I am the screaming girl. She is me, I am her. We are one.
I'm trapped in a world of forged security, haunted by my mistakes and tied down by the lies I've told. The story of my life is told so vaguely in these short words. See if you can figure me out.
Each action is an emotion, each description represents something entirely different. A puzzle of the mind, a representation.
The Screaming Mind
The only way to see inside is a window; a tiny window with frosted glass that sparkles, blinding anyone that dares to take a glimpse inside. An ever-bound door is in the exact centre at the front – it can never be unlocked, not even for the closest of friends. It is the sole entry, the lone exit.
Each room is filled with a thousand spider webs, but no eight-legged creature is to be found. They glisten in the darkness, fixed tightly to the central bulb that never lights, hiding a maze of lies that cannot be escaped as they wrap around each corner of the room.
In one of the large, shadowy rooms is a television screen. It’s huge, grey, and the tingling sounds of static echo from its blank display. Edging forwards, I press down on the button softly, snatching my shaking hand away as it recoils upwards. Flickering, the screen comes to life, casting eerie shadows across the white walls that are lines with photograph frames, some empty, some not.
Cross-legged, I sit on the dusty floorboards and wait for pictures to appear in front of me. I’m so close to the television that my eyes become blurry from each tiny pixel that makes up the images.
And so the sorrowful story begins with the glossy-eyed girl and her orderly life. Her pale face unfolds a cage of perfection, a path that never winds. No change in direction is ever taken. Each twist in the plot has the changing emotions of a piano-played song. The visual biography has the violent edge of a stormy sea mixed with the flowing tranquillity of a river with no meanders.
Tears fill my tired eyes as I watch each mistake, each lie and each failure flash before me, teasing the angry sadness threatening to escape. The girl on the screen screams so loudly – the first sounds of the video and I can not help but do the same. Strangled cries echo off each wall as the picture frames smash and the photographs fall through the cracks in the old floorboards.
I have to get away. My anxious feet carry me away from the torture chamber, pulling me up the narrow, creaking staircase and far from the pain. Slamming behind me, a door closes, locking me into a room of nothing except a single bed, positioned in the corner. It’s the only colour in the room with its red sheets and thick duvet.
However even in dreams I cannot escape the story of the glossy-eyed girl as she creeps slyly into them, forcing my imagination to think the world is collapsing around my very self. The light bulb down stairs shatters with a shiver-worthy crack, taking down the spider webs with it, the lies collapsing.
My heart pounds violently as I wake and run back down to the television room, the girl still screaming on the screen of horror. Covering my ears, I see that it isn’t real. The bulb is still intact, and with it my security.
A sigh of relief escapes my cold lips as I collapse to the floor in my reprieve. My cage is still safe, still kindly unbroken. Even the terrifying screams are blocked by my skilled ears so that I cannot hear them – I’ve abandoned them. Eventually, I tune them out so powerfully that the television turns itself off, replacing the picture with a blank, colourless screen.
Each photograph is restored to its original place as they rise slowly through the cracks as I put the pieces back together. The faces in them put a faint smile on my face which is taken away quickly by the memories that swirl around my fragile mind.
Light glimmers from the central bulb before returning the room to its usual darkness. Its rejection to brighten darkens my emotions once more as I find myself climbing the stairs, each one a hurdle to overcome before I can reach my destination.
The red sheets beckon my presence as I get closer and closer, avoiding the obstacles that lie in my path, not wanting to attack any of them head on. Sitting on the lumpy mattress, my breathing steadies.
“This is my mind,” I whisper, filling the silence with the hoarse sound of my voice. “This is my house. I decide what happens. So why trap me in such a woeful paradise?” The screaming girl answers my frantic words as her heart-wrenching tone reaches every single room. She is me, I am her. We are one.