Fiction. Oksana Leslie (Mobil, USA). Your body is my prison

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Fiction. Oksana Leslie (Mobil, USA). Your body is my prison

Post by Admin on Thu Jan 11, 2018 6:34 pm

Фантастический триллер «Твоё тело — моя тюрь-
Люди — тюремные камеры для преступников с
Восемнадцатилетняя девушка из Флориды Мишель
— социопат, она не умеет чувствовать окружающий
мир как все нормальные люди. Девушка становится
виновницей аварии, в результате которой погибает
её пятилетний братишка, а мать становится инва-
лидом. Отчим Фред ненавидит свою жизнь и делает
всё, чтобы испортить падчерице её существование.
Сознание-душа преступника с Кассиопеи, Тави,
помещено в тело Мишель и вынуждено познавать
мир землян через неё. Открыв в себе инопланетя-
нина-убийцу, Мишель сначала рада контакту с Тави,
ведь она давно мечтала о чём-то подобном, но вско-
ре такая странная дружба становится ей в тягость.
Девушка принимает решение помочь Тави обрести
Но срок отбывающего наказание измеряется не
временем, а пролитой кровью. Тави и Мишель долж-
ны пережить муки и смерть в разных земных носи-
телях во время сна девушки. Оба попадают в разные
страны и умирают в разных телах… Мишель и Тави
с ужасом открывают для себя планету землян, на
которой уживаются три сотни стран и пять тысяч
языков и встречаются зверские варварские риту-
алы и бездушные, циничные люди. После каждого
кошмара тело девушки оказывается в крови или рас-
терзанным на куски, и Тави приходится поработать
над регенерацией её тканей, прежде чем она сможет
встать, принять душ и собраться с мыслями.
Сможет ли Мишель помочь Тави обрести свобо-
ду и какой ценой? Получится ли у героини обрести
свободу от диагноза «антисоциальное расстройство
личности» и как? Как тренинг по управлению снови-
дениями спасёт всех?
Твоё тело — твоя тюрьма, если ты в это веришь.

Chapter 1
Dream to meet an alien…
My hand clutches a sharp blade. Blood stains my
sweaty palm. My leg muscles have become stiff from
Why am I sitting in a small closet and snooping on
a couple in bed? Why do I hold the knife in my hand?
I am lurking like some kind of creep from a horror
movie. Why am I shaking with anger and resentment?
A giant mirror hanging on the wall above the bed
reflects beautiful, young, sweaty bodies. They are
enjoying each other; I squeeze the blade until my
palm bleeds. No pain.
A naked girl shakes her long, pink curls. What
kind of freak with low self-esteem would dye her hair
pink? So immature! I would never dye mine pink or
purple. The girl gets off her partner and walks away to
use the bathroom. Her lover with light-green hair is
gleaming with sweat. Another freak, I guess.
I feel a ring of heat around my neck, and my heart
is pounding; my blood feels like it might burst from
my veins like a fountain! I come out of the closet
silently, jump on the bed, and stab the young man in
his groin. He makes an unsuccessful attempt to stop
me and grabs my throat. I move the knife up to his
heart. His hand weakens from blood loss. I lower my
face to his wide-open eyes and exhale so my breath
becomes his last sigh. His pupils dilate, his green eyes
blink rapidly; his palms squeeze the bed sheets as if
they can give him the vibrant, living energy to survive
until help arrives. My victim’s lips whisper a weird
word I have never heard before. “Tavy…”
What is a tavy? Is it a name? It’s certainly some word
from a language that I do not know.
The white sheets turn red, a beautiful, bright, vibrant
crimson. My knees, hands, and clothes are soaked,
and I am nauseated from this warm blood bath. Why
am I doing this?
As I sit on the dead, naked person, my eyes move
from his face and check the mirror above the bed. The
face of a stranger with purple eyes and freaky purple
hair stares back at me. Who is he?
The bathroom door opens. There she is, the girl
with pink hair. She starts screaming, but I do not
understand her words. I jump off her dead lover and
strike her with the knife.
I attack her viciously, as if I want to rip the whole
world apart with each strike. She falls on the floor and
tries to cover her head.
