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Trapped in your subconscious 1\3\14

PostPosted: Fri Jan 03, 2014 5:15 pm
by Icyss
Alright. From the moment you wake up, you know something's off. Looking around, it takes about three seconds for you to realize that you're not exactly alone... or supposed to be there.

Congratulations! You are trapped in your own subconscious with absolutely no clue how to escape. As if that weren't bad enough already, someone that you really don't want in your mind is dazedly roaming around. How did you get here, and what in your ever loving (or sociopathic, whichever.) mind are you going to do?

Re: Trapped in your subconscious 1\3\14

PostPosted: Sat Feb 08, 2014 3:36 am
by jinhessel
Was I even awake? I wasn’t sure. Either this was sleep and I was sleep-walking a life-like dream, or…this was my room, wasn’t it?...I was truly awake and suffering some… hallucinatory reality. For here I was, at the edge of my bed staring down at the sleeping one, me, or was it my twin sister Sasha? And now that I take a closer look, that has to be Sasha, with the left-side part in her dark brown hair where mine is a right part and the tiny pink stye on her left eyelid near the lashes, where I had none. She looked as she had when we last shared a room as school kids, her hair all crinkly where she braided it wet and loosened it after, in a rushing river of corkscrew curls. This snaky hair and her color choices – purple with red, indigo and silver, and long flowing scarves buoyant as kites – marked her as the stand-out twin.
It’s a funny thing how just a few centimeters of placement can beautify one face above another all but identical: the eyes slightly larger, more widely spaced, more deeply blue, small differences hardly measureable, making one girl “the pretty one” and the other, blandly unexceptional.
As she slumbered there, her rosy pout and elfin nose, I was seized with the impulse like a shouted curse from my reptile brain to dig my thumbs into her windpipe and press the life out of her, this hologram, this interloper. I was not foreign to these feelings, having had the same urges as I lived the life in real time. Was she undeserving of my wrath, you might ask, this beauteous innocent, the casualty of jealousy, perhaps? Think again.
Picture my sister at 15 showing me her pained help-me face – such a performer – in the cow line for school lunch. She cut in line, grabbed the sleeve of my sweater with her shapely lacquered nails glittering with silver sparkles.
“You have to give me cash for chow, Sonja. I lost my lunch money and I’m starving.”
“Lost you lunch money? Third time this week…what….?” You spending it somewhere else?”
She dropped her eyes and her chin trembled.
“Please, please, Sonja, I know you have it. You are so…conserving. You can spare. Sonja,” (Her voice was low and purring). “Don’t make me go to the office and plead family poverty .I will if I have to.”
“Disgrace Mom?”
“Don’t make me pry into lockers or dip into purses left lying around. I’m desperate, It tell you.”
Picture her dimpled face as she pirouettes away.s
“Thank you, Sis. I love you.”
And now my bed holds only my pillows and blankets, no nightmare twin. My imagination, dream-state, subconscious mind – whatever seized me to realize what I could not act out in life, to urge to punish, now when we are 38 and she is going into rehab for the second time. What brought that on?