When I was twelve my parents took me to the eye doctor. I’d begged them not to, told them repeatedly through angry tears that I was FINE. I just saw things differently. They never liked that answer, and after years of me going to sit in chairs and ending up on the floor and going to walk through doorways and slamming face-first into walls they brought me in for an appointment.

The doctor ran a series of tests, all of which gave inconclusive results that only made my parents more concerned than before. When asked to read the letters projected up on the wall I could do that just fine. When I told the doctor that the projected image was also upside down underneath the first one on the wall like a mirror copy she’d give me a concerned look and mark little notes on her clipboard with a red pen. When she asked if I’d ever experienced any double vision I told her that I saw everything with a mirror image beneath it. Finally she removed the glasses from the tip of her nose and asked me what I saw when I looked at my parents. I told her that they each had mirror images connected to them by their feet, moving when they moved like 3-dimensional shadows.

A few days later I found myself admitted to the psychiatric facility.

I was diagnosed with schizophrenia not too long after and was kept on a constant, strict regimen of medications that made my body feel like it was dissolving into human applesauce. My parents visited me less as I grew older and the company of the caretakers didn’t make the ward feel any more comfortable. After years of being told that I was ill (in front of my parents) and disturbed and unfixable (behind closed doors) I began to resort to spending the majority of my time staring at my blank ceiling, the one space where I couldn’t see double of anything. It was the one place where I couldn’t look down at my feet and see my own copy of myself staring eerily back with a sinister inhuman expression. I knew that whoever was looking back wasn’t me; I couldn’t shake the thought that these copies would come for me someday.

Now it is 2048, I am 23 years old and all I have to say now is that I knew I was right all along. I always knew I wasn’t mentally ill. I’m writing this letter to explain the circumstances to whomever comes across the carnage that has sadly been left behind. All of this time I wasn’t seeing double: I was seeing a flipside to our own world. Everything is exactly the same there; we control what’s created and destroyed there through our movements, we control who moves. The only thing we couldn’t understand how to control until it was too late was the bloodlust They had. And they found their way here to ravage our world.

I’ve watched the nation and state flags be brought down to half mast on multiple days each year. During these days the high school student body and the staff take a small allotted amount of time to commemorate whatever tragedy, death, or sacrifice is being acknowledged; it’s during these days that I wail the most.

My voice echoes through the halls, down the stairwells and into the courtyards yet no one hears my cries. Though my body can no longer cry, I still feel as though I can feel hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I know it’s just a memory that I can’t shake. Phantom pain.

No one hears me or sees me. No one acknowledges my tragedy because it’s been kept hidden. The entirety of my existence has been forgotten, just another cold case added to the files that people curl up on their couches to watch just for the suspense.

It’s been almost twenty eight years since the principal of this high school committed that horrendous crime, the one I’d caught him in the act of doing while on my way out of the building after a track-and-field practice. If I’d just taken a different stairwell to the parking lot or hadn’t turned back when I did to look for my water bottle I never would have seen him handing over those bags of white powdered narcotics to the supposed janitor, taking a wad of cash into his pocket in return. Running didn’t get me far that day. All it took was the prick of a needle and the firm grasp of crazed masculine hands; I’ve been trapped in here ever since then, ever since he knew that his career would be done for unless he got rid of me.

Students and teachers alike walk past me every day but they cannot see me. My body now has receded to a dusty, empty skeleton nailed between the lockers of the second floor and the wall of the building. My teeth have fallen out of my jaw and litter the floor like dead flies. My wrists, now receded to brittle twigs, are still crossed in the same position that they were bound in behind me. The needles he used to pump my blood full of drugs lay rusted near my decayed right hip. My last memory before the overdose stopped my heart is the view from here. The small pocket my strangled and drugged body was dragged into and trapped in has a tiny crack in the wall that looks out to the courtyard. I can still see the flags from here, shifting in the wind. I can’t remember what the wind feels like anymore; I was fourteen years old when I “went missing.” All I feel now is the dark, empty cold that comes with being alone forever.

There’s something so sad about being forgotten.

I bet there’s something even more sinister about never being able to walk through this place without me trapped here, always watching.