Oh my God, she has my face! Am I killing my twin?
Michelle woke up in a cold sweat and sat on her bed.
Whoa! What a nightmare! A crazy, absurd nightmare.
The teen had never been a fan of horror movies.
It would make sense to have such nightmares if she
watched TV shows or movies like Dexter, Saw, or
Hostel. Michelle was sure a person’s mind would
unconsciously get creative by making a bloody
Rubik’s Cube of a nightmare after watching such
horror shows.
The sight of blood always drowned the girl’s senses.
Even shows and videos featuring wild animals ripping
their prey apart and devouring them with voracious
appetites gave her goose bumps.
In other words, the teen had no plans of becoming
a nurse, a criminalist, or even a blood donor.
Michelle could never murder someone like she had
in her nightmare, even in the body of a hot-blooded
stranger. Even now, his hatred still burned in her.
The murder had definitely seemed “premeditated,” as
they say in crime movies. He had known who had to
lose their lives and why. The crime had seemed to be
a well-planned act of revenge. Michelle rubbed her
eyes wearily. The violence of the bloody nightmare
stayed with her several minutes after waking.
She looked around her cozy room. Years ago, her
dad had painted the walls in bright pink for his little
princess. He was gone, but the color, like the imprinted
memory of him, remained. The room had shelves
with books, a desk, a chair, a bunk bed, a dresser, and
a mirror. Usually, Michelle slept on the bottom bunk.
The top bunk was full of childhood plush toys, the
gifts from her deceased father and her grandparents.
She could never toss them out of her life like ordinary
The girl got up and started to brush her dark-brown
hair while standing in front of her dresser. Michelle
was an average eighteen-year-old from Florida. She
was not like skinny, anorexic models from magazines,
nor was she overweight. Her body had no scars or
tattoos. Angelica, her mother, had taught her daughter
to impress people with charisma and her mind rather
than with tattoo art or piercings. Michelle liked
herself. Her face had no pimples or freckles, and her
features were neither too small nor too large. The teen
had dark eyebrows and eyelashes, and brown eyes.
Angelica mentioned occasionally that her daughter
had her dad’s features; the blood of Native Americans
ran through her veins.
Michelle’s skin had a golden tan; her family owned
a swimming pool and lived near the beach on the
Gulf of Mexico. Of course, she was aware of harmful
ultraviolet rays and skin cancer. Her family never
went swimming for the whole day. They knew it was
safer mainly before eleven in the morning or after five
in the afternoon.
Michelle stared at the mirror, remembering her
dream. The girl from the bloody nightmare was
Michelle’s weird double.
The girl was still in her pajamas when she took her
laptop and got comfortable at her desk. The screen
awoke, displaying a picture of her nineteen-year-old
boyfriend, Steve. He was standing in the water of the
Gulf and holding Michelle in his arms. Steve studied
art and clothing design in a local college. The boy had
soft features, and was a very quiet and polite person.
Michelle called him her “kitten,” because he was such
a laid-back type of person. Steve was her only friend.
Other girls at school were too absorbed with
texting, selfies, boys, computer games and makeup.
Michelle was rarely invited to sleepovers or birthday
parties; she hated crowds and all girly things seemed
too ordinary for her.
People’s obsession with sports seemed boring;
she just could not understand the appeal. When
everybody cried during a movie, Michelle felt like an
outcast, because she did not feel like crying. While
reading books, it was hard for her to visualize the
story. She comprehended all words, followed the
plot, got the point, but could never relate to any of
characters or root for them.
Unfortunately, Michelle had not done so well on
her SATs, and had not been accepted to any colleges
during her first round of applications. Now, she had
to figure out what to do with her life. Should she get
some kind of job or study to retake the SATs and try
applying to college again? Perhaps both.
Michelle browsed the web. What did scientists
have to say about dreams? According to one website,
dreams could be passive: a person sees events but
does not participate in them. Other dreams, in which
the dreamer participates, are active. Dreams can be
in color or in black and white. She found millions
of answers about nightmares on the Internet. Some
scientists believed the sleeping brain builds narratives
to make sense of daily life.
