My Dark Side 1 My Dark Side
My name is Lexanne, and I am evil.
Do you think I want to be? No. Does it bring me joy? No. But for as long as I can
remember I have been malicious, manipulative, and cold, along with a whole litany of
derogatory names and titles. Every single heart-piercing description is true.
I am evil.
There, look there. There I am, playing the popular nice girl while sneaking and slithering
my way down to every heart, filling each beating organ with the poison of gossip and
cruelty. I look adoringly towards Brad, the stupid yet endearing quarterback.
“Babe, I can’t wait until Friday’s game! You’re going to be awesome!”
As soon as football practice starts, I am whispering to my “friend” Maria, “What a total
loser! He’s so dense and desperate that he’ll eat anything up. But check out hottie over
there!” And so on.
It sickens me. I see that look on their faces, as if I just told them Santa Claus was not
real. And that malignant facet of me revels in their silent pain.
You might say to me, if you had any sympathy for my plight at all, “You aren’t evil. Just
a little mean and misguided.” Or if you were truthful, you’d slander me with another
awful label and stay away from me as if you’re life depended on it.
But I can’t help it. I know so many others chime in on that same refrain, and I am just
one other chorus member of the pathetically spiteful. I don’t want to do it, yet I watch as
the part of me in control of my body molds each verbal dagger and hateful lie. And that
is what makes me evil: my inability to be anything but a bystander to the corrupt part of
my soul.
My Dark Side 2 Roxanne is what she calls herself. Roxanne is that cruel part of me who never feels
anything but smug delight at other’s misery. She isolates her targets. She will hurt
friends, family. She will dig her icy talons into the abandoned victim, and will wallow in
the hopelessness and despair. On any day that she has the slightest conscience, she
tells me that her prey is so miserable that it really is an act of mercy. I could count those
days on one hand if I had control of my physical body.
Worst still are the nights when I helplessly observe as my body slinks out into the
woods, locating a trap and extricating some poor creature unlucky enough to have
become ensnared. Oh how that poor rabbit shivered, trembling like a weak leaf in the
winter wind, its fur, snarled with debris from its frantic efforts. I had wanted to pet it, and
to my surprise, my hand started stroking its wearied anxious head. But Roxanne was
the one stroking it, to enhance the brutality of the deed, to add betrayal to the growing
list of grievances for which I am responsible. I knew what was going to happen. I
shrieked inside my hand and beat against the mental barriers that kept me contained as
Roxanne maneuvered my body.
With a quick movement, she broke its neck. I broke its neck, the blood seeping like
tears from the jagged wounds sliced open by the sharp edges of broken bone.
I wept within my mental chamber, pleading for forgiveness for not being strong enough
to stop myself from committing the dastardly deed. With the blood Roxanne drew sigils
on my forehead and arms, chanting words I did not know. A surge of power pulsed
away from me, and I swore I heard a distant wail, like that of a mother losing her child. A
returning wave of magic nearly swept me away, and Roxanne drank in the pure
innocent power, making her stronger than ever.
Roxanne's spirit is a lot older than mine, though I don’t understand why. She brags often
about how she had a different, more beautiful, more powerful form, and how she was
the greatest sorceress in a far away land, a queen who enchanted all around her.
My Dark Side 3 I once questioned her, asking her why she wasn’t still ruling that land if she was so
magnificent and omnipotent. I felt her power swamp me, wrapping me with her spider
threads, constricting her coils until I knew that she could easily crush me. She released
me afterwards, and I always had wondered why. But I never inquired anything of her
again.
My spirit hands jerk to a stop, ceasing the line of writing in my mental journal. There is a
disturbance around my mental chamber. I manifest my spirit into the likeness of the
body in which I am entrapped. The mini bright stars that are memories and past
thoughts recede from me, and I orient myself once more.
Bare, like a transparent medical room, the place has been my good side’s home since I
can remember. No pictures, no personal items. Trapped in the glass chambers within
my mind, I have no chances of experiencing anything myself. Not anymore. Not after
the time my spirit was almost consumed…
Anyway, I had once tried to conjure imaginary pink paint and wash the walls with the
vibrancy. I concentrated hard and brought forth from the fabric of my imagination
posters of boy bands that I had seen in other girls’ rooms on my out-of-body excursions.
But they weren’t me. Or, rather, I didn’t know if it was me. I was uneasy with it, feeling
like an imposter stealing parts of other people’s lives to fill my own. In the end, I wiped
everything away except a cot that could have come out of a horror movie set in an
insane asylum: white stiff sheets, deflated pillow, thin mattress, iron frame revealing the
truth about my room.
I feel nothing. Not emotionally; I am all emotion and thought. But without control of my
body, I have no idea what “soft” feels like, or “sharp”. Instead, I have to watch, like
someone watching a movie, unable to really feel and experience. The mind is a fickle
thing. Often, it is just a vast dark expanse, like a clear night in the summer, with
thoughts and memories swirling in compressed forms, waiting to be touched and visited.
