Rebecca's EyesA Story by Viccy Rogers
Rebecca. Lanky little Rebecca. She'd never fitted it; right from the beginning. She'd been described as an outrageous, argumentative, impossible, unbearable child. No one wanted Rebecca - not even her parents. Her ungrateful parents. She hated them for bringing her in to this cold, judging world. The cause for her spite and sour bitterness: her eyes. Rebecca's eyes were different to most. They looked the same; brown, thin, dry. But they felt different. And they saw things very differently. A flashback struck her like lightning, her bare feet stopping in their tracks. She was lying on the floor, writhing in agony, the pain so hard she was ripping out and tearing away everything she could get her hands on and clawing threads out of the carpet. She had grasped a chunk of hair and yanked it from her scalp, then scratched the skin away to try and gnaw closer to the skull and pull out the headache with her bare hands. Impossible? Not to her. She had been willing to try anything to be rid of that awful, panging headache. But those times were over. Because her eyes back then had not fully grown. They had gotten confused by everything around them. Something hadn't quite linked with her brain right, so she had been left with thousands of images to piece together and make sense of like parts of a jigsaw, and it had been too much. They had begged for her not to look, so she had stayed in the dark. No glasses were right for Rebecca, because no glasses help people to see less than they are supposed to. Every vision was exaggerated in her eyes. Every colour much brighter, every texture much deeper, every size much bigger. And it had overwhelmed her tiny mind. So she had chosen not to look then. It had given her such terrible headaches to look for even a second. Her childhood had been spent in the dark. It had cast shadows in her mind like a ghost haunting her. Horrible thoughts had invaded her and eventually won her over. The knife had been there, just on the counter. She didn't need to be able to see it - even blind she could feel it's presence. Watching her. Begging her. Pleading her... But she had stayed strong. And one time when she opened her eyes, she had not felt any pain. Something she had not expected had happened. She had been able to see. Not like ordinary people, not like everyone else. Still very different. But bearable. Manageable. Her eyes had matured. It was as if she could see the insides of people, but not literally. Most objects were just meaningless shadows until she focused hard on them, but people were strange colours and shapes and illusions. Somehow, instinctively, she could interpret them. She knew what they meant like her own secret code or language. She could find out a lot about someone: their fears, their feelings, their memories, their regrets, their loves, just by a first glance. She could see how people's minds were arranged. It had been handy at first, but it had slowly driven her insane. It is hard knowing that much about one person, someone you care about. Imagine knowing it about everyone, and how hard that would be to live with? Her eyes had developed and changed. But the stabbing reality that she was still different was still the same and always would be. And it killed her. So much so that she had tried to claw her own eyes out on more than one occasion, because some things she would rather not know. Her own power freaked the hell out of her. And now she was a teenager. A bony, unattractive teen with acne crawling up her cheek bones and creeping down her back. Her flat chest and con caved stomach left her ribs close enough to the surface to easily count. Her messed up, psychotic brain was angry and hurt from all the rejection she had suffered. Her greasy hair stuck to her neck from the sweat, but none of it mattered to her. It didn't matter that her pale skin clung to her shoulders as if being sucked in, or that her legs, comparable to thin straws or sewing pins with knobbly knees and numerous patches of deep purple - bruises from many clumsy stumbles and trips - continued trotting aimlessly through the woods. Her bare feet ruthlessly charged over sharp branches, nettles and rocks. It hurt, but she'd been through worse. Her summer dress was stained and dirty from lots of different things. She'd never been careful or neat. She was lanky, and clumsy, and stupid. As it hung awkwardly around her knees, and looped in a pathetic bow across her cutting shoulder blades, she could hear it pleading to be washed. She had been wearing the same dress for months now. She hadn't washed herself in longer. She was a mess. A screw-up. No one cared about her. No one cared if she didn't wash. She had no one to make an effort for. She had been given a chance in the Unit. This was a place for the special kids. The freaks. But, she should have guessed she wouldn't be welcome there either. So she'd walked away, and with no where else to go, had ended up in this endless forest. It's continuous pattern of skyline, empty horizons and clouds peeking through tree tops scared her. She had no idea how to get out. But maybe that was a good thing. No one wanted her out. It had been hard to walk away. It hadn't been much of a life by any standards, but it had been her only one. And there was Blake. Blake was the popular, smart, funny, good looking heart-throb who everyone in the Unit fancied. Fancied, but not loved. Only Rebecca loved him. She didn't even know why he was in the Unit. He seemed fine to her. More than fine actually- perfect. In her strange eyes, he was beautiful. Even she could see that. His arrangement of shapes was hard to look away from. Each of his thoughts were risky yet somehow exciting. But he was 'in love' with his pretty blue-eyed blondie from California who'd snatched him and his heart up years ago like a Venus fly catcher. Teasing, scathing, horrid, mean Faith. She had stolen him away long before Rebecca had arrived. And Faith had laughed very hard when just a few hours ago, Rebecca had confessed her love for Blake. Her hooting laugh echoing around the room, bouncing off the walls and piercing through her heart haunted Rebecca, ad sent shivers up her weak spine. Faith had taunted her, humiliated her. And Blake had simply stood and watched. His pattern had suddenly become more jumbled and she hadn't wanted to watch it any longer. She had left the room with tears streaming down her face, as her eyes could still cry like anyone's. They were good at that. The little effort she had made regarding appearances involving some poorly applied mascara was now smeared along her cheeks and sneaking down her thin face. Her broken character was now smashed beyond repair this time. She felt as if someone had grabbed a hammer and started to destroy her life with it, whilst she had watched helplessly at the sides. There was no point waiting- Blake was never coming back for her. Why would he? Why would anyone? © 2013 Viccy RogersAuthor's Note
Reviews
|
StatsAuthor
|
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing