Inside. (Contest.) (Major Language.)

[i heart sodapop]

(It might be a little hard to understand.. or it might just suck. But, here goes..)

Pink = Sally
Red = Rodney
Sea Green = Mr. Bents.

“Roses are bleeding, violets mean death. Here is the promise of your one last breath. Run and hide… here kitty, come fetch your warm saucer. Death isn’t so bad. I’ve died three times. They’ve all died twice. Stop it, don’t look at me. I SAID STOP IT RODNEY! NO! Won’t do it, won’t kill the pretty little girl. Not now, she has it coming. I hate her, I hate her not. Drop dead, she will…just wait and see. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” All this was said by just a eight-year-old girl. I was that eight-year-old girl. Then, I’d had long brown hair, flowing in a nonchalant manner. My eyes were the same color as my hair. I was beautiful. Unfortunately for me, beauty wasn’t what was underneath my skin...

It was a sunny morning, Halloween of 1986 to be exact. Everything was coinciding with perfection, everything except me. I had resided in a quaint home. A blue one, with chipping paint near the rims of all the windows. All of those windows were several sizes, I found the large one to be perfectly fit for pushing my mother out of. The roof was perfectly done, with black tiles that had always reminded me of tar in the summertime. You know that tar, when you would step on it and your bare feet would squish inside its interior? Yes, that kind.

I had come home from school, a truly unpleasant experience, I must add. My counselor was telling me about my violent tendencies and my unnatural talents to draw and say things that was always closely in tact with death. I couldn’t help it, they had made me do it. When I was eight, I had been friends to three people that only I believed real. Rodney- a prepubescent farm boy that always made me feel in love, Sally June- the daughter of an old and proper school teacher, and Mr. Bents- a prim Englishman that corrected Rodney’s farm boyish mannerisms. The trio had always seemed real, but no one else could see the beings I spoke of.

So as I had stepped through the door to find my mother in the middle of the living room floor, I must admit I was frightened.. Her petite frame was encircled by a round pentagram, with candles settled at all five points. Her eyes, the same perfect hue as my own, glanced up, wide and petrified.

“What are you doing?” My head cocked in retort. My tiny feet started forward as both hands slowly curled up into fists. I could feel the eyes of the trio upon the back of my neck, allowing the miniscule hairs to rise in unison. Something wasn’t right. Something was wrong with her, it had to be.

“No. Get off. GET AWAY! NO NO NO!” I screamed and threw myself at her, trying to step forward into that damned circle. “You can’t get rid of them!” Her eyes seemed to roll backwards past her sunken lids. I beat on the outer edge of the invisible force pushing me away. Faster, harder, longer, and stronger. I could not get through. Tears of pure hatred were dripping slowly down my cheeks. “Gonna pay. Gonna die…” I whispered through sullen gasps.

“You will no longer intrude her thoughts,” my mother told the trio. I turned to face the supposedly unrealistic friends I had trusted in. Their faces had become contorted and grotesque. I didn’t know what to do. Their once cheery, suave, and delightful dispositions were becoming scarred and gray. I wiped my eyes quickly with the sleeves of my sweater...

The rest of that moment seemed to pass as hours. First, Rodney stepped forward, pushing his hand into my heart. A sensation of ice and fire was erupting in the heart of my chest. I watched as the remaining two beings did the same.

“Get away from her!” …

Those were the last words I heard from my mother. I awoke to three men in coats, each one was shaking their heads in confusion. “She killed her mother…” The balding one stated.

“Are you serious?” The blonde boy said in awe.

“He sure is, yo.” The final man had red hair that reminded me of cherry popsicles.

“Oh look, she’s waking up…” The bald one didn’t seem too delighted, there was that shrill note of impatience in his tone. My small arms were wrapped around my waist. This must have been a straitjacket. They put mentally insane people in those things. I couldn’t have been crazy!

