She sat on her bed, rocking back and forth, her knees huddled close to her chin. Her face was wet with tears, and her eyes bloodshot. Already she could feel a headache coming on. She had cried too long, and if she didn’t stop soon, she knew she would get sick.

            As thought of the previous event flooded back to her, triggered by the nearby smell of cigarette smoke, she began to chant to herself, over and over again, hauntingly.

            “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me. Don’t even come near me, or I swear to god I’ll crush your skull. Don’t even come near me,” she warned, her eyes glossed over with fear. Was the room empty? She couldn’t even tell anymore. But just in case, she would warn anyone who might happen to wander by.

            It had been a month, one long, drawn out, torturous month. Every day was filled with his face, his voice, and his hands… the slightest movement or glimpse in the mirror would explode in to another ghastly remembrance of the most horrifying experience of her life.

            She remembered trying, repeatedly to get the feeling off of her. Sitting in the shower with a bar of soap in one hand and a washcloth in the other, scrubbing all over until her skin was red and bleeding, so raw that she didn’t even feel it anymore. All she wanted was to get that disgusting memory off of her!

            But now things were different. She just sat there on her bed staring in to blank space, and waiting for the next wave to pass, waiting for the next flood of memories to come back unbidden.

            Her chanting faded and she sighed heavily, shutting her eyes and leaning her head against the wall. Feeling uncomfortable not seeing her surroundings, she fluttered her eyes back open, and scanned the room quickly to see if anyone had decided to pay a visit. Her blurry vision obscured any true sight, but she was almost positive that the sterile white walls contained her and her alone.

            She covered her face with her hands and began rocking again, trying to soothe the horror that she felt choking her once more.

            “No, no, no, no… It wasn’t proven. It wasn’t proven? Can’t be. He did it! He did! Why don’t you believe me? Can’t be, can’t be. I meant to hurt him. I meant to, I meant to. He hurt me first! Deserved it. He deserved what he got. Deserved it, the bastard.” She muttered to herself, her voice getting more crackled, whiny, pleading.

            Her mind flashed over the image of the rusty knife that she had used. Or was it a scalpel? No, that was someplace else… But then it disappeared. It was gone, as if it was never there before.

            “He’s not dead? No. I killed him. He must be, must be, must be. The knife… the blood. I saw it with my own eyes! Deserved what he got. The bastard. You can’t call me that. I’m not! I’m not crazy, damn it! I’m not… I wasn’t. He made me this way; it’s his fault, his fault, his fault! He’s hidden it somehow, but he did it, you know he did! The bastard…” Her protest was cut short as someone knocked on her door and let herself in. A short, stout woman waddled in with a tray of food.

            “Hello, Anne, how are you today? You hungry? I have your food and medication right here.” The woman in white cooed to her.

            “M-my head hurts, n-n-nurse.” She stuttered sheepishly.

            “Well, dear, you’ll feel all better after you ear and take your pills. I promise. Here…” The nurse sat next to her and began to spoon the food in to the girl’s mouth, and wiped away any tendrils that slipped out.

            “How’s Myra today, Anne?” The nurse asked after a long pause, not looking up from the tray of food.

            “S-she’s mean t-t-today, nurse. R-real mean. Hasn’t l-left me alone a-all d-day.” She blinked back a few tears, trying to keep her voice clear.

            “Aw, you poor thing.” She replied. “You shouldn’t let her bully you around so much.”

            “Who said I was bullying her? She just takes it so personal, y’know, nurse?” The girl leaned back on the wall, relaxed. She grinned, as if everything she saw was funny.

            “Hello Myra.” The nurse responded, watching the Myra finish off her chocolate chip cookie. “Where is Anne now?” She rolled the tray away from the bed and stood, ready to pull out a syringe.

            “Oh… Well, rotting. Like she always is. Rotting, dying, rotting, dying. As usual.” She stopped grinning and curled back up in to a ball. Rocking herself, again, Anne had taken over once more.

            “N-nurse? P-p-please… G-give me the s-sleeping s-stuff. I-if I’m asleep, she’ll g-go away. Please!” Anne begged, clutching the nurse’s white collar. Frustrated, the white-clad woman gently pushed the girl back on the bed and did as was asked. There was a slight whine from Anne as the needle went in, but as soon as it was over, she was fast asleep.

            The nurse walked out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind her. She went up the front desk and filled out her notes on the previously seen patient.

            “Deterioration of the mind and main personality has quickened suggesting a boost in medication.” She scribbled quickly.

            “No improvement, huh? The poor girl,” the desk clerk said, her face worried.

            “Yeah I know. If only she could understand us when we tell her that all that’s going on is a brain surgery gone horribly, horribly wrong.” She wiped a tear away from her eye and sniffled loudly. “All we have to do now is wait until she fades in to death right before our eyes.”

Hey there! This is yet another one of my stories that I wrote for creative writing class. Please enjoy and review! Once again, I need some feedback before my teacher grades it! Thanks!

-QueSeraSera