Needed, not wanted.

I always grew up with my ‘friends’ telling me that I was needed by my family, not wanted by my parents.

When I was young I thought they loved me.

Each time they stuck needles in my arm or laid me on a cold metal table and told me to “hold still sweetie, the doctor is going to make you feel better!” I believed them. I’d cry then, not because each pinch of lidocaine burned my flesh or the scalpel glinted closer with each labored breath, but because my parents would leave me in the room by myself with the doctor and the nurses.

At five years old, I used to cry when they’d leave me back then.

Now, I don’t cry.

At least not for them.

At eight years old, my parents had me taking a cap-full of chalky pills each morning and night.

“You need these, they’ll help you get better!”

Fake smiles.

Still, I took the damn pills, allowed the drowsiness to overcome me, to numb my emotions, dull my awareness.

They love me, they’re doing this because they love me. They want me. I’d tell myself with each gulp.

At ten years old, I had my kidney removed along with some bone marrow. The pain was excruciating. I was hospitalized for weeks, stuck sucking on ice chips while my father drank away his own pain out of the water bottle we all knew wasn’t water from the corner of the hospital room.

My parents told me I’d gotten too sick and one of my kidneys had to be taken out in order to make me feel better. As for the marrow surgery, I didn’t know what it was for. Mom just told me that the doctors needed to run tests.

My friends kept urging me each day while I was in the hospital to see what their parents had told them was going on.

“You’re needed, not wanted, Kenz. You need to see it.”

I cut off all relationships after that; the only friends I had from then on were the characters on the TV screen from the corner of my room.

Over the years, the doctors removed more parts of me, injected more medicines, told me I was too sick to live without the treatments.

Little did they know that I was learning.

I didn’t want to learn.

I needed to.

Now, at seventeen, I’m writing this log from the janitor’s closet of DCMU hospital. Whoever finds this, call the number I’ve left on the back of this letter. I know the truth now; I want freedom from this. I know now my parents only conceived me to be my sister's donor, the sister I never knew I had. I was never the sick one. She was. All of those meds over the years, just sedatives to keep me in the dark. I have to go, but please tell my parents I know the truth. I was never wanted.

I was needed.

First, the sensation of her head resting on her palm. Then, the softest whisper of a sleepy breeze lifting the light wisps of hair from her face. Next, a warmth across her cheek that made her still-closed eyes squint with a curious confusion. All of these sensations invited Lina to wake.

She sat up slowly, fluttered open her eyes and inhaled sharply with amazed wonder. The door to her small enclosed closet in which she sat inside was wide open, revealing a large window that was, too, open to the world beyond; a sight she’d never seen before. Reaching an arm out to the room beyond the closet, she found that there was no barrier between her and it. She stood in amazement and spotted the large oak door to The Bedroom swung wide open like the one to the closet. Without a second thought or question in mind, she flew through the doorway.

And she was free, free from the hell that had kept her closed in for years. There were no chains on the doors, no rules printed and plastered on the walls, nothing of the sort. Just open doors and windows, all inviting her to step out to the world. As she passed through hallways and rooms, making her way to the front door, a tugging sensation at the base of her head tingled in her mind, and she slowed. A recollection. A memory. Who was she supposed to be? Where was she supposed to be? Just as soon as it came it evaded her thoughts, and she shrugged it away, cheering joyfully and skipping out of the open front door and onto the sidewalk.

Lina twirled and danced through the unfamiliar sunlight she had never had the chance to feel before. The amber leaves below her feet crunched with every step, and smells unknown to her gathered her in their embraces, guiding her towards the small town down the street. She laughed and sang with the birds in the trees above as her legs carried her farther and farther away from the house.

The town was marvelous to Lina. The people, dressed in a beautiful array of clothes she’d never worn, all living their lives. She skipped amongst them, tracing the uneven cobblestones with her bare feet. She marveled at the street musicians as they became one with their instruments, the melodies they created lapping at her ears like warm ocean waves, waves that she;d never touched before.