An unrelated link caught her eye, and she clicked
it. It was a video of a UFO. The thought of aliens and
UFOs astounded her. She had no doubt there were
some people out there who had been lucky enough
to capture a moment of alien presence on Earth. Why
was her life so boring? Why couldn’t she be the one
to spot a real UFO or to have an encounter with a
different civilization?
Michelle looked at a sky map on her wall. One day
she might become an astronaut or an astronomer.
She was not sure. She wanted to touch the sky, to feel
unique, not to live her life like everybody else.
The teen glanced at a desk calendar. She had to get
ready for another boring Mass. Her mother had tried
to instill Catholic faith in her children, and attending
church was their Sunday routine.
Angelica believed human life was neither a
chessboard nor a rainbow, but a zebra. Therefore,
while a person was going through a “black” period of
sufferings and problems, a “white” period was near.
She had heard many times how important it was to
be a member of the church, to participate in their
activities, and to volunteer. That way, when you hit
a hard time, you would not face your desperation
alone. Church members would help you. Angelica
prayed to God asking to cure her daughter from
antisocial personality disorder. Michelle was a quiet
melancholic teen who treated people with callous
indifference. Angelica believed that God would
intervene one day, his way…
Chapter 2
Weird Regeneration
Michelle lived in an old ranch house in the small
tourist city of Pensacola. The city sat on the Gulf of
Mexico, four hours away from New Orleans, five
hours away from Atlanta, and eight hours from
The girl had no doubt her family was very ordinary.
Her mother and stepfather, Fred Redmond, did not
have any influential connections, specific dreams, or
goals; they sought neither glory nor adventure. They
didn’t even vote.
Angelica and Fred believed in a shadow government,
which chose the next president despite national
voting. They never wasted time registering to vote
or learning about presidential candidates. Despite
this apparent apathy toward politics, Angelica spoke
her mind often. This made her family either antigovernment
or politically confused; Michelle was not
sure which.
They celebrated Thanksgiving with a stuffed turkey
and mashed potatoes like many Americans. They shot
off fireworks on New Year’s Day and Independence
Day. Sometimes they had pool parties, invited
neighbors for barbeque, and fed wild birds and forest
Every day Michelle’s family gathered in their little
kitchen with a dine-in corner table, a stainless steel
refrigerator, and oak kitchen cabinets. Angelica had a
large mirror in front of the dining table, which made
the room look bigger and nicer. Michelle’s mother
was a slim woman, but she was very scared of getting
fat. Seeing herself in the mirror at each meal helped
her leave the table without overeating. Two deep,
stainless steel sinks were by the window, which had
a wonderful backyard view with a swimming pool,
green lawn and flowers. The light from the window
made the kitchen a cozy and bright place. Three potted
orchids in ceramic pots with holes for aerial roots
were showing off their lavish blooms and nesting like
sisters on the windowsill. Sometimes dead flowers fell
in the sink or into the hands of a family member who
did dishes. Orchids were Angelica’s hobby, because
they didn’t require a lot of her time and care. Three ice
cubes were placed into each pot every Sunday; leaves
were cleaned with banana peels.
Fred was making pancakes for breakfast with
the affection of a chef; he looked like a perfect
househusband with his white socks, his favorite,
funny Taz slippers, shorts, and an apron that stated,
KissThe Cook. Michelle didn't wonder why her
mother bought him such an ordinary apron with an
old cliché. That's what ordinary people did, right?
He and Angelica had been married for six years.
Fred was a handsome, well-built, muscular man
with a shaved head and cold eyes. He was capable
of looking at people with such sharp glances that he
might as well have been cutting them with a butcher
Angelica had always imagined her husband in a
Hollywood movie playing a Viking or a gladiator.
Every time she witnessed him cooking, she couldn’t
help but comment that her husband was so sexy and
adorable! Angelica sat at the table and smeared fruit
yogurt on her hot pancakes.
Austin, their five-year-old son, savored his breakfast,
dipping his pancakes and fingers in agave syrup. A
chunky boy, he looked like a cute teddy bear without
fur. Michelle adored playing hide-and-seek with him
and snuggling with him as if he was a living toy.
