posted on Oct, 5 2012 @ 11:20 AM
I would kill myself, but there are no tools to do so. I have been in this room for days and each hour feels like a year. The man who took me has left
me in this desolate place, confined to my own mind and thoughts.
The walls once were white, or so it seems when I scratch them with my nails. The paint and drawings have many of my scratch marks on them. The
remnants of my nails lace the floor; Shattered parts of who I used to be.
There are speakers in each top corner. He speaks to me. “Don’t do it Haley.” “What are you doing Haley.” “It doesn’t matter what’s on
He’s talking about the door on the other side of the room. I’m curled up in a ball looking at that door, wondering what’s on the other side.
When I approach it, the crispy voice of an aged smoker tells me I can’t go through that door. Tells me why, and what lies on the other side.
Looking back to the most recent memory before this room is comforting in a way. Yet at the same time it is not. I look back and see myself dressed up
in mild purple, with my wavy hair conditioned by stylists. My blue eyes look at the world, and eyes of all colors look upon me in awe. They love me.
My beauty shines, lighting a path for them and instantly they know they want me. There were no cuts on my arms; ha, look at them now. I was
In this room my hair is frizzy, dirty with blood and sweat. The man from the speakers, the kidnapper has done nothing to me except leave me here. I
have been left to my own devices, and it is what I have thought of that drives me to the point of desiring suicide. I act upon these urges. My head
banging against the wall is not an attempt to break the wall; my face won’t break. It’s disturbingly disappointing.
Yet when I think about it, this is nothing new. I have been this way inside for so long. Nobody’s seen it though. They have seen the beauty on the
I’m scared of the door. The evils the raspy voice relays to me through those crackly old speakers from some time in the 90’s.
I approach it now. “Haley. You are YOU in here. Out there you shall not exist. You will die. Do you want that?”
I don’t know why he thinks I would want that.
It’s been an hour since my last attempt and I approach the door again. That same voice intrudes my hour long confidence building. I told myself I
would not back down. I go back and curl into a ball.
His influence is strong.
I think to myself. I won’t go to that door. I think about what he says. Going out that door will kill me. What will kill me? Him? A monster? He
hasn’t hurt me yet. He just tells me things and asks me to contemplate my life. It’s very confusing. If he wants to help me work on my life, this
room is definitely not helping.
Screw it. There’s no point to this. Whoever this delusional sociopath is, I don’t care. I move my legs, my arms and finally manage to stand up. I
stare the door with content. This is just like a show. Ignore the distractions. Walk down the line and show everyone your inner beauty; yourself.
I can do that.
I run at that door ungracefully. I forget what I learned in beauty school. I yell, scream, and tears coming down my face; showing everyone who I
My purple dress tears even more. They are rags now. My hair is tangled. I hit the door in force, and it swings open violently.
I am not in another room. The man I feared is not here. There are about 15 girls in a line, standing on the side of the hallway. They were chatting,
but now all they do is stare. Stare at me in disgust.
“Haley. What have you done!? You’ve ruined your dress, your hair. Your make up! We spent hours making you look beautiful!”
Tears drip down the face of the lady who spoke those defining words.
“I am beautiful mom. You’re just blind. All of you are.”
My eyes dance around, from my mom to the girls in the hallway; back and forth. One thing in my mind. “These are the killers.”
“Oh my god Haley, are you on drugs?”
I won’t even answer that. Of course not. I turn down the offers of coc aine, cigarettes and booze when the other girls have it.
I divert my attention to my father who passed many years ago. I think of his raspy voice, and the smell of his cologne when cigarettes didn’t
His words. “It doesn’t matter what’s on the outside, Haley. Who you are inside is what matters, and everything on the outside is simply a
He is the man from the speakers. I look back behind me, and look at the door as a girl goes inside hesitantly. I notice the sign that says
I actually laugh to myself at how I must have messed up that reflection room with blood, spit, salty tears, and attacks against the walls with my
The reflection room is meant for all the beauty contestants to get their head straight and figure out what they want to say during the competition. It
seems like this time it served its purpose for the first time.
I look down the hall and see a poster. There’s a girl there with welcoming blue eyes. Beautifully wave-like hair. There are a lot of posters of her.
She looks like me, but fake. That isn’t me. Never again will it be.
All that poster will ever be is my double.