The Monster In My Head
Luna is drawn into the darkness that she attempts to keep in a cage. All she's ever wanted is a chance to join light, but the monster in her mind pulls her into the darkness...
Chapter One: Bruises
One on her arm, one on her cheek, seven on her back, and thirteen on her legs. She rubbed the black and blue skin with her fingers, not too hard but not gently. The black circles under her eyes could easily be mistaken for black eyes. She looked as though she’d been in a fist fight the night before, and lost. Her body sagged and drooped. The skin around her eyes hung low and her bruises stung. Her back hurt worst of all, then her cheek, and then her arm and legs. All ten of her fingers had hangnails and her lips were cut. If she was cleaned up, some might argue that she still was as ugly as she was with the bruises.
Her short, pixie cut of black hair, pale skin, a small pinched mouth, narrow brown eyes, and a snub nose, like a Persian cats would look at you if you saw her face. Her chin was sharp but her forehead was wide and smooth. She looked as though she could be eighteen or thirty-eight, or maybe somewhere in between. With the bruises and bags under her eyes the other hand kept rubbing her bruises, and her eyes burned into the calendar on the wall. August 21. More than a week had passed since she’d gotten her bruises.
She rubbed her them again. Then she pinched herself, hard. She sighed and rubbed her shirt’s fabric together. The shirt was brown with a cut out wolf in the back. It was the almost the color of her eyes, but they were more amber. Somewhere in the room an alarm clock went off. She snorted. “I've been up for hours,” she murmured, almost to herself.
She didn't want to go to school that day, but then again, she never did. She didn't like the staring, the whispering, the questions. No, she didn't like any of it. Humans made her uncomfortable, they always seemed to single her out, put her on the spotlight. She liked being alone, without the dramatic rumors circling her like a hawk, ready to dig its claws into her skin if any of them were true. The alarm went off again and this time she listened.
Her black pants and brown wolf shirt were both covered in marker stains and rips, so she changed into fresh black jeans, a tight silver shirt, and a black jacket. She combed her hair and smothered on lip gloss before patching up the bruises with some cover-up makeup. She straightened her spine as she walked to put on her grey boots and tie a bracelet on her wrist. Her bicycle sitting in the garage looked inviting to her, but she took the car. She didn't have a license, or a learner’s permit, and she raced every car on the freeway. The cops never seemed to mind. “A favor to your father,” they’d say, “his little girl can drive as fast as she wants.” She appreciated it, but she’d rather they just leave her alone. Her father left her alone, so she respected him and left him alone.
The roads leading up to the high school were rocky and and filled with debris. While she drove, she twisted the five rings that she always wore on her right hand. Two had been her grandmother’s, two had been her mother’s, and one had been her father’s. Her grandmother’s rings were both stainless steel with a stone pressed into their centers, bulky but beautiful. Her mother’s was a thin gold band that her father had given her and the other one was a big, bold diamond and gold. The only one that belonged to her father was a twisted golden knot of gold that said on the inside, I’m complicated. This one was her favorite, because it reminded her of herself, crazy and slightly problematic.
Lake-View High was a small high school on the water. Ducks and geese flew around the grounds quacking loudly. The grass was never trimmed and it had grown on the entrance ways to the school giving it a careless, messy feeling. She ducked under the door and ran towards the locker. The inside of the school was as unkept as the outside with litter and dirt all over the floors. She dialed her locker code, shoved her skimpy backpack in and then walked down the deserted halls to her homeroom.
The room was filled with students throwing things at the backs of each others heads while a distressed looking teacher tried to settle them down. She slipped into her seat and hoped not to be noticed, but as always she was.
“Miss Gold? You’re here?” The teacher was a short balding man with an Australian accent who always wore silk suits with various stains. His small, chubby face was beaded with sweat as he noticed her.
“No,” she replied as every pair of eyes turned to stare at her. “Miss Gold is sick. Wolf is here.”
The class erupted into laughter and and even the teacher had trouble keeping a straight face. “My dear, Miss Luna, I do hope you know that we don’t really mean that nickname,” he told her, coughing into his fist. Luna could a compressed smile.
Some perfect blonde leaned over to her. “Uh, we totally, like, mean it.” She flashed Luna a toothpaste commercial grin and then sat back down. She knew the girl’s name to be Taylor Hills and that she was head of the popular clique.
The teacher yelled for order in his classroom, mumbling about disrespecting school laws. “Class,” he directed once they were mostly silent. “Please read pages 10-20 in the next fifteen minutes. You should be almost done with the book by now.” His eyebrows twitched upwards as the class took out their book report books. Luna observed in silence, her hands wouldn't move into her bag. The teacher frowned darkly.
“Miss Gold, did you forget your books?”
“No,” Luna replied quietly, struggling against the invisible force that held her hands in her lap. “My hands just won’t move to open my bag.”
The class began to laugh again and the teacher hit himself with the palm of his hand. He glared at her through his beady eyes. “Do you find it funny mocking me?”
