anyone has a heart, at all?!" it seemed so strange and unfamiliar to him. He was started to question whether they were humans or cyborgs. And whether he was in the right era.

In a perfect world, Popcorn would've been more than just a snack; as It was the most popular among kings, nobles, and even the common people, in the ancient world. But in this, new era, everything is different: We've always enjoyed a bowl of Popcorn while watching a movie or a football game... But not serious enough to set it on a dinner table.

In the ancient world, Mr. Popcorn was a popular philosopher, but no one knew his real name. People to called him Socrates, except his parents, Menes, and Kemet, and his ancient lover, Cleo, who was expected to resurrect from the dead in the same era as planned so they can find each other again, as they always have, but both got lost in the new world.

***

Maybe it was the Colonel he was after; in the state of being before the determinism settled him. One titled Colonel could proudly yet be anything; as known by the very pronunciation of his manifest destiny in the rolling of the phantom r... but Popcorn was Done. As a fact so was Tortilla, and Dorito; and even Nacho was just another flake with extra dressing. For all of them it was too late, as concerns the Heart of the matter. It was princesses like Cleo that fed into that eventuality; ordering this or that, and so seldom declaring peace by piece, such as by saying: hey, let these be returned to the soil. Ordering instead Nacho, and Dorito; or Tortilla; and only in the most pitiful caloric squeeze, asking for Mr. Popcorn, if you please. And no wonder he would exchange philosophy of Fine Living for heart, that his kernel too could have a chance to ripen without this pressure pot.

For all of her agreement, Cleo was too much in a hurry to see her lover to remember to lower the dial on the stove top across which barefoot he must inevitably walk. And so when he had sauntered in, at her bidding, his jacket ripped blowing his cover and branding him forever as it did. The coming and going of a passing fad, at times a quaint family tradition whilst watching specters on the screen as important in and of themselves as the colonel in their twisted status quo, regardless of the facets apparent; such as that there was no r in the heart of the argument.

Yes he would give up philosophy to keep the heart.

#dualpiece #challenge

"Mom! Dad!" screamed Lily from the living room. "Where is Bud?! Where is he!?" She burst into tears allowing her knees to give out underneath her. She lay flat on the ground sobbing as both her parents rushed into the room.

"Lily, sweetie, what's the problem?" The mom asked as calmly as possible. She made sure to stare into Lily's deep blue eyes to calm her down. Lily refusing to look up continued crying on the floor. "Sweetie, you have to get up and tell me what's wrong, otherwise I can't help you."

"Bud," was the only thing Lily sput out between tears.

"Honey, now what about Bud?"

"Bud!" Lily said louder fighting back the tears.

"Babe, you keep talking to Lily and I'll go look for the dog." Stan walked out of the room in search of the family dog. He checked the backyard, upstairs, and every bathroom in the house. He was in none of his usual spots. "C'mon Bud, here boy!" After her Dad said this Lily went silent, being hopeful that Bud would soar down the stairs into her arms. After a minute had passed Lily realized the dog wasn't coming. She layed flat on her back and cried louder than before. "Babe, come over here real fast." Lily's mom stood up and walked over to her husband standing in the kitchen, allowing Lily to scream off her tears alone.

"Do you know what happened to the Dog?" Lily's mom asked.

"No, but Maria, look what I found." Stan slowly raised Bud's collar from behind his back. "And look what's all over it." Maria stood there in disbelief. There were blood stains all over the collar. "Maria, I need you answer me honestly, did you get rid of the dog?"

"Me! Why would you accuse me of killing our dog!? I know I complain about it's inability to pee outside but I woud never resort to murder!"

"Maria, do you know where I found this collar?" Stan began to look deep into his wife's eyes. "I found this hanging in our daughter's bathroom, could you imagine how she would've reacted if she had seen this?"

"Stan, it wasn't me I swear!" Maria began to break down tears like Lily was doing in the living room. "I promise I didn't do it Stan! Please believe me!" Maria stood there, eyes filled with tears, with nothing else to say.