After some time, Lina sat on a bench in the shade of a small tree of which she did not know the name and took a moment to watch the people go by. She smiled at couples walking hand in hand as they chatted with one another, often sharing fond glances. She admired the beautiful hat of one woman walking alone through the crowds, humming to herself and waving one hand gracefully as if conducting the beautiful harmony of the world beyond her fingertips. Then Lina lay her eyes on a joyful family of four: a mother, father and two young daughters. The eldest daughter was playfully twirling her sister's hair while the younger complained to their cheerful mother. Once again, that tugging sensation in Lina’s mind grasped her thoughts, and the foggy memory of a young girl swam into her consciousness. Lina tried to shake it away, to stay in this precious moment of the world she’d escaped to, but her recollections only clutched her tighter. The house, dark, dim, closed doors, shut windows. Muffled cries, follow the rules, follow them! Pain, a blow to the head, to the back, to the chest, to the leg, to the heart.

Lina looked down at her arms to see massive bruising, cuts gaping across her forearms and hands, raw skin, swollen.

Could never hide. Never scream. Sit straight. Take it like a champ. The pain won’t last. Just be good, and he won’t hurt you. He, him, Thomas. Thomas was his name. Be an example. For her. Her. Her name. What is it? Her name? Mari.

And she was snapped from the memories. From the blissful world she’d allowed to obscure her eyes, a world she had never experienced before this day and would never experience again. Mari, her sister. Her poor, poor little sister, still at the house. Left to Thomas, alone, to his rules, his regimen, his torment, his greed, his pleasure, him. Tears coated her cheeks, the cheeks that had earlier welcomed the sunlight, now guilty for soaking in its lulling nectar.

She rose from the bench and began to run up to the people on those uneven cobblestone streets, begging for help, for forgiveness, for anything. Not a single person stopped, or even took a glance in her direction. She shrieked to the sky, like a hatchling fallen from her mother’s nest, yet not a single person took notice. Lina grabbed one man’s arm, but he continued on his way without a word. Fear replaced her prior joy. She sobbed and began to run back to the house. The leaves below the soles of her feet scraped at her skin, the birds now screeched in a dissonant chorus. Her toes caught on a crack in the asphalt, and she stumbled to her already mutilated knees. With cries of terror, she rose to her feet and sprinted back to the house.

She followed the maze of rooms and hallways, all the while screaming one name, the name she had sworn to never forget. Mari. Her little sister did not come running to her, did not cry out. Lina wailed as she came to a halt in The Bedroom, and there she discovered her sister, knelt on the dirty floor alone. Lina approached her slowly and registered that the floorboards were soaked in thick blood.

“M-Mari?” Her voice wavered and broke with trepidation. Her sister did not respond. Lina advanced until she was just behind her sister. That was when she saw her.

The body lay in front of Mari, cold, pale, drained, dead. It was covered head to toe in bruises and cuts, and its head was caved in from a heavy blow. Its eyes were open, staring blankly up at the ceiling, the lips gently parted, revealing broken teeth. Lina fell to her knees in horror and wailed in dread. It was her, lying lifeless upon the cold ground, her own perished body. She was dead.

Her sister did not cry, did not yell, did nothing but stare with wide enlarged eyes, like a small bluebird being squeezed so hard the eyes were bursting from the head. Yet Mari did not take flight out of those open doors. She remained there, just watching with young eyes that aged too quickly while Lina, still screaming, faded to nothing. Away went her short lived life beyond The Bedroom, the hell she’d survived for so long. In the end, it couldn’t be real, for in the end, even she no longer was.

Solemn chords of resonation wafting through the chilled air.

Our music wraps its gentle arms around the fearful passengers of this great ship one by one, pulling them into a soft embrace momentarily before releasing them to their final resting place below the water's surface.

A fragile, temporary grasp on life that soothes them ever so gently.

We are fearful as well of our own fates as the steel arms of our mother creak and crack beneath the pressure of tons of icy water.

We feel the temptation of the tremble of a lip gnawing at our mouths, the urge to scream and wail for our misfortune as we sink lower into this freezing hell,

Yet we have a duty to the people, to try and keep some calm within the storm.

So we guide our bows over these tender strings and inhale our sweet melodies with each breath.