My Dark Side 4 The glass walls of my bubble provide a barrier from the rest of Roxanne’s territory.
Windows, which, I suppose, represent the eyes show what is going on outside the mind.
However, in times of anger, the darkness becomes a heavy red fog, suffocating. In
happiness, it seems brighter, and the windows expand, showing a panoramic view of a
vivid world. That rarely happens with Roxanne in control and her happiness illuminates
images I never need to see. Right now, though, the window widens with disbelief and
the dark stars of Roxanne’s memories and thoughts.
I peer out to see a boy, handsome enough, cooling down after a fencing tournament.
The dark sweep of his hair is plastered to his forehead and dimples frame his grin. He’s
shaking hands good-naturedly with his defeated opponent, providing a quip and a
laugh, relieving any remaining tension between the two.
I feel the pressure of Roxanne’s rage pushing on my bubble, her spirit form, spread out
like a mist, expanding and darkening with negative emotions.
Looking again at the boy, I wonder why the sight of him angers her so much. He gulps
down some water while a man, his coach perhaps, admonishes him, causing the boy to
laugh. His laugh sends metaphorical shivers down my incorporeal form. His laugh is…
nice. It makes you want to smile and be in on the joke.
“Stop it,” my bad self glares at my good self. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much. He will die
soon and painfully; you have my word.”
“No, you can’t,” I accidentally let the thought slip from my good manifestation.
Roxanne, my bad self, the part of me I wished did not exist, peers condescendingly
down her spiritual manifestation’s nose, hissing, “You have no idea what his family did
to me. Revenge. That is his fate: to be the fodder for my revenge.”
My Dark Side 5 ***
I slump helplessly against the cold glass walls of my bubble. Sometimes I wish that the
walls were solid and opaque; then maybe my inadequacy wouldn’t hurt so much. I had
pleaded with Roxanne. I watched as she dressed my body in pretty clothes for her date
with Avery.
Avery.
A swirling memory star spun towards me, and I willingly let it envelop me.
He had headed straight to me as soon as the medal was around his neck and he had
stepped off the platform. I caught a snippet of Roxanne’s thought, snide with disdain for
his sheen of sweat and rumpled hair. I on the other hand was enthralled by his last
performance, his graceful movements and half-suppressed grin that was unveiled as he
took off his fencing gear.
“Hey.” He leaned back in the seat next to mine. He paused, probably expecting some
sort of congratulatory remark or gushing.
Roxanne just gave him a tiny acknowledging nod.
Run away! I screamed to him from inside my glass bubble. But I really wanted him to
stay. I wanted him to peel back the layers and find me here and to break open my glass
cage. Something about him… drew me. Or maybe my long suppressed defiance was
rebelling against Roxanne’s will. Maybe it was just my romantic imagination, trying to
find myself a prince to break the evil spell. Hopeless, I know. But there it was. The small
star of my wish flickered into existence beside me.
The web of the memory falls from me, leaving me in the harsh present. Roxanne is the
one who was going on the date. And I would watch helplessly as she destroyed him.
My Dark Side 6 “Wish me luck,” Roxanne mocks me from outside my glass prison. She’s dressed for
seduction, like a cobra with its mesmerizing headdress and beguiling dance, waiting for
the fatal strike. Her hair, my hair is curled in shiny raven barrels hung over one
shoulder. Her eyes are sparked with intense anticipation.
A bitter star forms near my head. This is all a game to her.
I wrap my arms around my legs and curl up, as if I could hide from the disaster about to
unfold. I try to distance myself.
Pretend that this is a movie. It might as well be; you’re an observer. You can’t change
anything.
She’s there, with him. He’s dressed in a windbreaker and jeans, a light breeze teasing
his hair, a crooked smile brightening his face.
It hurts, to watch them. To know what will happen and not be able to do anything about
it. What is it called again? Ah. Dramatic irony. That’s what this feels like.
He makes a nervous joke, and Roxanne forces a laugh that I would have effortlessly
smiled at. I see my hand clutching his. No. Not my hand. Hers.
She pulls him into the surrounding trees, where he has set up a picnic blanket with
pepperoni pizza and cans of Coke.
They sit down and eat. He is speaking, but Roxanne’s sneering thoughts block out the
words. She is bored! Roxanne can’t wait for this to be over. I see a malicious black star
growing bigger on her side of the glass. My name is whispered from within it.
That can’t be good.
My Dark Side 7 Roxanne appears before me, haughty and smug, a secret smile that promises doom.
“You know what,” she smirks at me. “I can’t be bothered entertaining him. You do it.”
And with that, I’m suddenly blinking up at him, at Avery. Blinking. I can feel the skin
around me eyes open and shut. Something is poking my legs- Grass! Grass from
beneath the blanket, the plastic filmy blanket, which sticks a bit to my skin, bristles
against my legs. Weight. I feel an anchor; I no longer drift aimlessly. Something invisible
brushed my face. I look around surprised. It is the wind! The pizza in my hand has
texture and a smell.
