Alexis Who?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A twin dies in the womb and haunts (or rather helps) her brother throughout his life.

Submitted: May 13, 2008

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Submitted: May 13, 2008

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He was but a bundle of scrawny limbs huddled together in the kitchen sink. As if someone had eaten his gut and discarded the bony remains. In fact, one might think that one had, indeed, if they walked in on such a sight: a small boy crouched in the fettle position almost shaking, rather subtly vibrating, with his head bent down as his eyes didn’t dare to peek from the dark shadow cast by his presence in the basin. “Evan,” a young girl’s voice said addressing him. “Alexis, please. Leave me alone.” “Alexis isn’t my name and we’re playing a game so stop hiding. Play with me,” the voice requested, yet Evan couldn’t place its source by ear. In fact, it seemed ominous or even silent, yet audible, like a thought. “I’m not playing,” he protested, “and Alexis is a pretty name.” “What?” The voiced asked considering his argument, “Why should I have a pretty name, Evan?” The voice inquired with a increasingly obvious hint of agitation. “Because your my twin.” He stated although his voice had seemed to have shrunken. “Yeah, sure, and your so pretty, that of course you would have a pretty twin with a pretty name, right?” She said with that agitation surfacing into full conciseness. Evan’s heart sank. “Play with me.” She growled. “I don’t want to,” he whimpered. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m not important enough to play with,” she said sarcastically with artificial pain, “After all, you have better things to do, what with hiding in the sink in all.” “Alexis.” He begged.

“You know you should really look at your twin when she’s speaking to you. I thought I was so pretty. “Alexis, I don’t-” “I told you,” now she was thoroughly angered as evident in her raised voice, “my name is not Alexis.” Evan was growing hot in his little bundle sensing her aggravation. “Do you know why I don’t have a name?” “No!” He said in protest not response, but that didn’t quite translate with her, or at least she pretended it didn’t. “Oh, you don’t? Then let me remind you,” she began but was frustrated by his lack of visual recognition, “I said look at me.” “Please, stop. Leave me alone.” He cried terrified. “Look at me!” Alas he could only shiver in the wake of her demands. That sinking heart was now swallowed, a causality of a civil war guilt and fear that raged in the remains of his ravaged gut. It descended into the bowels of the sink upon which he now squatted. “I said, look at me!” She cried infuriated. An icy chill slapped Evan across the face. Finally, shocked his eyes bolted up wide with horror and innocent shades of blue were force-fed the voice’s face. Indeed she was beautiful with eyes blue, just as his, and curly blond hair a faded shade of blonde, just as his, and a nose curved slightly upwards, just as his. “I-I said you were pretty.” Evan attempted despite his quivering bottom lip. “Then why couldn’t you just look at me?” She asked as her voice was increasingly rising with rage, “Why can’t anyone look at me? Why, Evan? Why can’t I have a name?” “Just leave me alone!” Evan cried. Finally, it was Alexis’s turn to be scared, or at least look like it, rather. Her eyes gazed at him with estranged shock, as if she had just seen a ghost, as if Evan were a ghost, as if everything was so unreal. “Leave you alone? I left you alone! I love you, Evan, so I left you alone. I give you everything you want, right? All I wanted was someone to pay attention to me. Why can’t you do that? You treat me like I’m nothing. You ignore me. I know they told you to, but you know better than that...or do you? In fact, what do you know. You don’t know anything! Y-You don’t even know why I don’t have a name,” now her voice must’ve reached her climax, “I don’t have a name because I don’t exist!”

I was only five. ______________________________________ That was ten years ago...

But things have changed since then. For starters, I began to pay attention. You see, everyone has their ghosts. Many try to run from them, and for five years so did I. I ended up in the kitchen sink. Pretty pathetic, I know, especially when your ghost, saved your life. In case you haven’t figured it out by now she sacrificed hers for mine in the womb. We used be twins. Now we’re a little bit closer.

Alexis Who?

Finally she had let me in. My hands gripped her sides; clutching them with a force so irrepressible, it seemed that after an early adolescence of groping around cluelessly they had finally found their niche. In fact, that’s exactly how it was. Hell, I was still clueless as to how I gotten Ellis Jaclyn’s house, through the doors, past the kitchen, across the room with a tired couch facing a wall mounted TV, up the stairs and into her room without her breaking into hysteria and busting out the LOLz like: “Dude, are you serious? You thought- No, please, the only thing your kissing is my ass! Gotcha’, bitch!” And I would’ve been so pathetic as to actually drop to my knees. (NO! In humiliation of course I wouldn't...Yeah I would’ve totally done it. Thats a nice ass.) Alas, punk’d I was not. Instead, by hand she welcomed me into this realm that was her room. Upon planks of wood we treaded as I took in the landscapes of an underlying white wall hidden by strokes of ingenious design realized with a paintbrush, a mural of magazine clippings, or her latest masterpiece. (Presently it was portrait of a dog sketched in grayscale with OMG written across the entire paper. I assumed it was a reference to the dog I had recently heard about that was starved in the name of supposed art.) Covers lie strewn across her mattress, held in place by an elevated rim which formed a box around the exterior. It was a unique design, which I did not recognize as having seen before and only made this room, this place, this whole scenario even more alien. At least the mess was consistent and complimented the bed’s disorder nicely. More magazines, DVDs, posters, and a few pairs of Converse all helped to comprise the chaos that cluttered her floors. She released her grip and turned to shut and lock the door. She returned facing me with those flashing blue eyes that well illuminated contrasting drama between its marvelous shade and that of her dyed hair. Black and blue. Nice. Her nose was petite with a slight curve at the end while her cheeks were plump, but not fat, and aglow with radiant red. Perfect. “Evan,” she said before a smirk squirmed across her face. It was weird for a moment. I was just standing there gazing into those blues, but still unable to ignore that frightening smirk that could’ve meant anything. Then she just started giggling, like a light had been lit in her soul. It also must’ve set ablaze to all the reds in her cheeks and lips, because they were now even more vibrant then And I wondered how clueless did I look standing their, already hanging on her every word that had yet to be spoken from the latter. I mean, I couldn’t help it there was literally a voice in my head going “Aww.” But the funny part was is that it took me a moment to differentiate who’s it was. “Evan,” she repeated trying again. “Yeah?” “Do you like Sonic Youth?” __________ Tell me that your burning for me. She and I were rocking that chair with the Itunes on the computer in front of us all: Tell me that you can’t afford me. I couldn’t feel anything but my tongue feeling her tongue, oh, and her stomach...I could totally frisk that sculpture forged to perfection by late night ice-cream tempered by subsequent later night closed doors dance sessions or rather, “what the hell is that” closed doors sessions. I mean she wasn’t fat or even chunky, ah the contrary, but for girls these days I kind of thought eating was a cool party trick, ya’ know. Yet I digress from that moment of absolute perfection! It was like nothing before, but everything at the same time. OhmyGod, it was so good it still has me using cliches!


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