“No, sir. I don’t find it funny mocking anybody.” Her eyes burned and everybody looked away. Luna waited. The whispers would start any minute now, the stares would begin, and the monster within her would start to get hungry.
One on her arm, one on her cheek, seven on her back, and thirteen on her legs. She rubbed the black and blue skin with her fingers, not too hard but not gently. The black circles under her eyes could easily be mistaken for black eyes. She looked as though she’d been in a fist fight the night before, and lost. Her body sagged and drooped. The skin around her eyes hung low and her bruises stung. Her back hurt worst of all, then her cheek, and then her arm and legs. All ten of her fingers had hangnails and her lips were cut. If she was cleaned up, some might argue that she still was as ugly as she was with the bruises.
Her short, pixie cut of black hair, pale skin, a small pinched mouth, narrow brown eyes, and a snub nose, like a Persian cats would look at you if you saw her face. Her chin was sharp but her forehead was wide and smooth. She looked as though she could be eighteen or thirty-eight, or maybe somewhere in between. With the bruises and bags under her eyes the other hand kept rubbing her bruises, and her eyes burned into the calendar on the wall. August 21. More than a week had passed since she’d gotten her bruises.
She rubbed her them again. Then she pinched herself, hard. She sighed and rubbed her shirt’s fabric together. The shirt was brown with a cut out wolf in the back. It was the almost the color of her eyes, but they were more amber. Somewhere in the room an alarm clock went off. She snorted. “I've been up for hours,” she murmured, almost to herself.
She didn't want to go to school that day, but then again, she never did. She didn't like the staring, the whispering, the questions. No, she didn't like any of it. Humans made her uncomfortable, they always seemed to single her out, put her on the spotlight. She liked being alone, without the dramatic rumors circling her like a hawk, ready to dig its claws into her skin if any of them were true. The alarm went off again and this time she listened.
Her black pants and brown wolf shirt were both covered in marker stains and rips, so she changed into fresh black jeans, a tight silver shirt, and a black jacket. She combed her hair and smothered on lip gloss before patching up the bruises with some cover-up makeup. She straightened her spine as she walked to put on her grey boots and tie a bracelet on her wrist. Her bicycle sitting in the garage looked inviting to her, but she took the car. She didn't have a license, or a learner’s permit, and she raced every car on the freeway. The cops never seemed to mind. “A favor to your father,” they’d say, “his little girl can drive as fast as she wants.” She appreciated it, but she’d rather they just leave her alone. Her father left her alone, so she respected him and left him alone.
The roads leading up to the high school were rocky and and filled with debris. While she drove, she twisted the five rings that she always wore on her right hand. Two had been her grandmother’s, two had been her mother’s, and one had been her father’s. Her grandmother’s rings were both stainless steel with a stone pressed into their centers, bulky but beautiful. Her mother’s was a thin gold band that her father had given her and the other one was a big, bold diamond and gold. The only one that belonged to her father was a twisted golden knot of gold that said on the inside, I’m complicated. This one was her favorite, because it reminded her of herself, crazy and slightly problematic.
Lake-View High was a small high school on the water. Ducks and geese flew around the grounds quacking loudly. The grass was never trimmed and it had grown on the entrance ways to the school giving it a careless, messy feeling. She ducked under the door and ran towards the locker. The inside of the school was as unkept as the outside with litter and dirt all over the floors. She dialed her locker code, shoved her skimpy backpack in and then walked down the deserted halls to her homeroom.
The room was filled with students throwing things at the backs of each others heads while a distressed looking teacher tried to settle them down. She slipped into her seat and hoped not to be noticed, but as always she was.
“Miss Gold? You’re here?” The teacher was a short balding man with an Australian accent who always wore silk suits with various stains. His small, chubby face was beaded with sweat as he noticed her.
“No,” she replied as every pair of eyes turned to stare at her. “Miss Gold is sick. Wolf is here.”
The class erupted into laughter and and even the teacher had trouble keeping a straight face. “My dear, Miss Luna, I do hope you know that we don’t really mean that nickname,” he told her, coughing into his fist. Luna could a compressed smile.
Some perfect blonde leaned over to her. “Uh, we totally, like, mean it.” She flashed Luna a toothpaste commercial grin and then sat back down. She knew the girl’s name to be Taylor Hills and that she was head of the popular clique.
The teacher yelled for order in his classroom, mumbling about disrespecting school laws. “Class,” he directed once they were mostly silent. “Please read pages 10-20 in the next fifteen minutes. You should be almost done with the book by now.” His eyebrows twitched upwards as the class took out their book report books. Luna observed in silence, her hands wouldn't move into her bag. The teacher frowned darkly.
“Miss Gold, did you forget your books?”
“No,” Luna replied quietly, struggling against the invisible force that held her hands in her lap. “My hands just won’t move to open my bag.”
The class began to laugh again and the teacher hit himself with the palm of his hand. He glared at her through his beady eyes. “Do you find it funny mocking me?”
“No, sir. I don’t find it funny mocking anybody.” Her eyes burned and everybody looked away. Luna waited. The whispers would start any minute now, the stares would begin, and the monster within her would start to get hungry.