Two Horses

Two Horses IK by Mina Wachter

Freedom

A whisper of doubt follows you around, a fleeting glance through the corner of your eye.

A faltering step forward, a hasty look back, tripping over your own feet.

Never allowing the sands of time to take it in, to breathe, to let go.

Unsure laughter dies on your lips before reaching your eyes. Hesitance falters thought, hinders movement, anchors freewill. It weighs you down.

“An iron ball around your ankles- over the waterfall”  

Darkness closing in, darkness you become, Choking, suppressing until you burst, screaming out a vicious cry,

a fury that mellows as eyes shut tight and you finally allow yourself the time,

the time to take it in, to breathe, to let go,

In the calm of the storm, eyes flutter open, a true smile is born, dawning upon startled eyes,

A slow step forward and a giggle bursts forth with surprised delight, each step a realization and before you know it, you’re running, arms thrown up, rejoicing, embracing, reaching out, throwing light upon shadows,

 Laughter dances in your eyes and moves within you, feet that hardly touch the ground, no longer just a run, but a dance,

A dance in your footsteps, a dance in your thoughts, a dance in your movement, a dance in your freewill You were made to be this way, like a bird that soars above it all,

You can run, you can skip, you can fly

Nothing can hold you down,

 “You feel free.You feel freedom.”

By Wilhelmine Wachter

Stolen Hope 3

Diane stood shivering at the door of an old lodge and checked her wrist watch nervously. It was slowly heading towards 6pm and she needed to get back home before it got too late. She rubbed her arms furiously against the cold and looked worriedly at the darkening sky. Her sense of self-preservation had increased since she was now nurturing a little life inside her. She knocked on the door again, this time more urgently, but still, no one came. She stepped back and frowned, wondering if she was at the right place. Before she could question her whereabouts any further, the door swung open and before her stood Isabel. Diane reeled in shock as her gaze slowly took in her sister’s form. It was as if she was looking into a mirror. Growing up, people had always asked what it was like to have a twin. Was it like having a mirror image? Diane had never really thought about it, thinking that the obvious answer was yes. And so that was what she would reply. But as she looked at her sister now, she realized that having a twin wasn’t supposed to be like having a mirror image. There was always some form of individuality. Independence. And right now she didn’t like what she was seeing. Isabel, from tip to tail, was dressed exactly like Diane. Not only that, but she was also pregnant. And from the looks of it, they were in the same semester too. Of course they had often worn the same outfits, but that was a thing of childhood. And when Isabel had returned after two years of disappearing, she had gotten the same outfits as Diane, but she had never worn them. Diane had passed it off as Isabel's psychological need to hold onto something happy from her childhood. And being abused, wearing matching outfits with your twin sister was her only happy memory. Or so Diane had thought.

“Isabel…” she managed to choke out. Isabel smiled serenely at her sister and opened the door wider to indicate invitation inside. Once inside, Isabel led Diane into a drab looking lounge and gestured towards an old couch. Diane sank into it, still dazed by how much Isabel not only resembled her physically, but also in her mannerisms.

“Hello Diane.” Isabel murmured, unsurprisingly in a tone of voice much similar to Diane's. Then she laughed delicately when she saw Diane’s eyes nearly pop out in surprise.

“You can talk!?” Diane exclaimed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had ever heard Isabel talk.

“I’ve always been able to talk.” Isabel murmured. She was still standing as if she wanted to impose on Diane just how much they looked alike. Diane swallowed nervously, wishing now that she had chosen to ignore Isabel's text message summoning her hither where no one knew she was, or in the very least that Matthew was here with her. But truth was she had been worried about Isabel. After Diane had announced her engagement five months ago, Isabel had disappeared yet again. No one had noticed for a while, and that had made Diane feel guilty and was part of the reason why she was here now. She hadn’t heard from Isabel for so long, that when she got the text she had hurried over without even thinking of telling anyone. And now, her phone had no service. Typical. There was a long silence in which Isabel just looked placidly at Diane with an unfaltering smile on her face. Diane found it both irritating and worrisome, and she raked her brains to find something to break the silence.

“So… you’ve been living here the whole time?”

“Yes.” Isabel replied still smiling.

Diane looked at Isabel's protruding belly, “All by yourself?”

“Yes.” Isabel intoned again.

Frustrated with Isabel just standing over her giving monosyllabic answers Diane huffed “Well aren’t you gonna sit down!?”

“No.”

“I liked her better when she didn’t speak at all” Diane thought to herself, her patience wearing thin. “Why are you dressed like me? In fact, why do you look exactly like me?”

This time Isabel didn’t reply, choosing instead to continue with her irksome smile.

With her hormones in the extreme, Isabel's behaviour was enough to get Diane to her feet. But before she could open her mouth, Isabel pushed her back onto the couch.

