Visions in the Dark

Visions in the Dark
I perch at the window, high above the ground, trying to block out the hysterical shrieks and manic laughter emanating from the back room. It is difficult to do so, its grating sound clawing at my eardrums, addling my brain. Another day I have had to spend inside. Another day I have not seen farther than these echoing, dismal walls. I have spent another day inside with few distractions from my wretched task. Aching for an escape, I look to the sewing table. The bottle is there still half full of promises of fraudulent happiness. Often at nights like these, I seek my sole companionship in the form of spirits and sleep, halfhearted promises of dream worlds and the wonderful unknown. Another, better day, I might pass up the chance that my guard might slip up, but today has been wretched indeed, so I will take my chances and run with them.
I scoop up the bottle, swishing the muddy brown liquid inside. Peering in, I realize there is less than I had originally anticipated and frown slightly. What a sad day indeed, when I am sad that only some of my friends will attend my party. Some are missing. It is quite the let down. The hot liquid dragged down my throat, numbing everything in its path. Ah, but the friends who have arrived are merry and full of love. I will not be lonely in these dark hours of day. What horrors lie for those who enjoy no companionship! That would be to live a life of loneliness and promises long forgotten. At this time, the libations flowing freely, I notice a shadow of a once beautiful girl staring at me from a heap on the bed in the back room. Another day I would suspect her of treachery, but now it is time for the sweet surrender of unconsciousness to take me to a place far off. I last glimpse a shadow creeping towards the sewing table where I rest my head. A problem for another day…

Once inebriated, she is easy to steal from. A practice I am quickly perfecting and practicing often. I have no destination in mind, just a need to walk around. I wander the halls aimlessly with my burning candle. I come across a mysterious shadow while traipsing through the corridors. I quickly dismiss it as a trick of the light. The full moon’s bright gaze floods the floor with patterns I cannot discern.
I continue on my way when again a shadow crosses my path. I start. The candle in my hand shakes, causing a drop of hot wax to spill onto my old night shift. Now, it seems to be a shade of dirty red brown, similar to rust or to old blood. The off white of the candle provides startling contrast, but my eyes are ripped away when the shadows coalesce into a form familiar to my eyes. I feel that it is my long dead mother, but I know this cannot be true. Madness has not claimed me, it is merely a trick of the light on a tired mind. I follow her retreating steps, and peering closer, I start again as the shadows rearrange to show me Coco. Coco, my mother’s old parrot, burned alive with my past.
The house burns with the moon’s brightest light shimmering at its peaks, guiding the people with burning branches and bloodstained hearts. Shrieks and dying cries emanate from Coco’s clacking beak. His wings are bright with flames. He looks beautiful and terrible at once, like a fallen angel. Suddenly, the angel lurches to the ground, falling to its death, reminding me that it is a past best forgotten. I turn and race away with my candle, feet barely making a sound.
I reach a door I have yet to pass through, and I step through the doorway, seeking asylum from troubled thoughts. My memory served me right, I had not explored this room before. I know this because I am certain I would have remembered this sleeping girl. Her hair lays softly and clean, her features peaceful and relaxed, her skin dainty and pale. Although her looks are plain and unremarkable, she captures a sort of subtle beauty. I make up my mind that I want to look pretty like her. I distantly remember being pretty before. Desirable. Something I have not felt in a long while. I cross the room in silence to open her closet, thinking to take one or two garments to feel pretty again. On the inside of the door, hangs a breathtaking dress of ivory and cream. Next to it hangs a veil of a similar shade. It sparkles likes rubies in the dim candle light, eye catching. I put it on my head, arranging it pretty as I can without the aid of a looking glass. I do not desire to see myself yet, for I have yet to try on the dress as well. Then I remember. The veil is for a wedding. I was married once. The man has turned out to be a liar. He had told me that everything would work out and that he loved me and that I was beautiful and special. But he lied. Since, he has learned to keep me at a distance. He loves me no more. I know it for it must be true.
This makes me angry. Mad. I have been cheated. My blood boils hot, my eyes dance around the room. The furniture and walls have a strange red tint to them. I rip the veil from my hair, tearing it into shreds, before stomping on it hard, like it has caught on fire. A stifled gasp makes me turn and I stride towards its origin. The girl is awake with wild, doe eyes. My blood stills. I must not be seen sneaking around or I will not be free enough to walk around the manor. I lean in close to her face, examining her animation. I move my candle towards her face. She is as beautiful in waking as she is at rest. Her features themselves are nothing exceptional, but a light behind her eyes burns bright that gives her extra appeal. I know that I must leave soon, for she is likely to not remain quiet. I snuff out my candle. The girl cannot see me. I know I must not get caught. A cloud moves to cover the moon, leaving the room in shadows and darkness. I turn and walk away from the girl in all her frightened beauty. I turn my back on the shredded veil and all its haunting memories. I blend into the night.