first bell [mallory x reldexx]
Apr 8, 2024 19:14:24 GMT -5
Post by d1f october rhapsody fray ❁ on Apr 8, 2024 19:14:24 GMT -5
MALLORY WRAITH.
I have a dream like something out of an old horror movie. There is a lot of blood; I can taste it as though it is real. They are chasing me, but who they are is unclear. The figures morph and change. I am not surprised when my Mother, who was once my sister, distorts and becomes President Snow (rest his soul). This is not noteworthy to dream-me, it seems natural. I wake up sweating, shaken, disoriented, as though my bedroom is not truly mine. I am suspicious of it; I expect it, too, to change at any moment and become another place entirely. It doesn't.
For breakfast I have a piece of dry toast. There is butter, and jam, and Vanessa offers it to me, but I deny myself, a piss-weak form of self-flagellation. It scratches my throat as it goes down, and I rush out of the door without waiting for my sister, so that I can walk alone. It is my preference to be alone. At least, I tell myself this, because I almost always am alone. My own company does not bother me. As far as I can tell, I am quite pleasant to be around. The others at school disagree; I catch them whispering about me, hushing when I enter a room. Sometimes somebody is kind enough to earnestly pass me a snippet of the newest rumour circulating about our family. This week it is that we bring in unfortunate girls from the street and cut the babies out of their stomachs. We feed the remains to the birds. At least, this is what I am told, at the very end of a chain of whispers. I do not defend myself, just give a tight-lipped smile and turn away, eat my lunch alone and give the gulls my crusts.
I arrive to school early. Far too early, really. At first it seems that nobody is around, but as I turn the corner into the front gate I realise that I am not alone, after all. A large hoard of girls moves as one giant, sweaty organism. They are headed, it seems, from the sports fields back to the main buildings, having completed some kind of practise or the other. I have never been in a team, but these girls are flushed, pulsing. They shout and laugh, something that feels barbaric for just after dawn, uncalled for. I steer wide of them, head down, hoping not to be seen at all.
I find a shadow to hide in. The girl-monster passes. I breathe a sigh of relief.