“Sit down.” She said coolly.

Diane stared up at Isabel in shock and protectively wrapped her arms around her belly. “Wh-why did you call me here Isabel”

Isabel took a step closer and said “Because it’s time for me to take what’s mine.”

Diane shook her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Your life Diane.”

Isabel waited for the severity of her words to sink in before she started laughing. Diane's hands gripped the sofa until her knuckles turned white. The color had drained from her face, and her other hand clutched her tummy as she felt fear cause a mild contraction in her womb. She looked up at Isabel and received a devilish smile from her twin sister. She finally understood why Isabel looked like her. She intended to take her place. And she could very well pull it off. She looked like her, she talked like her, and she acted like her. She had even gotten herself pregnant just like her. Diane felt bile rise up in her throat. Dear Lord, how long had Isabel been planning this?  Almost as if she had heard Diane’s thoughts, Isabel began pacing the room slowly.

“You’ve always had everything Diane. Everything I’ve always wanted. You were always the prettier one, even though we were twins” Isabel spat out bitterly, “That monster chose me instead of you, and why? We both killed our mother. But no. He. Chose. Me.” She gave a maniacal laugh. “That was the only time I was ever chosen for anything. She’s strange. Why doesn’t she smile? What the fuck do I have to smile about?” she whipped around so viciously to face Diane that Diane reeled back in alarm. “Please Diane; enlighten me, what the fuck do I have to smile about?” Isabel gripped Diane’s arm so tightly that Diane yelped out in pain.

“Isabel... I” Diane started, but Isabel didn’t give her a chance to finish.

“Exactly. I have nothing.’ She carried on vehemently. “But not anymore.”

Her features softened suddenly and for a second, Diane saw a glimmer of the old Isabel she had known as a child as they played hide and seek in the sunshine and forgot about the horror of the abuse. Isabel closed her eyes and gently rubbed her stomach with a smile.

“Not anymore” she whispered. “Because now I have Matthew’s child growing inside of me.”

Diane felt a wave of nausea grip her. She shook her head in denial. It couldn’t be true, Matthew would never do that to her. He would never willingly sleep with her twin sister… unless he had thought it was her. Diane’s head whipped up to look at Isabel.

 “You deceived Matthew into thinking it was me he was sleeping with?”

Isabel didn’t answer. The proud smirk on her face was answer enough. Diane stood to her feet so abruptly this time that it was Isabel's turn to look shocked.

“You vile, treacherous BITCH!” she screamed grabbing Isabel by the arms and giving her a bone-jarring shake with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. But it was short-lived, for all of a sudden, Isabel let out a blood-chilling screech and slapped Diane hard across the face. Diane felt fury rise within her, and she slapped Isabel with a livid back-hand. Isabel fell onto the floor, taking Diane with her. They tumbled on the dusty grit, with hair pulling and yelps of pain. Somehow, Diane managed to get on top of Isabel and managed to pin her hands down. She looked down at Isabel's face morphed into an ugly grimace as she struggled to get free of Diane’s grip. When had Izzie become this monster, Diane wondered sadly, but deep down she knew the answer. Isabel had never been the same after the first blow she had received as a child. She was a result of the horrible things she had suffered through. But instead of rising above, she had chosen to give in. She was her father’s child.

Without any warning, Isabel kneed Diane hard in the stomach. Diane cried out, weakening her hold on Isabel, and Isabel took the opportunity to strike a hard blow to the side of Diane’s head. Her vision out of focus, and a sharp pain emanating from her tummy, Diane rolled onto the ground and drew herself into a ball. She was fading fast but with the little strength she had left she felt an instinctive need to protect her unborn child. Pain gripped her as she felt a wave of contractions rip through her womb from the kick she had received from Isabel. Her arms went around her stomach protectively and she started praying fiercely while tears ran down her cheeks.

“Please Lord not my baby, not my baby”

Through her haze of tears, Diane saw Isabel get up slowly and walk over to the mantle where she took something. When she came back to stand over her, Diane saw that it was an injection.

“Please Izzie” she implored in an aching whisper, “Please don’t do this…”

“It’s too late Diane.” Isabel murmured as she crouched down next to Diane and slowly injected the debilitating drug into her sister’s arm. “You have what I want, and so I have to keep you as far away from the life you had, so that I can take over and live in peace.” Diane tried to make sense of Isabel's words but her brain was getting fuzzy and her vision was fizzling out. Isabel's last words echoed and reverberated in her mind as everything went black.

“This is your new home now.”