Though our impact is small and the effects of our sweet harmonies is brief, the provision of momentary solice from the horror unfolding is enough to keep us playing 'till the end.

'Till we end.

-The Institute= Stephen King

-Wings= Aprilynne Pike

-Where the Mountain Meets the Moon= Grace Lin

-The Thing With Feathers= McCall Hoyle

-The Stars at Oktober Bend= Glenda Millard

-The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe= C. S. Lewis

-Their Names are Mine= Rajnii Eddins

First, the sensation of her head resting on her palm. Then, the softest whisper of a sleepy breeze lifting the light wisps of hair from her face. Next, a warmth across her cheek that made her still-closed eyes squint with a curious confusion. All of these sensations invited Lina to wake.

She sat up slowly, fluttered open her eyes and inhaled sharply with amazed wonder. The door to her small enclosed closet in which she sat inside was wide open, revealing a large window that was, too, open to the world beyond; a sight she’d never seen before. Reaching an arm out to the room beyond the closet, she found that there was no barrier between her and it. She stood in amazement and spotted the large oak door to The Bedroom swung wide open like the one to the closet. Without a second thought or question in mind, she flew through the doorway.

And she was free, free from the hell that had kept her closed in for years. There were no chains on the doors, no rules printed and plastered on the walls, nothing of the sort. Just open doors and windows, all inviting her to step out to the world. As she passed through hallways and rooms, making her way to the front door, a tugging sensation at the base of her head tingled in her mind, and she slowed. A recollection. A memory. Who was she supposed to be? Where was she supposed to be? Just as soon as it came it evaded her thoughts, and she shrugged it away, cheering joyfully and skipping out of the open front door and onto the sidewalk.

Lina twirled and danced through the unfamiliar sunlight she had never had the chance to feel before. The amber leaves below her feet crunched with every step, and smells unknown to her gathered her in their embraces, guiding her towards the small town down the street. She laughed and sang with the birds in the trees above as her legs carried her farther and farther away from the house.

The town was marvelous to Lina. The people, dressed in a beautiful array of clothes she’d never worn, all living their lives. She skipped amongst them, tracing the uneven cobblestones with her bare feet. She marveled at the street musicians as they became one with their instruments, the melodies they created lapping at her ears like warm ocean waves, waves that she;d never touched before.

After some time, Lina sat on a bench in the shade of a small tree of which she did not know the name and took a moment to watch the people go by. She smiled at couples walking hand in hand as they chatted with one another, often sharing fond glances. She admired the beautiful hat of one woman walking alone through the crowds, humming to herself and waving one hand gracefully as if conducting the beautiful harmony of the world beyond her fingertips. Then Lina lay her eyes on a joyful family of four: a mother, father and two young daughters. The eldest daughter was playfully twirling her sister's hair while the younger complained to their cheerful mother. Once again, that tugging sensation in Lina’s mind grasped her thoughts, and the foggy memory of a young girl swam into her consciousness. Lina tried to shake it away, to stay in this precious moment of the world she’d escaped to, but her recollections only clutched her tighter. The house, dark, dim, closed doors, shut windows. Muffled cries, follow the rules, follow them! Pain, a blow to the head, to the back, to the chest, to the leg, to the heart.

Lina looked down at her arms to see massive bruising, cuts gaping across her forearms and hands, raw skin, swollen.

Could never hide. Never scream. Sit straight. Take it like a champ. The pain won’t last. Just be good, and he won’t hurt you. He, him, Thomas. Thomas was his name. Be an example. For her. Her. Her name. What is it? Her name? Mari.

And she was snapped from the memories. From the blissful world she’d allowed to obscure her eyes, a world she had never experienced before this day and would never experience again. Mari, her sister. Her poor, poor little sister, still at the house. Left to Thomas, alone, to his rules, his regimen, his torment, his greed, his pleasure, him. Tears coated her cheeks, the cheeks that had earlier welcomed the sunlight, now guilty for soaking in its lulling nectar.