"Well, if you didn't do it, then we have a worse problem."

"A worse problem?"

"That little girl in the living room has no idea what happened to her dog, and neither do we. So how did this collar," Stan said raising up the blood stained leather "get into our daughter's bathroom?" Maria got wide-eyed and cupped her mouth. The two parents moved swiftly. Stan quickly made his way to the closet with a baseball bat that he saved for situations such as these. Maria made her way to their daughter, and between her yelling picked her up and made her way outside. Stan slowly walked upstairs, carefully opening every door to minimize the noise. He entered every room, and checked behind every door. There was nobody else in the house.

"Bud! You came home!" came Lily's voice from outside the house. Stan sprinted down the stairs and outside to see for himself. Sure enough it was Bud, but he was sitting at the end of the street. Not moving, not barking. Stan could see Lily chasing after the dog, and Maria chasing after Lily. Stan too ran towards the dog. "Bud, what happened? You need a bath." Maria saw Lily's completely disregard for the blood all over Bud, but even she was relieved that the dog was coming home.

"Lily, do you mind if I check Bud for any ouchies?" Stan asked Lily.

"OK," was the cheerful response that came from Lily. Bud was completely fine, then where did this blood come from? Upon being carried into the house, Bud recieved a bath. Lily fed him and watched her favorite show on TV while using him as a pillow.

"Guess there's nothing to worry about," Maria walked in on her husband watching the dog from the kitchen.

"I just don't understand how that collar was hanging in our daughter's bathroom, why Bud was full of blood, and why he was all the way out down the street. And when we were calling for him, he didn't even move. It's like he doesn't even know us." Just as Stan finished his statement Bud turned his head to look directly at Stan. Stan, staring back found this kind of funny, until he realized that Bud started to bark at him. Over and over and over again. Stan just stood there, without a response.

"It's OK, Bud! You're home now! Go to sleep!" Lily told the dog. And he did. Stan blew it off.

Later that night in bed Maria told Stan to take it easy, beacause everything worked out. "But I still have an uneasy feeling."

"I know you do, but just let this one go. Our daughter's happy, which means I'm happy. And when I'm happy, I can make you happy."

"Oh, can you now?" Stan turned to Maria on the other side of the bed. But they were quickly interrupted by Bud entering the room and staring at Stan. "What's wrong Bud? Are you okay, want something to eat or drink?" But Bud never moved. Just sat there staring at Stan. "You see Maria, this is the tyoe of weird stuff I'm talking about!"

"Stan, look..." Maria's face began to grow pale looking in the direction of the dog. Stan quickly turned to see for himself. The dog's eyes, they were... red.

“Bianca” the voice called out “Stop, mother said keep it down”.

Not being able to play her music as loud as she normally would to block it out, she stares at the Vinyl records and pretend to hear them, but it doesn’t work.

“Mother is a liar”

”Stop”

”Mother is a snake”

“Stop, please”

She sits in a corner of the room rocking herself.

Flashbacks begin to play in her head, flashbacks that are not her own.

A cry fills the halls of the house bouncing from room to room.

“Hello beautiful, don’t cry, Bianca shall be your name, a pure soul like yours, your name shall define you Anima Bianca.”

Bianca meaning white in Italian, a color you picture on Angel robes and something Holy but what came next was nothing of the sort but the complete opposite.

Doors began to open and shut, windows slamming, shattering the glass and stomping throughout the house, something familiar to Bianca.

The Midwife begins to scream “Diavolo! Anima Nera” she then grabs a scalpel and butchers the mother on the bed and slits the throat of the Doctor delivering the baby.

Bianca knowing by now she is looking through the eyes of her father she is screaming in his head “Nooooo” as she witnesses the murder of her true mother and the doctor that had delivered her, the father screams as well, while grabbing his head, frozen in place, shocked of what is happening.