The End

By Wilhelmine Wachter

Stolen Hope 2

“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster himself. And when you look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche 

Diane stood awkwardly among the small gathering of adults as the priest droned on with his speech. She shifted uncomfortably under the cumbersome black out-fit, wanting more than anything to throw it all off and go down to the lake like all the other children. But she couldn’t. Not yet anyway. Maybe after her father’s funeral. Despite her youth, death did not confuse her. She knew death was a grim reality just as sure as she knew her father was going to hell. And it didn’t bother her one bit. Her gaze drifted over the faces of the few adults who had turned up. They knew just as well as she did the crimes her father had committed. Yet they had chosen to ignore it. Had looked politely indifferent, just as they did now.

Bored, her gaze wandered off into the distance as her mind drifted to thoughts of swimming. She gave a sudden start when her gaze met that of a familiar stranger standing between the trees. Diane frowned as the small figure began walking towards the mourners. It wasn’t long before whispers rippled through the adults. Many of them gasped and pointed fingers, but it was Diane who ran forward as it suddenly dawned on her who the stranger was.

“Isabel.” She whispered.

*****

Isabel’s return was the talk of the town. The nine year old girl who had hit her abusive father over the head with a pan before disappearing for two years was back. Not that anyone had really tried looking for her. The police had bigger cases to solve, and her father thought she had most probably curled up into a little ball and died somewhere. Good riddance. Only Diane had longed for her sister’s safety. She knew that wherever Isabel was, she was safer than she would be under the same roof as her father. And now their father was dead, it was finally safe for Isabel to come back home. But she was different now. Diane looked at her sister and still felt the way she had when she had seen Isabel walking towards her at the funeral. Like she was looking at a familiar stranger. Isabel could no longer talk. Or maybe she chose not to. Not a single word, nor a hum of a tune. Just silence. Her eyes were the worst. Shuttered and closed, betraying not a single emotion. Dead.

Despite this, Isabel was ever watchful. Especially of Diane. It was a fascination that had begun long back when Isabel had questioned “Why me?”

Why wasn’t it Diane who had been abused. They were identical twins after all, born at basically the same time. There were complications during the entire delivery. So why had their father blamed Isabel for their mothers death. And morbidly this fascination grew, especially when Isabel had gone into hiding. Lurking in the shadows and always always always watching Diane. What was so special about her. With time, fascination grew into a vile jealousy. Not only was Isabel watching now. She was evolving.

With each of the years that passed, Diane was under constant scrutiny from her sister. The way she spoke, the way she laughed, the way she raised an eye brow or frowned when she was in deep concentration. Isabel ingrained all this into memory. She made sure she had the same hairstyle as Diane. The same outfits. Diane thought nothing of it as they grew up. She allowed Isabel whatever comfort she wanted. The only way you could tell them apart now was that Isabel was the silent one. And it wasn’t long before Isabel began experimenting on unsuspecting victims. Isabel would mimic Diane. She would become Diane. And no one knew the difference, for it was in these moments that Isabel would speak. She did it to their great aunt who had taken them in, she did it to the teachers at school. She even did it to Diane’s friends. And not one of them suspected a thing. Not even Diane herself. Isabel became so obsessed with memorizing Diane that she often confused her name with Diane’s. Whenever someone called Diane, Isabel would find that she would look up and almost answer.

The obsession grew long into their teen years and both girls found they fell for the same boy. But of course Isabel didn’t say anything. A stigma had followed her around ever since she had returned home. The abused girl. The strange one. The lesser twin. Who would want her. Certainly not a guy like Matthew. With his gorgeous brown eyes, and his sexy messy hair. Of course he would want Diane. And so she watched them with an ache in her heart. How he looked at her with such a soft look in his eyes. How he tucked stray strands of her hair behind her ears. And Isabel wanted that so badly to be her he looked at so lovingly. To have his fingers trace the outline of her jaw. To love her. And that ache grew so despairingly that soon she was victimizing Matthew as well. She would steal moments with him, pretending to be Diane. Her culmination was going to the extent of sleeping with him and conceiving the same day as Diane. And still no one suspected a thing. For Isabel was freakishly careful.

*****

Isabel sat quietly at the dinner table as usual. Though they were now living in their own homes, every Sunday they would come back to their great aunts house for family dinner. For some reason Diane was late, and Isabel knew she was had been with Matthew the whole day. She felt a pang of jealousy at this thought. She knew she was treading dangerous waters now that she was pregnant at the same time as Diane, but she still had a few more weeks to figure out what to do before the pregnancy started showing. The front door suddenly banged open and in came a beaming Diane, all out of breath. She could hardly contain herself.

“I have some really great news!” she looked around the dinner table at her aunt and cousins and finally at her sister. Then she held up her left hand to show a sparkling engagement ring.

“Matthew proposed!”

