1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Westbrook

Pasha Westbrook
Young Adult Contemporary w/ paranormal elements
Ragdoll

friday, october 31st
i’ve seen demons. i know what they can do. i’ve been possessed by them. i have been their possession. they cast u in an invisible spell. they blind the eyes of people around u so people don’t see them in the same unfiltered light as u. but u know their light well; their aged, over ripe, cheesecloth light filled with ancient screams. the minute it touches u, it shrouds u 4ever.

ouch. i just poked myself.

Mother attached a butterfly bookmark to this journal with a safety pin. it’s her way of saying she speaks my language - that she’s on my level (i wear safety pins in everything) - but i have a secret for u Mother dear. you’ll never speak my language. and i’ll never speak yours.

god. this blood’s getting everywhere.

ragdoll
i come to life when her blood spills. i move in red and breath. she doesn’t see me and she doesn’t know that i see. i have seen since we first found each other. she was four. that was twelve years ago. i’ve been around a lot longer. i don’t know how long. i only remember the smell of smoke and turpentine, the taste of oiled cinnamon, the feel of hard straw and needle pinch as it sewed on each stitch of mouth and coarse yarn hair. i didn’t have to see to know it flamed red. it was a long and painful process. creation always is. the nimble strength and rough tenderness in my creator’s hands taught me everything i needed to know about love.

it’s hallows eve. my birthday. how’s that 4 blessed, huh? u know you’re bound to a twisted life when you’re born on the day meant 4 celebrating death.

born 2 die.

this journal is a gift from Mother. 4 your poetry, she said with her sad voice and sadder smile. of course it’s the wrong color. pink (her favorite color) with some inspirational quote engraved on it that’s supposed to enlighten me. instead it sickens me. not the effect the unknown author was going 4 i’m sure. the moment i saw the journal i knew i wanted nothing to do with it. i almost tossed it when a queer idea struck me. i wrapped it in crushed black velvet and trimmed it with crimson ribbon, like a bloody vein. the pink has been vanquished.

never fear, diary dear, the hallowed eve’s girl is here!

i immediately took care of u. and now i claim u. u are not allowed to touch another’s hands or look into their eyes. if u do, i will wilt. like a poisoned flower, i shall die. and if the day comes that u look upon another, i know that i am no longer alive. just a haunt of a girl, haunting and haunted. we are bound now. promise me this, and i promise 2 tell u everything. we bond in blood, it’s just a pinprick, on the first page here, see? i’ve marked u with the only part of me i know how to freely give. my blood. so if another touches u, close your eyes, do not let them see. but if u must open them, please choose wisely. be my protector.

if u dare.

well isn’t this cute? trick-or-treaters are outside my bedroom window ringing the doorbell. i hear Mother’s faint voice complimenting them, smoothing them with her spawn honey. i hear their giggles and the wonder in their tones at her soft approach. she has a way of doing that to people, convincing them she’s warm as sun, sweet as sugar, harmless as a skittish deer. i marvel at it. her technique i didn’t inherit. why don’t they see? why don’t people ever see that’s she’s as vicious as a pack of hungry wolves, cold as frostbite on a century’s winter lawn, dark as death.

me? i don’t trick-or-treat anymore. i play with ouija boards and get buzzed off alcohol. cigarettes are my candy.

monday, november 3rd
this scorching arizona desert just might be hell with its cavernous sands and wicked whirlwinds. my skin is dry. my throat parched. i’m dying of thirst over here! save me, will ya?

i’ve taken ice cubes from Mother’s freezer. they’re in my left hand. i’m holding onto them tight as tight can be. i like the freeze against my skin. the pricking, needling pain that begs me to let go but i never do. frozen spike-filled numbness. i hold the ice til it melts and drips onto the page.

porcelain doll
the cold brings me to life but of course the girl doesn’t notice. she’s as dumb as they come and unlike that rag of a doll, i refuse to speak of my creator. i don’t remember anyways. is there really a need for such frivolousness as trying to remember one’s fashioner? obviously i’ve been fashioned. the details are trite and unnecessary.

thursday, november 6th
i’m writing in the high school bathroom. it was quiet 10 minutes ago. now there are girls in here, 2 of them, giggling about nothing. i can’t stand that type of sound. empty sounds, unburdened by life. carefree, i guess. u and i are leaving now. they’ve stopped giggling. their mouths are open. they’re staring at me. yeah i know what i look like. a walking tombstone.

do u think it strange, i wonder, that i carry a needle to prick my skin and anoint u? the pain is sweet and the drops not too many.

ragdoll
my button eyes were sewn on last. i saw my maker. old and weathered, battered by time, her skin dark chocolate and her eyes rheumatic and blind. she saw me smile and smiled in return, patting my stuffed arms and legs. she’ll need you, she whispered in a voice i recognized as my own. i travelled great distances, through many hands and lives, none of them right for me, to find the girl who needs me most, the one my creator created me for.

saturday, november 8th
lexi wants to do it 2nite. dye her hair. she doesn’t want to wait a minute longer. it’s 9pm now. Mother doesn’t know i’m going, and even if she did, she could care less. don’t worry, diary dearest, i’m bringing u with me. it’s a mile to the small apartment where lexi and her blob mother live. lexi needs me as much as i need her.

demonic-touched girls horde together. it’s up to us to rid ourselves of the evil’s heavy-laden, unasked 4 touch.

if we can.

1 a.m.
well, we did it. lexi’s sunflower blonde hair is now abyss black, deep-dark as a well, like mine. i helped her dye it a few hours ago. she held onto the bathroom sink and cried about her demon, the brother in prison who did things to her a brother never should while the other brother turned away. i kissed her pale forehead, cool damp from water, and whispered in her ear, we have each other now, i moved her strands of hair (i’d move heaven and earth) from her line of sight, we’ll pull each other thru this hell and we won’t look back. aren’t we now bonded by our hair and eyes, black and blue? when she looked in the mirror she saw my words were true.

i took the silver dagger from my bag, the one i ordered thru wiccan stars, my ultimate fave catalog and told her 2 follow me.