“LET ME GO! …You’ll pay. He’ll kill you, dead.” An echoing laugh had left the bowels of my throat. It was not my own. That same laugh had belonged to the trio. When I had said something amusing, they laughed in unison with me. The evil chortle that had left me, the once innocent eight-year-old, was a demented laugh that made the three sane men quiver in their bleached jackets.

“Hold her down Morris.” This had been directed to the red headed man.

“You got it, yo.” Morris replied, pushing his right hand into my left shoulder.

“No no no, I’ll be good. Get me out. Damn you bastards, let me go. Please, please. Mummy wants me home in time for supper. Shut up, no more supper. Don’t deserve it.” It was a battle of words between only myself. And so far, I only proved that I was, indeed, mental. Something inside me, my own true self, was in contemplation. I could not be insane, yet I had no control of my actions. These three supposed friends were speaking for me, I had yet to exist within myself.

“’Mummy’ is dead, little girl. You pushed her out of a ****ing window.” The blonde teenager hissed, placing his hand over my mouth. He watched me as I squirmed in discomfort. My tongue found way against his masculine fingers. My teeth then bit up against his middle finger, digging deeper as he continued to keep me quiet. I did not squeal, I could only absorb the delicate liquids giving way against my tongue. “GOD DAMN! HURRY IT UP MORRIS!”

“I’m hurrying, Spiedermen. Give me time. Whiny bitch…” He pulled out a needle, inserting it with a timid, yellow liquid. I bit down harder, now ripping the skin of this “Spiedermen’s” finger. Quickly, Morris made his way over to my neck, injecting the needle into my placid skin. I felt limp, my whole body seemed unable to cooperate. My head hung due to the failure of movement. “Now,” Morris was the bumbling interrogator. I came to realize that the blonde man, Spiedermen, was the strength, and the remaining balding male had to be the brains of this outfit.

“Rebecca Christine Wilkinson. You are charged with the following; murder and sheer proof that you are just completely insane.” Morris was also blatantly obvious. I cringed as Spiedermen let go of my mouth, the dripping liquid sliding down the outer ridges of my lips.

“Not crazy. Can’t prove it. Shut up, you’ll choke some more. Want more, liked it, we did. We didn’t fancy the stuff, quiet you prick.” I glared up at the men, a smirk caressing the right-hand corner of my mouth. “You think you’re tough. You’ll be punished… Tsk tsk, bloody liars and sinners. So many dead boys...heh...so many, indeed.” The words leaving my mouth were merely prose. Things I knew I would never say any day of those past memories. But try as I might, I could not speak. I was still inside, trying to figure out why I could hear these things and speak words I did not have reign over.

“She looks so young, though. Kind of like your daughter, Roberts.” again, Morris stated the obvious points.

“Possession, I’d wager.” Roberts, was the intellectual bald man. I kicked my legs, which were bound with leather trappings. I cocked my head, which only gave the trio more edge to keep on with their ranting.

“Nasty girl. Fifteen years old. She wanted more and more and more. …Did you like to watch her die? Pitiful sinners.” My eyes went round and round the inside of my head as they‘d said this. I figured, they were talking about his daughter. I didn’t know what was going on, I just wanted them out.

“Shut up, damn it.” the back of Roberts’s hand found my cheek. That same monotonous laugh left my stomach, slowly finding its way around the room. “How did this happen? Just shut the hell up and tell us why you’re like this…” He dug the pads of his fingers into my cheeks, pushing my limp face upwards. “Rebecca, I know you’re in there. Fight this and tell us why you’re like this, alright?” He spoke with an irritated kindness, one I’d never known before. It was as if something flipped a light switch on within my self-conscious right then.

“I-I- I was standing there, I tried to stop her. She was going to take my friends away. They touched me a-and they came inside,” Tears. MY tears were streaming down my cheeks. I shook my head, which suddenly shook with a violent jerk. “Ooh, you shut up, Becky. N-no, please. I have to get you out. I hurt. You all hurt me inside.” I screamed, pushing my neck both backward and forward against the headboard of this clasping chair.