There was a clamor at the table as everyone stood to gush around Diane. Isabel on the other hand, felt something snap inside her. She was seething with anger but somehow she managed to smile at Diane and hug her. And all the while that Diane described the proposal in great nauseous detail, Isabel was already planning her next move.

To be continued…

By Wilhelmine Wachter

 

Sina Fierce

http://leheartandmind.blogspot.com/2013/05/blog-post.html

Stolen Hope

Two girls sat crouched in the darkest corner of the closet, arms wrapped around each other tight. Not a breath escaped their lips as they listened, ears tuned, eyes wide, to the muffled sounds coming from outside the door. Something was thrown violently across the room and it landed with a loud crash.

“Where are you, you little bitch?”

One of the little girls whimpered and seemed to shrink further into the corner. The other girl wrapped her arms more fiercely around her sister and fought back the tears that threatened to engulf her. “He won’t find us.” She whispered, but her voice gave away the doubt she felt and she wished she hadn’t spoken at all.

They jumped in unison when a bottle shattered. Fear made the sound seem so close and the smell of liquor seeped through the door. A cold chuckle of laughter seemed to echo and reverberate through the walls and the girls shivered in fright. A slow set of footsteps made its way slowly and calculatedly towards the closet and as inebriated as he was, his step never faltered. The tears that had been held back so bravely finally spilled over. The light filtering in through the crack at the bottom of the door was suddenly shut out by the shadow of the monster standing outside the door. Eyes squeezed shut as the inevitable took place and the door was clawed off its hinges. Dim light fell upon the girls and a puddle of urine pooled between their legs. The braver of the two looked defiantly up at the lurching figure of her father and hid her sister behind her. Unperturbed, the man looked down at his daughters with glazed eyes and a triumphant smile. Although they were identical twins, he could easily tell them apart. Anyone could. Diane Hope Mills was quite obviously the older of the two, just from her protective stance. She was a plump nine year old who had grown up too quickly. Her green eyes glittered with spirit and her blond hair shone with them. She was alive. Isabel Faith Mills was death in the eyes of a child. A mere shadow of a girl, starved to skin and bones, eyes sunken in from fear of falling asleep. Even her dreams offered no escape to the terror that was her life. Looked at with utter disgust and hatred by her father and beaten ever since she could crawl. To him, she was the reason his wife had died.

A wave of sobs wracked Isabel’s body as her father viciously pulled her out from behind Diane.

 “You really thought you could hide from me did you, you little fuck?” he growled. He took her by the hair and dragged her out of the closet. Diane rushed forward and pummeled her father ineffectively with her little fists. “Leave her alone!” she screamed and her father gave her a brutal kick to the side. Her head connected with the wall and she sank to the floor unconscious.

He stumbled out into the hallway with Isabel still in tow, her sharp yelps of pain muffled by tears. She knew what was coming and her body convulsed involuntarily. She fell to the floor but this didn’t make her father stop. He just continued to drag her across the hard cold floor. All the way down the wooden splintered staircase. All the way to the kitchen. As he moved he removed his belt; his favorite weapon.

“You really thought you could hide from me did you?” he muttered breathily. He lifted her to her feet, then shoved her back onto the floor and stood over her with a wild look in his eyes. He slowly twisted the belt in his hand enjoying the fear it brought to the eyes of the helpless girl at his feet. Then with a cruel lift of his arm he brought the belt, buckle side, crashing to the girl’s side. She cried out but the pain was so intense that no sound came out. Her vision blurred and she went blind for a few seconds. She turned onto her stomach as she felt herself convulse and throw up her meager supper. She braced herself for the second blow fighting the urge to cover her head because previous experience had taught her that this would only make her father hit her more for doing so. He lifted his arm again and this time brought the belt down so hard that he himself fell backwards into the kitchen counter, bringing a rain of pots and pans onto the floor. Barely missing her head, a large pan fell in front of her as if goading her to take it in her hands. She looked back at her father and felt a wave of hatred wash over her as she watched him struggle to his feet. Without thinking twice, she grabbed the pan, stood shakily to her feet  and swung the pan at his head with all the strength an abused nine year old could muster. The pan connected to his head with a loud crack and for a second he stared down at her in shock. Isabel gave a frightened step backwards when he started to fall towards her. In her fear she thought he was lunging towards her and she screamed. But her hit combined with the liquor was enough to knock him out. For a few minutes she stared down at his limp body and she shivered as she remembered a time when he had beat her up and then locked her in the closet for days until she felt she was going to die. He was surely going to finish her when he woke up. It was not the fear of death that made her do what she did next. In fact she welcomed death. It was the fear of being locked up again. In the dark with no food or water, just her sisters voice outside the door keeping her alive. It was the thought of going through that, that made her turn and run. Out the front door and into the night, as far away from her father as she could.

To Be Continued...

 By Wilhelmine Wachter