Original
I was standing in a field of daisies with the wind blowing my soft brown hair in the wind. I was clothed in a simple white dress that matched the field of daisies, and it flowed around me as I twirled and laughed in joy. As I looked up from the magnificent field of flowers, I saw a girl. She looked like a younger version of myself, and even had on the same white dress as me. As I ventured closer to the young girl, a bloom of crimson appeared on the girl’s chest. It increased in size, expanding until there was not one spot of white left on the front of the girl’s chest. Right before my eyes, I watched horrific bruises appear on the girl’s face, arms, and neck. Her once beautiful white dress became ragged as if a chainsaw were allowed free reign on it. Her skin had been clearly ripped off or badly burned where the dress had been torn away. I wanted to avert my eyes from the ghastly scene, but something kept my eyes locked on the little girl’s. Her eyes were not open wide in burning agony, but filled with a fiery hate that could stop a heart. The little girl looked back up at me, right in the eye, and smiled.
I was standing in a field of daisies with the wind blowing my soft brown hair in the wind. I was clothed in a simple white dress that matched the field of daisies, and it flowed around me as I twirled and laughed in joy. As I looked up from the magnificent field of flowers, I saw a girl. She looked like a younger version of myself, and even had on the same white dress as me. As I ventured closer to the young girl, a bloom of crimson appeared on the girl’s chest. It increased in size, expanding until there was not one spot of white left on the front of the girl’s chest. Right before my eyes, I watched horrific bruises appear on the girl’s face, arms, and neck. Her once beautiful white dress became ragged as if a chainsaw were allowed free reign on it. Her skin had been clearly ripped off or badly burned where the dress had been torn away. I wanted to avert my eyes from the ghastly scene, but something kept my eyes locked on the little girl’s. Her eyes were not open wide in burning agony, but filled with a fiery hate that could stop a heart. The little girl looked back up at me, right in the eye, and smiled.
***
I woke from the nightmare in a cold sweat. My white sheets had become tangled with my legs, and my body was contorted in an interesting manner. I was trembling, and tears of pure fear leaked out of my now fully awake eyes. I was just about to turn on the lamp beside my bed, when I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye. Someone was standing at the edge of my bed, watching me. I could feel my hand trembling as I found the switch to my lamp, and turned it on. The little girl from my nightmare was standing at my bedside. Time seemed to slow down as she extended her hand out towards me. Crimson blood dripped from her perfect porcelain fingers, and splattered onto my white bedspread. It looked as if a small heart lie underneath my comforter, slowly bleeding its life away. Then I saw something around her wrist that caught my attention. It was a bracelet, my mother’s bracelet. It had been years since I had seen that bracelet. Against her bloodied skin, the shiny silver looked brand new. Suddenly, my bedroom door was thrown open, and my mother appeared in the doorway. Her face was taunt with fright. “I thought that I heard you call...” she breathed. Her voice died as soon as her eyes fell upon the little girl standing at my bedside. My mother's eyes widened as she stared at the ragged girl. A thin line of sweat began to trickle down her forehead, and her breathing became rapid. There was something off about her expression, though. I could There was none of the fear that I had first felt at first seeing the horrendous little girl in her expression. Instead, anxiety was etched into her expression. Despite my incessant terror, I forced myself to look at the little girl. She was a younger version of myself, the bloodstains slightly concealing a birthmark on her cheek that has been known to run in our family. Then there was my mother's bracelet. Its alluring shine heavily contrasted with the girl's bloodstained dress. "Mom?" I asked, "What is going on?" The little girl smiled.
Revision
I was standing in a field of daisies with the wind blowing my soft brown hair in the wind. I was clothed in a simple white dress that matched the field of daisies, and it flowed around me as I twirled and laughed in joy. As I looked up from the magnificent field of flowers, I saw a girl. She looked like a younger version of myself, and even had on the same white dress as me. As I ventured closer to the young girl, a bloom of crimson appeared on the girl’s chest. It increased in size, expanding until there was not one spot of white left on the front of her chest. Right before my eyes, I watched horrific bruises appear on the girl’s face, arms, and neck. Her once beautiful white dress became ragged as if a chainsaw were allowed free reign on it. Her skin had been clearly ripped off or badly burned where the dress had been torn away. I wanted to avert my eyes from the ghastly scene, but something kept my eyes locked on the little girl’s. Her eyes were not open wide in burning agony, but filled with a fiery hate that could stop a heart. The little girl looked back up at me, right in the eyes, and smiled.