“I see.” Roberts faced the other two men, giving them a blunt nod. “Forceful possession.”

“This is screwed up, yo.” Morris retorted, stepping back slightly. The room was a blinding white. If the men were to stand against the walls, only their exposed skin and hair would be seen. There was a large glass window a long way off.

It was then, I remembered how I killed my mother. She got up, to stop them from intruding my body. Making her way over, it was Rodney that grasped hold of her shirt. He, inside of me, pushed her forward, slowly throwing open the window. The smirk I had worn grew brighter as she struggled. “Watch and learn, Becky.” And without hesitation, she was thrown out of the window. The height of our house, was quite large, considering we lived in a one story house. But, the force he had plunged through my feminine body, was exuberantly critical. So, there she fell, and I watched…that laugh.

I sat back in the chair, screaming at the top of my lungs. “I KILLED HER! NO NO NO! I KILLED HER. HE MADE ME DO IT! STUPID! STUPID! MAKE HIM STOP.” The back of my head slammed the board once more. There was Morris, quickly setting up another needle for my neck. I shook my head drastically at him. “No, please. We’ll stop, won’t we? Only if we have to. No more needles, frightening naughty things.” I bit my lip, feeling both of my palms. Both were increasingly sweaty and the position was starting to upset Mr. Bents. “You ghastly gits let us go!” I lunged forward, my jaw cracking at the left side of my cheek. Mr. Bents had always had this terrible problem.

“Get Father Limon’ on the phone.” Spiedermen now commanded Roberts. This was a sudden change, for Roberts, himself, looked taken aback. Morris and Roberts exchanged looks of confusion, then both turned on heel to start for the telephone, presumably in the back room. “Now, Rebecca, who are these people inside of you?” He waited until they left to dare speak to me. As I was about to answer, Rodney pulled forward.

“We are more than Gods, yet less than man. Try puttin’ that in your oatmeal, ****er.” My voice was slurred and Texan, and then became a softer accent, similar to Rodney’s. “We watched time be made, and life be destroyed.” And finally came an accent that sounded like a British gentlemen's. “We had to find life, and hers was nothing. Combined, we shall make kingdoms tremble.” Deep down, I didn't know what they were talking about... And, I could not complain. What they were telling the man, was nothing but lies. Though, I had no say in the manner. I just watched as Spiedermen replied.

Spiedermen had looked unimpressed at their ramblings. “Uh huh, I’m sure. Well, if I counted how many times I’ve heard that line…no, I think I’ve lost count. Look- the name’s Spiedermen. Louis Spiedermen, okay? Now, you think you’re all big and bad, but you’re not. You chose this little girl, because she’s had history of punishment and torment. Probably like ya’ll. Unfortunately for you, she has a future…which means you aren’t in it. So tomorrow, when Limon’ comes, you’re all history. So you put that in your oatmeal, ****er.” He patted my cheek, giving me a satisfied smile. I spat upon his face, which was only a few inches from mine. That laugh dripped off of my tongue once again.

“I will. No we won’t, I hate oatmeal… it makes me gag. Pooh-pooh, you stupid girl. I want mummy. Too bad. Mummy fell out the window.” I spoke in a sing-song voice, for it all sounded so melodic. I was lost, it was official. What was I to do now? All I could do was wait for a Catholic father to come and exorcise me, or whatever he saw fit. I just wanted to die. And the way they spoke, it was bound to happen soon.

That evening, they left me in both the straitjacket and the isolation chair. Isolation, that word alone was what I was about at that present point in time. What was isolation? Of course, all it was had been the quality or state of being alone or remote from society. Right now, I was in the true form of isolation.