She rose from the bench and began to run up to the people on those uneven cobblestone streets, begging for help, for forgiveness, for anything. Not a single person stopped, or even took a glance in her direction. She shrieked to the sky, like a hatchling fallen from her mother’s nest, yet not a single person took notice. Lina grabbed one man’s arm, but he continued on his way without a word. Fear replaced her prior joy. She sobbed and began to run back to the house. The leaves below the soles of her feet scraped at her skin, the birds now screeched in a dissonant chorus. Her toes caught on a crack in the asphalt, and she stumbled to her already mutilated knees. With cries of terror, she rose to her feet and sprinted back to the house.

She followed the maze of rooms and hallways, all the while screaming one name, the name she had sworn to never forget. Mari. Her little sister did not come running to her, did not cry out. Lina wailed as she came to a halt in The Bedroom, and there she discovered her sister, knelt on the dirty floor alone. Lina approached her slowly and registered that the floorboards were soaked in thick blood.

“M-Mari?” Her voice wavered and broke with trepidation. Her sister did not respond. Lina advanced until she was just behind her sister. That was when she saw her.

The body lay in front of Mari, cold, pale, drained, dead. It was covered head to toe in bruises and cuts, and its head was caved in from a heavy blow. Its eyes were open, staring blankly up at the ceiling, the lips gently parted, revealing broken teeth. Lina fell to her knees in horror and wailed in dread. It was her, lying lifeless upon the cold ground, her own perished body. She was dead.

Her sister did not cry, did not yell, did nothing but stare with wide enlarged eyes, like a small bluebird being squeezed so hard the eyes were bursting from the head. Yet Mari did not take flight out of those open doors. She remained there, just watching with young eyes that aged too quickly while Lina, still screaming, faded to nothing. Away went her short lived life beyond The Bedroom, the hell she’d survived for so long. In the end, it couldn’t be real, for in the end, even she no longer was.

First, the sensation of her head resting on her palm. Then, the softest whisper of a sleepy breeze lifting the light wisps of hair from her face. Next, a warmth across her cheek that made her still-closed eyes squint with a curious confusion. All of these sensations invited Lina to wake.

She sat up slowly, fluttered open her eyes and inhaled sharply with amazed wonder. The door to her small enclosed closet in which she sat inside was wide open, revealing a large window that was, too, open to the world beyond; a sight she’d never seen before. Reaching an arm out to the room beyond the closet, she found that there was no barrier between her and it. She stood in amazement and spotted the large oak door to The Bedroom swung wide open like the one to the closet. Without a second thought or question in mind, she flew through the doorway.

And she was free, free from the hell that had kept her closed in for years. There were no chains on the doors, no rules printed and plastered on the walls, nothing of the sort. Just open doors and windows, all inviting her to step out to the world. As she passed through hallways and rooms, making her way to the front door, a tugging sensation at the base of her head tingled in her mind, and she slowed. A recollection. A memory. Who was she supposed to be? Where was she supposed to be? Just as soon as it came it evaded her thoughts, and she shrugged it away, cheering joyfully and skipping out of the open front door and onto the sidewalk.

Lina twirled and danced through the unfamiliar sunlight she had never had the chance to feel before. The amber leaves below her feet crunched with every step, and smells unknown to her gathered her in their embraces, guiding her towards the small town down the street. She laughed and sang with the birds in the trees above as her legs carried her farther and farther away from the house.

The town was marvelous to Lina. The people, dressed in a beautiful array of clothes she’d never worn, all living their lives. She skipped amongst them, tracing the uneven cobblestones with her bare feet. She marveled at the street musicians as they became one with their instruments, the melodies they created lapping at her ears like warm ocean waves, waves that she;d never touched before.

After some time, Lina sat on a bench in the shade of a small tree of which she did not know the name and took a moment to watch the people go by. She smiled at couples walking hand in hand as they chatted with one another, often sharing fond glances. She admired the beautiful hat of one woman walking alone through the crowds, humming to herself and waving one hand gracefully as if conducting the beautiful harmony of the world beyond her fingertips. Then Lina lay her eyes on a joyful family of four: a mother, father and two young daughters. The eldest daughter was playfully twirling her sister's hair while the younger complained to their cheerful mother. Once again, that tugging sensation in Lina’s mind grasped her thoughts, and the foggy memory of a young girl swam into her consciousness. Lina tried to shake it away, to stay in this precious moment of the world she’d escaped to, but her recollections only clutched her tighter. The house, dark, dim, closed doors, shut windows. Muffled cries, follow the rules, follow them! Pain, a blow to the head, to the back, to the chest, to the leg, to the heart.