When Michelle came to them, she wore a bright,
short dress and a pearl necklace.
“Good morning,” she greeted her family.
“Good morning,” echoed Austin and Angelica. Fred
Breakfast made by Michelle’s stepdad was as normal
a part of her life as their two domestic cats, white
Jasmine and orange Tiger.
Michelle had hoped to discuss her nightmares
with her mom, but decided to let her finish breakfast
Angelica was a slightly built woman with long
red hair. She changed her hair color every year to
compensate for missing adventures. The family lived
on her paycheck and never travelled to go to Orlando
or on a cruise. Neither Angelica nor Michelle ever
visited other countries or left Florida. Once a year
she had vacation time, but she never saved money for
travel. Therefore, dying her hair spiced up her life.
Angelica liked pizza, sushi, popcorn, chips, and
bubble gum. She chewed her gum frequently unless
food was in her mouth. Michelle’s mother donated
blood during holidays and went to the local Catholic
church on Sundays. At work, she found time to read
books and magazines and browse Facebook and
Google. Angelica liked the freshest news and rumors,
the best songs, and the funniest YouTube videos.
She had time for this, because her profession was
Michelle’s mom worked as a somnologist in a
sleep center. She worked a graveyard shift, slept in
the daytime, and did not spend much time with her
family. Angelica chose the profession of somnology
because, as a squeamish introvert, she did not want
to deal with food, people, money, dust, or blood.
Angelica monitored patient’s sleep all night and was
happy with her dream job with minimum stress and
minimum communication.
“Mom, you observe people sleeping. Does anybody
tell you their dreams?” Michelle finally asked.
“Only once. I had a patient who was trying to
convince me he visited different planets while his
body rested. So many confused people in the world.
Well, I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist. They
are the ones whose job it is to listen to a bunch of
delirious patients and prescribe meds.”
“Don’t you have dreams?”
“I never remember mine; they do not bother me.
Why, are you having nightmares?”
Fred was silent, eating his pancakes while standing
by the stove.
Michelle nodded. Should she confess or not? Would
her mom send her to a psychiatrist? Why irritate her
mother with conversation she would consider stupid?
“Thanks for the breakfast, Fred. Delicious as
always.” Michelle got up and tossed her paper plate
into a trashcan. “Did you feed the cats?”
Fred, an ideal househusband, took the apron off
abruptly and threw it on the kitchen counter. He
looked at Michelle as if he was insulted. “Are you
questioning my manhood? Of course I fed Jasmine
and Tiger.”
“Honey, you are perfect!” Angelica purred as she
got up from her chair and kissed him.
From Michelle’s point of view, Fred was a loser. Her
uneducated stepdad had no relatives and had served
time in prison for drug possession. After jail, he had
stayed in a shelter for men with criminal backgrounds
where they learn skilled trades and the word of God.
The shelter had saved many troubled souls from a life
under a bridge or back in jail.
A pastor had owned the shelter, and his mission
had been to teach and transform wicked souls. Fred
had considered any religion as brainwashing ideology
that he deplored. However, he had listened to the
Bible study lessons and planned to escape the place.
He had despised sharing a kitchen and a bedroom
with a bunch of strangers. The pastor used to drive
a bus with the shelter’s residents to the church, and
Fred had always been on the lookout for a woman
who would rescue him from his miserable existence.
Angelica’s heart had not yet healed from the loss
of her husband; she had been vulnerable. Fred’s
sweet words had been like sticky syrup in which her
sensitive soul stuck like a fly. They had married, and
Fred had received everything he wanted: a wife, a
paid-off house, a son, and his job as househusband.
He enjoyed his life. Michelle disliked Fred because
of his dark past and househusband role. One day,
she had asked him what he would do if her mother
died. He had been brutally honest with her. Angelica
had life insurance; he would not have to worry about
getting a job and would continue to wrap his life
around Austin.
Fred gave the girl a dirty look when she took out a
pack of hotdogs from the fridge. Fred did the budget
and the shopping, and tried to save money; ironically,
he always purchased organic foods and meats without
“I paid three dollars for those! This is the last time
you feed feral cats with our expensive hot dogs! I am
sick of you wasting food. Get a job and use your own
money for a change!”