The Midwife then begins to cry as she stares at the baby in the bed who had exited the womb and knowing she couldn’t bring herself to harming the child, she drops the scalpel.

Anima Nera, she says again..which meant black soul in Italian, then grabs the baby and hands him over to the father.

“Anima Nera shall be your name”

The house goes quiet the doors and windows stopped slamming, the stomping silenced and all you can hear was the blood dripping from the blankets where her mother laid dead, against the pool of blood on the floor.

She looks at the midwife realizing she is the one she calls mother for the past 18 years of her life, and then she stares at herself through the eyes of her father and then her sister.

She then finds herself back in her room, no longer rocking herself but smiling to herself…

“Anima Nera?”

She asks sitting across a girl that looks just like her.

Meanwhile Mother and the Guest

“How is she?”

“She is perfectly healthy but still will not say a word”

“Well she did kill her father at 5, that would damage any kid”

“I Thought it was suicide?”

“She made him take his life, just like she made me kill her mother and doctor, she’s evil, her father was never the same since that night”

“Yes, i know, I’ve hid her for 16 years at 18 I’m not sure I can keep hiding her”

“In a church with your beliefs is the best place for her…”

“where is she now”

“Waiting in the car, I thought it would be time to come clean and tell her about her sister, I’m too old and my brother would have took his life long ago if it wasn’t for you, so thanks to you he continued to live after the death of his wife…I’m sure she would understand that you been protecting her all this time”

“so glad, I called you that day”

Back in Bianca’s Room

“It was always you Bianca you killed Mother the Doctor and you would have killed me, if father wouldn’t had stopped you, he had our gift as well”

“No...it can’t be”

“That’s why I showed you what happened only father and you could see what happened...it wasn’t father’s eyes you saw through but your own, your jealousy, you would not share father with me or mom”

“I don’t believe you”

“That lying lady you call mother blamed me because of you...you put those thoughts in her head...you fed her those lies and father believed it..after 2 years of hating me he finally gave me to his brother the priest…telling him to cure my black soul and told you I died…”

“why are you doing this...why?...I don’t believe it”

Once again she finds herself in a flashback

She watches her Father as he sits in his office in tears and watches as her younger self walks in.

“Daddy why are you crying”

“Sorry Bianca.. just missing your mommy and sister, I’m so sorry they are not here with us to watch you grow, I was to weak and cursed her with something you will never understand”

“Daddy.....you got me”

“sorry”

“Yes daddy...I’m sorry too”

As she forces him to put the gun to his head

He makes no attempt at stopping her because at that point he realized, Bianca was the Anima Nera.

“Sorry daddy, I should have been enough”

Back at the room

“you made yourself forget Bianca, but I won’t let you and that’s why I have always visited you, slam your doors stomp your floors, flicker your lights but I’m done playing games, time to pay, for mom....for dad”

“No...no...no…”

“PULL THE TRIGGER!!!”

A loud bang is heard echoing around the house and the room door swings open and the Priest and Mother stare into the room with Bianca laying on the floor with a bullet to the head and a gun in her hand.

“Anima Nera!”

“Hello,....Mother.”

I bought the dirtiest shoes from Goodwill today. The only reason I bought them is because I would NEVER and I mean NEVER buy them in real life. But today was different. This time I will and am going to be different.

“And am!” With conviction, I say out loud. Getting a little more confidence the longer I stand in front of the mirror and eye fuck myself.

It’s true though. This time is different. Well even if it isn’t, I’m making it different. I came to the conclusion that I can’t make a mistake if “I” am not making one. I’m such a good actor.

I can’t believe this is happening again. Who is Freddy? Why him? I wonder if he knew Adam. I liked Adam. Actually, I was obsessed with Adam. I was his puppy. He was the master. I wanted to be his puppy( his bitch).

“Ok fine!” I yelled at myself. So hard too. I think I peed a little on my pad.

That stupid voice. Why is it making me do this? Again!

This time I’ll lie. And I’ll say my name is Allison.