"Hello, I'm the lie, living for you so you can hide. Don't cry."
All I wanted was to feel.
I never knew how to feel. My body, an empty shell where my soul should have been. I was empty, hollow inside, I felt nothing. I could feel nothing. All the emotions I displayed were manufactured, artificial, lies, all of them fabricated to fool a world, to keep them away. I was a liar, an amazing one. I was an actress who never once broke character, not once in the fifteen years I'd been living . If I had let anything slip I had not meant to. I was brilliant at the game I played. The game was to keep everyone at an arm's length. I'd been hurt, yes, my heart had been ripped from my innocent, naive self and had been so heinously severed that I had sworn to never let it happen again. No one would be able to play me again; I would play them. I would play the game my way. I never let anyone into my heart.
I watched people. I learned different behaviours and I mimicked them. I learned how to lie while staring someone in the eye. I learned all the body language and each tone of the voice. Brilliant isn't it? How I was merely fifteen and I knew people inside out. How I could read the human race. I was a genius. I could command up tears, rage, happiness, I could even talk myself into falling for someone and then talk myself out of it again. I knew how to pretend to listen intently and could blush on command. I was in control. No one could hurt me.
I was perceived as someone who loved everyone, trusted everyone, cared for everyone. Yet I trusted no one. I revealed nothing of who I truly was to anyone, and in doing so, I conjured up emotions as barrier. It led them astray. They thought they knew me. They wanted to be me! Me! The happy go lucky, girl next door, whose ready smile and quick sense of humour made her friends with everybody. Always happy in her perfect life, what could be wrong with her? They saw what I wanted them to see: my perfect life. The perfect life I had invented. I was in control. I ran my life and every part about it, well, as much of my life as I could for a fifteen-year-old. I was completely in control when it came to my emotions and the game.
I was good. I became so good, I began to believe myself. It came to the point where I could no longer distinguish between what I actually felt and what I invented. I didn't think I was able to feel anymore; it was all just so fake. I was just too good at my own game. I lost myself in the game, the game of replacing my own soul with a synthetic one, manufactured by yours truly. It was terrifying how I could no longer feel anything at all. I was empty. I had nothing.
"I wanna heal, I wanna feel, like I'm close to something real. I wanna find something I wanted all along; somewhere I belong."
She came to me after that.
When I thought I could feel nothing, when I thought I was utterly alone, she came to me. In the still of the night, as I sat at my windowsill watching the slumbering world below, she would come to me. This ghostly figure whose mere presence chilled my very bones. She haunted me. I was possessed almost by the thought of this apparition. Her eyes were brimming with a sadness, the depth of which I couldn't see nor could I imagine. Yet those sad eyes blazed with the rage of a beast and bled with the pain of a person whose heart has been carved out by a loved one, too. It was her eyes that troubled me. Those eyes were all I saw. Night and day I could only think of those eyes, so much feeling, so full of emotion and so full of pain.
She never spoke to me, never uttering a word, never even acknowledging my presence. I hated her. I hated her with every fibre of my being. Her mere existence offended me for reasons unknown. I should have been glad of the feeling, of having any feeling, but I was not. I could not live with feeling nothing, yet feeling hate. She stared just to spite me. I would scream at her as a madwoman cries at the walls of her imprisonment, and never would she reply. She would watch me with those eyes unblinking, overflowing with sadness, spilling out pain into the air. I was fearful of her as well, afraid that perhaps by looking at her, her pain would be transferred to me. She could not be allowed to look at me.
"Don't try to fix me I'm not broken." I couldn't take it. I couldn't take it anymore. The constant building frustration, yes, a feeling, the accumulation of all those painful emotions inside became a bomb, growing inside my empty shell body. I was a volcano on the verge of eruption. There was nothing to stop me. Something refused to allow me to let it go, to release the building inside. I was so accustomed to keeping everything inside of me I didn't know how to let it all go. I'd never actually released a large amount of negative energy before. I'd allowed myself to have fits of rage but those were acting, based on other peoples flared tempers. I'd never lost control before.
"Erase the pain 'til it's gone. I wanna heal. I wanna feel."
"Leave me! Leave me alone! What do you want of me?" I screamed at the girl one night, allowing the hate within to rise from the depth of my soul and flow from my mouth in vengeful cries. "What do you want of me? What do you want of me?"
The sound of shattering glass rang through my ears. Crimson blood ran down my reddened knuckles from the jagged edges of the broken glass. I saw more of her now. A thousand replicas of that girl, I saw her face amidst each shard of the broken mirror. Two thousand eyes stared back at me, a stunned, horrified expression crept to the girl's face but her eyes, her eyes were ever brimming with sadness. A sadness reflected in every single one of the two thousand eyes staring back at me.
"Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping. Hello, I'm still here, all that's left of yesterday."
So this was the end. I had lost the game. I had lost control of everything inside of me. I had been so swept up in the game I had lost myself. I had nothing; not even my soul remained. I had replaced myself with a machine, an artificial person, a synthetic soul. She had won. Somehow she had won. She had thrown me from my game.
The girl stared at me with her piercing gaze. She saw right through the hollow me. She would not be allowed to look at me again. No one would be allowed to look at me again. Nobody's eyes would pierce my soul.
I glanced at the clock. Her digital face read eleven-seventeen in bright red lights. I whispered a silent goodbye to the world as the winds claimed me. I was falling, falling into nothingness. I had risen from nothing and now began my decent back into nothingness where darkness claimed me. There was nothing left for me. No feelings left for me any more. This was the end. She would never look at me with those eyes again.
Eleven-seventeen. I wonder what time it would be when I hit the ground. What time would it be "game over"? I had played the game and I had lost. I had lost to that girl, she had been my downfall. Eleven-seventeen, and it was done.