This is what greasy feels like, I wonderingly tell myself. The surface is wet and slimy,
leaving what I can only describe as grime on my finger. And these aromas of what I
guess are tomatoes and buttery crust…
“You look like you’ve never seen pizza before.” A voice breaks my spellbound
fascination.
I blush (is this warmth in my cheeks embarrassment?) at Avery who had stopped his
anxious rambling to smile at my childlike wonder.
“I’ve seen it before,” my voice, it vibrates from within me! “Just not held it or tasted it.”
“Really?” Disbelief paints across his features. “You’ve never had pizza? What bubble
have you been living in?”
He launches into an eloquent description of pizza, which apparently is not all the same.
This one is okay, but the one from another place has fresher ingredients and tastes like
summer. Another pizza place is only good because of the garlic bread.
My Dark Side 8 I smile and absorb every word, every sound, every feeling. His lips open and close, and
even though I’ve seen people speak before, it’s like an enchanting new discovery, and
my fingers itch with the urge to touch him, discover what he feels like before my time
runs out.
Roxanne. She’s planning something, but right now, all I can do is absorb the world and
its wonders.
I roll onto my back, spreading myself as if I could embrace the world and breathing in
deeply like I could inhale everything. I laugh, liking the way my chest rumbles, and I
surprise a laugh out of Avery, who seems enthralled by my curiosity and drunken
freedom.
“The world is so beautiful!” I breathe out to him. He is enjoying me as I revel in the
currents of air and fresh coolness of each intake of invisible sustaining life. I understand
that he is perplexed, but he is also glad that I’m happy.
“Yeah,” he smiles, almost shyly, lying down next to me. “Right now it feels like I can do
anything.”
I listen to his breathing and we take in the world together, listening to the crickets
chirping, the hum of electricity lighting the nearby shops across the street from the park.
He points out real stars, which Roxanne had never really seen since I can’t remember
seeing them like this. I ask questions about the constellations and he tells me their
stories. And when he doesn’t know, he makes up completely unbelievable stories which
make me giddy with excitement and giggles.
It’s perfect.
That’s what she wants. A dark thought crosses my mind. Roxanne wants me to feel, so
My Dark Side 9 that when she takes it all away… I can’t bear the thought.
Glancing over at his grinning face, with a dimple adorning one cheek and eyes
sparkling, I understand that Roxanne wants that for him too. She wants him to feel
comfortable and happy, just so the knife of betrayal would wound deeper.
No. A pang shoots through my chest and for a second I can’t breathe.
“Are you okay?” Avery is peering down at me, propped up on an elbow, a line creasing
his forehead.
Unthinkingly, I reach out and caress his face.
He draws in a deep startled breath, but leans into my hand.
His cheek is soft, like the petals on the flowers he brought for me. His breath is a warm
wind against my skin.
He leans in closer.
My breathing hitches, but I am drawn towards him. My eyes flutter shut the moment our
mouths meet, and his lips are the warmest thing I have felt, pressed against mine. It is
even better than the pizza.
I feel him against me. He is shifting, or maybe I am shifting, to get closer.
And then nothing. I am back in my glass cage, and like I had predicted, it’s even emptier
than before. But now, there’s a hollow feeling in my stomach, and tears leak out, and I
shout and scream for Roxanne to let me out. My anguish darkens my chamber and the
glow from certain stars is enhanced; those stars, memories, emotions fuel my anger
within my own mind.
My Dark Side 10 I hear her laughing, maybe at me, maybe at him, or maybe it’s coming from one of the
memories.
The stars are buzzing with energy and the space in my chamber is heavy with tension.
Without knowing how exactly, I begin harnessing the force from the stars, and the
hollow place in me is filling up with power. I feel like I’m about to explode.
My intuition tells me that I have to act now; Roxanne is about to strike.
I explode.
***
Avery
Something is wrong with Roxanne. She was fine, laughing, kissing me one minute. And
know she pulls back with an unrecognizable cold glint that makes her look like a
different person, not the warm vibrant girl who had never eaten pizza and is so
fascinated with the world.
She reaches behind her and when she brings her hand forward again, it is clutching a
dagger.
I don’t understand. She was perfect-we were perfect. I felt lighter than I had ever felt.
What’s going on? Why is she acting like this?
I stare uncomprehendingly as she looms over me, the silver tip of the knife glinting in
the moonlight.
I don’t move as she coils to strike.
My Dark Side 11 I can’t believe it.
This can’t be happening.
THUD.
The dagger is embedded by my head and I see the girl I was kissing before. She looks
scared and is heaving, like she was fighting with something.
“Run!” She hisses out between her clenched teeth.
I am thrilled by her. I want to touch her again, soothe her pain, kiss her, know her.
“Run,” her eyes, wet with tears plead with me.
She throws herself backwards, and I run.
I am ashamed.
I run.