Michelle nodded and walked to the back door.
Austin got up, wiped his mouth with a napkin,
and tossed his plate into the trashcan. “Thank you,
Daddy.” He liked feeding wild animals and hurried
after his big sister.
Their subdivision was near a forest. Squirrels,
opossums, raccoons, armadillos, and turtles roamed
in people’s yards. The Florida summer was oppressing
everybody with its humidity and heat even in the
morning. The summer months were annoyingly hot,
but the other seasons were full of blooms, nice warm
weather, and perfect winters without snow. Michelle
had grown up in the subtropics and enjoyed the
The backyard faced a forest with evergreen oak
trees, magnolias, wild blackberries, and dwarf palms.
Yellow and red roses, white gardenias, and hibiscus
bushes with huge orange flowers were growing along
the wooden, gray fence that lined the yard. Fred had a
habit of cutting the grass every two weeks. Their lawn
around the sparkling-clean pool looked immaculate.
A porch with columns had ordinary patio furniture
and a grill.
Michelle and Austin walked through the yard to the
open forest area. They began to tear off pieces of hot
dogs and throw them to the feral cats. These cats were
litters of the domestic cats that her family had had a
hard time giving away.
Austin got on all fours and began imitating cats.
“Meow! Meow!”
One of the cats got mad and territorial; maybe the
animal thought Austin wanted to take the hot dog
back. Its paw reached out for the boy, but Michelle
picked her brother up quickly.
Somehow, her pearl necklace broke and spilled all
over the grass. Austin avoided the attack, but Michelle
got scratches several inches long on her hand. “Ouch!”
The teen tried to keep her hand away from soiling
her dress. She held her little brother and walked to
the back door, the pain in her hand quickly subsiding.
The back door opened, and Angelica appeared all
dressed for church. “Please, hurry. Time to go, sweet
angels!” She went back inside.
Michelle put Austin down and was ready to clean
her injured hand when she stopped short—the cuts
had closed and looked perfectly fine. Even the pain
was gone.
Fred was sitting with his legs up on a coffee table,
watching a recording of his favorite show, A Thousand
Ways to Die. He paused the show as soon as his wife
walked in. Angelica and her daughter did not like his
bloody shows, but he was going to enjoy them after
they left for church.
Fred stared at his wife with a critical eye. She was
wearing a pink dress and boots. He rolled his eyes.
“Are you wearing that again? You should throw them
“But why?”
“That pink is nauseating. I am ashamed my wife
would wear such ridiculous clothes.”
“I received those boots and this house from my
mother.” Angelica smiled and tickled the plush Taz
head on her husband’s funny slipper. “Are you coming
with us?”
Michelle and Austin came in through the back door
and washed their hands in the kitchen sink. Michelle
marveled as the blood on her hand washed away to
reveal untouched skin. Then she heard a small part of
the conversation between Fred and Angelica.
“No, I won’t go. I work all day long cleaning,
cooking, doing yard work, and taking care of Austin.
I am overwhelmed and crowded! I would love to take
a little break from everybody.”
“Yes, time to savor a creepy show about all kinds
of weird deaths,” Angelica snapped, her patience
wearing thin. “I wonder about your mental health!”
Fred snorted dismissively. “Earth’s history is a road
paved with lots of weird deaths. I just need some
alone time.”
Angelica stomped her foot. “Sometimes I want to
do absolutely nothing, see absolutely nothing, and
worry about nothing,” Angelica pronounced aloud,
and then opened her pink purse, got a piece of a gum,
and popped it in her mouth.
Instead of continuing to fight, Fred and Angelica
hugged and kissed each other and headed for the
car. Fred buckled Austin up in the back seat while
Michelle climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted
her mirrors. Fred kissed his son on both cheeks. “I
love my sugar pie!”
Austin hugged Fred’s head. “See you later, Daddy! I
love you, too!”
Michelle started the engine. The girl had been
confident behind the steering wheel since she was
sixteen. She looked again at her arm where the cat
had attacked her. There were no scars or marks of
any kind from the incident. She chuckled to herself.