“Mommy,” I whispered, glancing up at the fluorescent walls. “She’s gone, damn it. No, she can’t be. We have to bring her back. We can’t, you dummy, she’s gone fer good. Fer isn’t a word you jabberwocky.” I slammed my head against the headboard. It had become routine lately. I twitched in the binding coat, it was nothing but a bother. “Come on, get the father here…Father, you never had a father. You idiot, he isn’t that kind of a father. He will take us away. Noooo, he can’t. Bad daddy.” Every time I would speak, it was with different pitch. When I was Rodney, my voice was the slurring boyish type, as Sally, I was the girlish fluttery type, and when I was Mr. Bents, I sounded confident and sure. I did not know why I was having conversations with the demons inside of me, perhaps I was lonely. I know I had wanted my mother, something I would never have. Here, I had nothing but myself and the demonic beings fluttering in my body.

“Why are you here?” I said weakly, swinging my head in sadness. “Because you asked us to be, you didn’t want to leave us…” I nodded, smiling at the vacant spots where they would have been. “Tomorrow... I want you to leave.”

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At about 1 O’clock, Father Limon’ turned up in the isolation room. He was an elderly man with a nervous, yet, cheerful aura around him. My tongue found the roof of my dry mouth, ejecting a loud clicking of discouragement. “You cannot do this, I’ll die too.” Young Spiedermen, Morris, and Roberts placed their hands on the backing of the binding chair behind me. They had taken the jacket off of my arms and chest, which allowed my small chest to gather air. The bright pink tank top I had worn when they took me in was matted in some type of blood, where it came from, I did not know. It clung to my petite physique, only due to sweat and exasperation.

“Y-yes is this the child?” Everyone was so obvious here. The trio of males nodded, Spiedermen gave me a look that showed his apathetic side.

“Take care of her, Father.”

“Of course.” He gave them a nod, reaching into the robe sleeves. Limon’ pulled out a Holy Bible, and a flask of clear liquid. They were going to perform an exorcism.

“Here here, preacher, go away and let us alone. Yeah, Father, you honestly think you can get rid of us that easily? Do it, please.” The vast change of voice, seemed to catch the poor man off guard. He swiftly nodded and pulled of the corked flask with a ploop.
“Quod perditum est, invenietur,” the father began, muttering his spell in Latin. Why he chose the dark arts instead of the light, were beyond my comprehension. I had no say in the mysterious ways of these strangers. "Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte.”

The laugh came from the four of us, slowly bouncing off the walls for the last time, hopefully. My wrists were chafing in the leather holds. My knuckles were white from the grasp I was taking upon the arms of the chair. I squoze my eyes tightly against their bottom lids. “Come on, Father, you really think this is gon' work?” Father Limon’ glanced over to the men, his turquoise eyes rising in suspicion. Roberts ushered him on with his hands. The priest nodded.

“Nici mort, nici al fiintei, Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-i va transporta, sufletul la el.” I came to find recently that he was referring to a man in his Latin prayer. I was not a man, yet, it did not matter, I could feel the demons stirring inside of me. Father Limon’ waved his hands in the air, slowly imitating a stalling fan. I looked back down at my lap, biting my lip in anticipation. “Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum!” I felt my stomach lurch forward, my head shook in response. I couldn’t feel anything. I knew when they’d finally be going, when each gave their good-byes. "ACUM!"

“Looks like we’re through. Finished. ****.” I slammed my head against the wood behind my head, finally feeling blood trickle down the back of my neck. I heard their screams echoing in the distance, I watched them disappear. My imaginary friends, were gone…I looked up, my chest was rising and falling in rapid succession. Chestnut strands fell into my face. My heart felt lighter, the weight had been gone. “Am I---okay?”
Spiedermen, Morris, and Roberts smiled at one another. Their job was finished.