Lina looked down at her arms to see massive bruising, cuts gaping across her forearms and hands, raw skin, swollen.

Could never hide. Never scream. Sit straight. Take it like a champ. The pain won’t last. Just be good, and he won’t hurt you. He, him, Thomas. Thomas was his name. Be an example. For her. Her. Her name. What is it? Her name? Mari.

And she was snapped from the memories. From the blissful world she’d allowed to obscure her eyes, a world she had never experienced before this day and would never experience again. Mari, her sister. Her poor, poor little sister, still at the house. Left to Thomas, alone, to his rules, his regimen, his torment, his greed, his pleasure, him. Tears coated her cheeks, the cheeks that had earlier welcomed the sunlight, now guilty for soaking in its lulling nectar.

She rose from the bench and began to run up to the people on those uneven cobblestone streets, begging for help, for forgiveness, for anything. Not a single person stopped, or even took a glance in her direction. She shrieked to the sky, like a hatchling fallen from her mother’s nest, yet not a single person took notice. Lina grabbed one man’s arm, but he continued on his way without a word. Fear replaced her prior joy. She sobbed and began to run back to the house. The leaves below the soles of her feet scraped at her skin, the birds now screeched in a dissonant chorus. Her toes caught on a crack in the asphalt, and she stumbled to her already mutilated knees. With cries of terror, she rose to her feet and sprinted back to the house.

She followed the maze of rooms and hallways, all the while screaming one name, the name she had sworn to never forget. Mari. Her little sister did not come running to her, did not cry out. Lina wailed as she came to a halt in The Bedroom, and there she discovered her sister, knelt on the dirty floor alone. Lina approached her slowly and registered that the floorboards were soaked in thick blood.

“M-Mari?” Her voice wavered and broke with trepidation. Her sister did not respond. Lina advanced until she was just behind her sister. That was when she saw her.

The body lay in front of Mari, cold, pale, drained, dead. It was covered head to toe in bruises and cuts, and its head was caved in from a heavy blow. Its eyes were open, staring blankly up at the ceiling, the lips gently parted, revealing broken teeth. Lina fell to her knees in horror and wailed in dread. It was her, lying lifeless upon the cold ground, her own perished body. She was dead.

Her sister did not cry, did not yell, did nothing but stare with wide enlarged eyes, like a small bluebird being squeezed so hard the eyes were bursting from the head. Yet Mari did not take flight out of those open doors. She remained there, just watching with young eyes that aged too quickly while Lina, still screaming, faded to nothing. Away went her short lived life beyond The Bedroom, the hell she’d survived for so long. In the end, it couldn’t be real, for in the end, even she no longer was.

Her cold, sunken eyes flowed rivlets of thin tears

A vacant gaze masking a foreboding iciness as she glared at me

My fault, for making her cry

Each tremble from her lip emitting a soundless cry of desolate despair

Her hand occasionally reaching for me, but sinking to her sides at the realization that this dreary prison of glass was inescapable

Limbs trembling in agitation, like an insufferable withdrawal from the inevitable opium

But not opium, just an oppressively-low self esteem

My fault, for stripping her view of herself bare

Each day, we part

Each evening, we return to this ghastly prison, watching one another grapple with this sickening shroud of self hatred

I make her weep, and her thoughts become dull and dark

She faces me, forced to grapple with the weight of centuries upon her torn shoulders

I watch as her mind recedes into the shadowy, decayed chambers of her consciousness and crawls away from the reality around us

A malady I cannot heal, for her, for us

As evening is brushed away by the onset of nightfall, she lets out a melancholy cry into the gloom

And it is in this moment that I step away from the mirror, and I see her no more

Not until the next evening when we meet in front of that deceiving glass again.