In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “1984.”
When the room locked behind her she panicked; why did she trust them? She shouldn’t have. Of course she shouldn’t have. So naive of her. Maybe one day she’d learn. She tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. There was an almost silent sigh behind her; she whipped around. And gasped. How was this even possible?
The entire walls seemed to have been painted with blood and the person standing in front of her, their hands twitching and covered with the sticky coagulated matter was her… And yet it wasn’t. There was something different. At first, her twin? reflection? didn’t move. But when she did, Heather put her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that came to her lips. The savagery in her own gaze wasn’t something unknown. She’d rarely experienced it in her life, at least not when awake. But in her nightmares, that woman was here. Filled with a wrath that nothing and nobody could control, least of all herself.
From the other side, she saw a door open and John, a friend from work, was pushed in. No! No! No! She knelt and started begging.
“Please, please let him go.”
“Heather? What the hell is going on?” The other woman turned at the sound of his voice. And his eyes widened. “Heather, what the…?”
He never had the chance to finish for the angry woman that was her started towards him and started punching him. Rocking back and forth, Heather cried, as the woman started raking her fingers about his face. He tried to defend himself, begging her to help him, but she couldn’t move. She knew what would happen if she tried. At least, if she didn’t intervene he wouldn’t die. She watched him as her wrathful double hit him until he was reduced to a bloody mess. He lay there as her evil twin spread his blood over the wall. She approached him, tearing parts of her skirt to dress his wounds. But rest wasn’t to be offered; next it was her sister that they pushed in.
“NO!!!” She screamed. “Whatever you want I’ll do, but let her go. Please.” She cried sobbing over John’s body. She knew she wouldn’t be able to help it. It was her worst nightmare. She could never win.
When the angry Heather started walking toward Holly, she did the only thing she could think of, she tackled her. But she was nowhere near as strong as her angry self. She was merely desperate whereas her twin was uncontrollable. The hands surrounding her neck were too strong. She could barely breathe. She fought, she struggled trying to loosen the lock around her windpipe. Desperation gave way to anger; she couldn’t lose again. She wouldn’t; she had to protect her sister. She couldn’t let that monster hurt her. She embraced that anger at being useless, at being powerless. And suddenly her hands were stronger. They forced the others’ away from her neck. She pushed her off herself. She kicked and punched, until she couldn’t stop, until she couldn’t move. She had to kill that thing, had to kill. She was so angry. So angry. When the thing stopped moving, power coursed through her. She had so much adrenaline inside her she had to get rid of it.
“Heather?” A voice called.
She turned. There was a girl here… maybe she could get rid of the excess of anger on her. She was too angry. It ate her; she had to expunge it. So angry. And the girl was scared.
image is Wrath by dahlig