12th July, 1987.
Beatrice Ella Jones needed the pain to go away.
It was the same nightmare that woke her up in the middle of the night. She had dreamed of Him again. The vile things he would whisper in her ear, the names he would call her. The dream had seemed so tangible, and the next thing she knew, she was holding a razor blade, ready to end her miserable existence.
Who would miss me anyway?
But she couldn’t do it. There was one person she knew would miss her. All she managed to do, in the end, was make a shallow cut on her forearm.
Just to make the memories go away for a while.
She stared at her translucent reflection in the windowpane as she felt the blood trickle down her arm. The pallor of her skin made her reflection look like a ghost. She stared as her reflection started to cry.
Beatrice Ella Jones was unhappy.
Beatrice Ella Jones was empty.
Beatrice Ella Jones was fading.