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The next morning, I was issued back to my home to pack up my things. The huge window was surrounded in yellow police tape, my stomach did a back flip. I could feel my heart beating faster and faster in my chest. I ran up to the front steps, making my way hastily inside. I didn’t want to come back, but it was what the men had wanted me to do. They had spent the previous evening discussing a plan for my whereabouts. I thought, maybe, they would just send me to a home for orphans, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I packed what I saw fit, with the help of a nurse that was in the mental institution they had placed me in during my possession. (It had been called Roberts Institution for Incurable Diseases. Of course, Mr. Roberts’ chosen title for the institution couldn’t have been more inaccurate.)

Now, with a small pink bag clutched between my fingers, I came to stand at the front door. A hazy stream of sunshine swept across the room. The window, had been fixed, the furniture had been moved, and all was the way my mother would have hated it. I managed a weak smile, holding back the shallow tears forming in the base of my eyes. I remember I nodded over to the faded circle I had last seen my mother in. Somehow, I could still sense her smiling at me when I apologized for my wrongdoings, or baking her chocolate chip raisin cookies, and even shaking her head at my breaking of the vase. Everything was now just a memory I had to store away in the back of my mind. And I knew, somehow, I was ready to handle such a task.

I turned around, to face the car that was to take me away. Spiedermen’s arms were folded, a lanky cigarette being held in the left corner of his smirking lips. “Well, howdy kid.” I looked up, pushing a few hairs from my eyes.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Spiedermen? I thought you and Morris had things to do!”

“Nope, turns out, we have a plan set up, just fer you,” he flicked the cigarette butt over into the grass, then turned to face me again. “You’re coming home with me, Becca.” My eyes lit up, I could feel that excited feeling once again. It was that feeling I had when Roberts spoke to me.

“I-I am?! Oh, thank you, Mr. Spiedermen.” I came to hug him, but he grasped my hand instead. I could feel tears of joy swelling in my eyes, but I held them back.

“It’s ‘Dad’ now, Rebecca. Unless you ain’t ready for that, yet.”

“I’m ready, Daddy.” I squoze his finger, vowing to never let go.
“You like ice cream?”
“…I’ve never had any.”

“Boy, aren’t you in for a treat…”

I grew up, that much was a fact. Turned out that Roberts had had a son. His daughter had died, two years before I came to the institution. His son’s name, was Rodney (ironic, huh?). I fell in love with him, and now we’re going steady, still today (1996). He thinks we’re going to get married, and I can only hope he’s right. I feel that my story needed to be told, for in a few more years, and I would probably forget it all. So, I hope that you’ll take it into consideration, that things so pure and unharmed, can really turn out to be something they aren’t. Don’t trust what you cannot see, for curiosity only leads to trouble…

[Lai]

Creativity-The story was original; I can say that much. There aren't a whole ton of movies based on possessions and exorcisms, but there are enough where I can't really give you full marks on this. However, it was your own little spin on it, and it was interesting to say the least. I feel compelled to give you 6.5/10

Grammar- Like the other stories I've read so far, a lot of comma usage error. Also your quotes could use a lot of work. Even though it may seem like it may have been more confusing, it would have been better to give each of the personalities new sets of quotations rather than just different colors. I'll let that slide, though, because that may have made it more confusing. 7/10

Style-I just have a thing for stories that are written in first person. I feel more in-tune with the narrator and feel like I can get a better understanding of the story most of the time. That's not to say that it works in every situation, but it did in this case. However, I didn't see what it had to do with isolation. The girl was never alone. She was always with those three "friends" of hers. In the one paragraph where you mentioned it, it seemed kind of forced. I'm sorry, but I can't give you higher than a 6/10.

Overall: 19.5/30

I think your main issue is that you get the idea that the reader understands everything you intend to put down on the paper. When you're writing, you need to assume the reader doesn't understand anything and needs everything very clear in order for them to understand. Interesting idea, but you need to just clarify things a bit more when you're writing. Keep working at it.

[i heart sodapop]

Ah, well, that's okay. I never said I was good. xD