Maybe I’m not so ordinary after all.
They drove through her subdivision, admiring neat
lawns and blooming oleanders, roses, and jasmine.
She slowed down by Steve’s home. He was standing
outside by their silver SUV, waiting for his father,
Chris. They attended the same church as Michelle’s
family. Michelle and Steve waved to each other. She
blew him a kiss and continued driving. A smile shined
on her pretty face.
They exited the subdivision and stopped when the
traffic light turned red. Suddenly, the girl’s cell phone
started to sing a song in her purse, which was resting
near Angelica’s feet. Michelle tried to reach for her
phone, but Angelica slapped her hand away angrily.
“Never answer phones when you are driving! If
anything happens to us, Fred will eat you alive!” she
Michelle bit her lip and did not say anything.
The traffic light winked with its green eye, and the
girl continued driving until she noticed something
dark in the grass on the side of the road. She turned
on an emergency signal, swung the car to the right
side, parked, and got out of the vehicle.
Angelica looked out her window. “What is going
Michelle showed up by her door. “I think one of
our cats was hit by a car and needs help! I want to go
check if we can save her.”
Austin rolled down his window. “I am coming with
you! Unbuckle! Unbuckle! I want to save the kitty,
“No, I will be right back.”
Angelica turned the radio on, took some deep
breaths, and began tapping on the glove box with her
fingernails to some new radio hit. Some group named
Icona Pop was singing: “I crashed my car into the
bridge. I don’t care!”
As Michelle got close, she realized the cat was
already dead. Maggots were carving into its body; the
revolting sight would stay with her for a while. The
girl’s lips twitched as the odor of death crawled inside
her nostrils and made an unforgettable imprint on
her senses.
After a few moments, Angelica unbuckled her seat
belt, and got out. She did not look at the road kill,
but slammed the door hard. “So? Any luck saving the
“Too late.”
“Did you really think a wild animal would let you
take it to a veterinarian, sweet angel? Who would pay
for surgeries? We cannot afford to spend thousands of
dollars on cats wounded along the side of the road.”
She spat out her gum and got back into the car.
As Michelle climbed into her seat, she muttered,
“Maggots are an abomination on the world.”
“What are maggots?” Austin was curious like any
“Maggots are worms. They exist in us. When we
die, they become free. Our bodies are their jails.”
Michelle’s words came out of her involuntarily.
Angelica clapped her hands. “Beep. Wrong answer.
Maggots are the larvae of flies. They do not live in our
bodies. I think your ignorance is your jail, darling.
If you would not get so involved with ufology and
aliens, you would be a college student by now. Let’s
go. We are going to be late for Mass because of you!”
Michelle didn’t argue. She primped herself in the
rear-view mirror. The popular hit still blubbered
nonsensically on the radio: “I crashed my car into the
bridge. I don’t care. I love it. I don’t care.”
The girl began repeating the song. “I don’t care. I
love it.”
Michelle didn’t look as she slammed the car back
into gear and swung onto the road abruptly without
Steve was driving their family SUV. He saw the car
with emergency signals on the side of the road, but
did not expect it to move right in front of him in the
blink of an eye. In the last moment, he recognized
Angelica’s vehicle. The boy did not have enough
time to stop; the SUV crashed full speed into the car,
overturning it.
Angelica, who hadn’t buckled her seatbelt, bounced
off the car roof like a ping-pong ball. As the vehicle
rolled into a ditch, a metal rod flashed like a spear
through the car’s door, piercing Austin’s body. The
boy’s last scream merged with the groaning of the
metal around them.
The SUV’s airbags deployed, escaping their plastic
prisons and punch both mother and daughter in their
beautiful faces. Michelle’s hands were not holding the
wheel anymore. They were hugging the airbag.
Michelle’s thoughts, like a disturbed ant nest, were
screaming aloud.
Stupid me! I caused a car wreck! Is mommy all
right? Who is going to call an ambulance? How is
Austin doing?
The girl glimpsed the clear blue sky through the
broken windshield. Chunks of glass were scattered
everywhere and were embedded in her flesh. Nausea
twisted her stomach at the sight of her own blood.
