Origins: Alice

I've been wanting to write the origins of each of the Cullens in "Twilight" for a while now. I never thought I'd do fan-fic, but here I am, writing a story about Alice (my favorite Cullen character -- other than Edward, of course :p). I just posted the first part in Protagonize. I have the whole story in my head, I just need to write it out. Each new installment will be featured here, so stay tuned for updates!

"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!" - Alice in Wonderland

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Pinprick

First there is a flash of pain, like a meteor burning across the surprised sky of my skin. Then there is a scream torn from my throat, the echo of it bouncing off the walls of my room in a peculiar fashion. I open eyes to darkness, but it is a darkness suffused in red. I thrash, trying to find the source of my pain. It lashes at my bones, swims in the rivers of vein like a poisonous snake. I claw at my arms, my legs, trying to find where this ungodly pain is coming from, to no avail. I hear a laugh in the dark, but it has a broken sound to it, like a cracked wind chime.

Now she will never be yours...

I can't tell if the voice is inside my head or out. That's the trouble with me these days -- the voices are getting harder and harder to distinguish. I choose to ignore it for the moment, having more pressing matters at hand, such as this mysterious, searing pain.

The same voice from before suddenly sounds at my ear, very close this time:

I am sorry I had to do this to you, my beloved, but there was no other way. He forced my hand.

"Make it stop, make it stop, please!" I scream, begging with this seemingly disembodied voice, begging with whomever and whatever will listen to me.

It will all be over soon, my precious dear. Just lie still.

And then I feel what seems like a thousand tiny pinpricks all over my neck, my chest, my arms. And then the pain is increased a thousand times over, until I feel my soul tugging at its root, threatening to let go. My heart races until I'm sure it will burst, my screams have gone completely super-sonic now, I'm sure, but still nobody comes to my aid. My last conscious thought is, "So this is what it's like to die."

Just before the blessed darkness takes me again, I hear the same voice again:

Sleep, my beloved, sleep. When you awaken, you shall not remember any of this...

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Out from the Earth

I slipped in and out of consciousness for what felt to me like centuries. Each time I surfaced, it was to the realization that the pain was somewhat diminished. But it was still there, licking the flames that simmered in my veins from time to time, as if to remind me of its presence.

I was alone, the voice having left me for now. This made me feel desperately alone, for some reason. As if the torment was more bearable with the knowledge that I had a witness to it.

When I surfaced for the last time, I felt no pain at all. I felt strangely ... alive. But I was aware of a change. Something significant had taken place in me. But what?

I woke up in the darkness, like before. But the quality of this darkness was different. I realized I was lying on something hard, and there was the smell of earth all around me. I tried to sit up and discovered that I was locked inside a box of some type, very narrow and tight. It was padded on the inside walls with what felt like velvet.

A coffin.

"Breathe, just breathe," I told myself. But my lungs weren't paying attention, they kept greedily gulping in as much air as they could. I realized in some distant part of me that I wasn't hyperventilating like I should be, that I felt no pain, only panic, despite the fact that I was now punching the lid with my bare fists as hard as I could.

I broke through the wood on my first try.

Dirt and splinters rained down on me as I clawed my way out from the earth, out of what felt like oceans and oceans of soil, and moments later I was kneeling on the grass staring down at my newly empty grave. The remains of my coffin lay scattered around me, jagged shards of wood. I looked down at my hands, expecting my knuckles to be bruised and battered. But I didn't have even one scratch.

I stood up, amazed at how easily the movement came to me, bemused that the burning pain from before was completely gone. I looked around and saw that I was in a small graveyard behind a church. Before me lay the dark expanse of a forest. It was nighttime, and I could hear all the noises of the forest nearby, the chirrup of cicadas and the whispering brush of leaves that rustled under the feet of small animals.

There was no moon and little star-light by which to see, and yet my vision seemed somehow enhanced, as if I were seeing clearly for the first time. The glint of something caught my eye, and I saw a piece of marble half-hidden in the grass near my feet. I picked it up and saw that it was a piece of gravestone which must have been knocked off somehow. It was engraved with only one name, no surname: ALICE. I searched near where I had found it to see if I could find the rest of the stone, and maybe more clues as to who this Alice was, but I found only the crumbling, pulverized remains. I held them in the palm of my hands, watching as the wind stole them and carried them away on the night air.

A million questions bubbled at my lips, but I had no one but myself to ask them to: Did I do this? Who put me in the coffin? Why did they put me in the coffin? Who am I?

... Am I Alice?

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Consumed

As I stand there contemplating my situation, I feel the first cool drops of rain land on my forehead. For the first time, I realize what I am wearing -- a long, lacey white gown with matching heels. One of the heels, I notice, is missing. I am covered in dirt from head to toe, a complete disaster.

The rain is a welcome distraction. I tilt my chin up to receive it, amazed at how beautiful the rain looks in this half-light, all silvery and glistening.

Was my eyesight always this good? I can't remember anything about the time before, only an impenetrable darkness that my memory can't seem to touch.

It is while I am standing there, letting the rain wash away the dirt and debris from my body, that I receive my first vision.

It consumes me totally, blocking out everything else.

I can see a slight girl with short black hair darting down a dark alley. She is wearing pants with the cuffs rolled up. She's also wearing a white button-down shirt that is about five sizes too large for her, and it trails after her running form. She is barefoot.

She runs with a single-minded purpose, her arms swinging up and down like pistons. Is someone chasing her?

The vision expands, stretches to encompass her surroundings. I can see now that there is a man running a short distance away from her, constantly looking over his shoulder. I can see the whites of his eyes, the fear in his eyes, alive. No, she's chasing him, I realize.

As I watch, the man suddenly falls to his knees and the girl falls upon him, cradling his head in her hands like a lover. She moves in swiftly as if to kiss his neck, and the vision begins to blur, turn wavy in my mind's eye, so that I can no longer see it that clearly.

Before the vision fades, I see the girl lift her head and the man fall limp to the ground. The girl's eyes are ringed in scarlet and there is a trickle of blood running down her chin. But that's not what shocks me the most about this vision -- what shocks me is that she has my face. She is me.