Then, suddenly, the pieces began to jump out of
her wounds. An annoying, loud noise flooded her
head like the static of a broken radio. Michelle’s skin
knitted back together and the pain melted away.
When she was healed, the radio in her head stopped
transmitting the ugly whispering as if someone
turned it off with a switch.
“Michelle! Are you okay?” Without the noise,
Michelle could now hear Steve’s voice. Steve and his
father had escaped the accident without injury. They
called 911 immediately. Several other cars pulled
over and parked in order to help the survivors until
the police arrived. Before she could respond to her
boyfriend, Michelle lost consciousness.
However, her consciousness did not really get lost;
it was merely placed elsewhere for a time.
Chapter 3
A Purple-Haired Killer
My leg muscles are numb from squatting. I am
watching a young couple through a small closet
opening. They are having intercourse. Their clothes
are scattered on the floor.
I am holding a knife in one sweaty hand and its
blade in another. Scant blood painlessly appears on
my damaged skin.
The naked girl with pink hair, my doppelganger that
I have seen before, has left her boyfriend to go to the
bathroom. Her naked lover with green hair is lying
down with his eyes closed. I know what is going to
happen next. I have no desire to leave the damn closet,
but I have no control over my body. I remember that
I am inside the killer, and I can do nothing about it.
I feel a ring of heat around my neck, and my heart
is pounding; my blood feels like it might burst from
my veins like a fountain! Again, I am emerging from
the closet.
I jump on the bed, and stab the young man. The
blade moves through his flesh with ease, and I feel joy
with each new wound in his ripped skin.
The lover attempts to stop me and grabs my throat.
However, his hand is getting weak. I lower my mouth
to his wide-open eyes and trembling lips and breathe
in his face. My breath will be his last. His palms
squeeze the sheets and his lips whisper, “Tavy…”
“Rocks!” I whisper back.
For some reason, I have an understanding that
Rocks is the victim’s name. I conclude that the killer’s
name is Tavy. I have no feelings of my own in this
body. They have merged with Tavy’s.
I raise my head and examine my face, the killer’s
face, in the mirror above the bed. Tavy is a young
male with amethyst hair and amethyst eyes. If hatred
could blossom, his eyes would be like two purple
lavender flowers. His skin is pale white like vampires
in the movies. Sweat appears on his smooth forehead.
He is a handsome, crazy boy.
Rocks is dead. I look around through Tavy’s eyes.
There is the bathroom on one side of the room, and
an entry door and the closet are on the opposite
side from the mirror and the bed. The room has no
windows or furniture. The fourth wall is smooth and
metallic, with no art or windows, but I can feel it has
some function.
The bathroom door opens. It is weird to encounter
myself naked with stupid pink hair. I would never dye
my hair pink. Her happy facial expression disappears
when she sees me upon the dead Rocks.
“Alrami, darling, what a wonderful way to spend
your spare time behind my back! I decided to join
you. I am sorry for being late.”
“How could you? Do not get near me!” Alrami
covers her ears and her deafening screams fill the air.
“Help! Help!”
“Despicable, shameless liar!” I yell, stabbing her
with my blade while a burning vibration tightens
around my neck.
Alrami’s cries seem to set off a unique alarm. The
ceiling starts blinking and changes colors. A deafening
sound of sirens fills the room. The metal wall folds
noiselessly like vertical blinds. A blinding light pours
in, stopping the bloody nightmare.
I freeze and squint my eyes. Several shiny balls spin
and fly into the room through the opening in the
wall. Two of them rush to my victims, grow in size,
and turn into some sort of healing cocoons. They lift
Rocks and Alrami into the air and carry them away. I
am stunned to witness this.
Somehow, I realize that those balls are robots;
they function like ambulances or police would on
Earth. One ball floats above my head and emits a red
beam that touches my forehead. An invisible power
forces me to my knees and I drop my bloody blade. I
experience no pain; the fire loop around my neck is
gone. The beam has a tranquilizing effect. I fall down
on my face among my victims’ clothing. The siren
stops, leaving my ears ringing.
The shiny ball speaks.
“Tavy, you are under arrest!”
I lose consciousness again, and the world around
me fades


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