***
I woke from the nightmare in a cold sweat. My white sheets had become tangled with my legs, and my body was contorted in an interesting manner. I was trembling, and tears of pure fear leaked out of my now fully awake eyes. I was just about to turn on the lamp beside my bed, when I saw a figure out of the corner of my eyes. Someone was standing at the edge of my bed, watching me. I could feel my hand trembling as I found the switch to my lamp, and turned it on. The little girl from my nightmare was standing at my bedside. Time seemed to slow down as she extended her hand out towards me. Crimson blood dripped from her perfect porcelain fingers, and splattered onto my white bedspread. It looked as if a small heart lie underneath my comforter, slowly bleeding its life away. As she extended her hand into the light, I saw something around her wrist that caught my attention. It was a silver bracelet, my mother’s bracelet. It had been years since I had seen that bracelet. Against her bloodied skin, the shiny silver looked brand new. My mind reeled as it attempted to solve where this nightmare of a girl had retrieved my mother's favorite bracelet. Unfortunately, I did not have time to ponder this further; my bedroom door was suddenly thrown open, and my mother appeared in the doorway. Her face was taunt with fright. “I thought that I heard you call...” she breathed. Her voice died as soon as her eyes fell upon the little girl standing at my bedside. My mother's eyes widened as she stared at the ragged girl. A thin line of sweat began to trickle down her forehead, and her breathing became rapid. There was something off about her expression, though. I could see none of the fear in her expression that I had first felt at first seeing the horrendous little girl. Instead, anxiety was etched into her tired eyes. Despite my incessant terror, I forced myself to look at the little girl. She was a mini-me, and her emerald eyes shone beneath the blood and gore. I imagined her without the crimson overcoat, and saw a girl with bouncing brown curls, a round, pale face, and a body as thin as paper. In other words, she looked like me when I was about seven years old. If I took a closer look at the bloodied girl, I could just make out a birthmark shaped like a small bell on her right cheek. I stared at her, at it. This was a birthmark that had been known to run in my family for generations. How could she have it? She couldn't. It wasn't possible. The little girl's mouth curled up in amusement as I analyzed her. My eyes again found my mother's lost bracelet shining on her wrist. Its alluring shine heavily contrasted with the girl's bloodstained dress. "Mom?" I asked, "What is going on?" The little girl smiled. My mother grimaced. "Sierra..." she whispered. As I stared at mother in confusion, I felt something wet touch my forearm. I slowly lowered my eyes to look at my arm, and saw the bloodied hand of the little girl. Then everything went black.
***
I opened my eyes to a field. No, it was the field I had been in before, the field where I had first seen the girl. White daisies blew around the hem of my snowy dress. This time, it caused me no joy. I felt the presence of the little girl before I saw her. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as if electrified, and my whole body tingled with panic. I braced myself for the horrific sight of the girl before turning around, and gasped at what my eyes beheld. I was standing on the side of a road, staring as my mother threw the clean little girl out of a silver van. Their movements were slightly blurred, as if they were not real, a memory. "Sierra, stay in the car," I heard my mother croon to a small child sitting in a car seat in the back of the van. With a start, I realized that the small child was me. It was me when I was about three years old, or eleven years ago. I watched as my mother shut the door of the van, and walked to the girl lying on the side of the road. Even from where I stood, I could hear the girl's dejected cries of some powerful emotion unknown to me. When my mother reached the sobbing girl, she ordered her to stand up. When the girl stayed where she was, I watched as my mother got down to eye level with the girl, and slashed the girl's arm with a gleaming knife. It had come out of nowhere. I wanted to run to the girl, but my feet stayed planted in place. I couldn't move. This was not my mother. My mother would not harm a fly, let alone a little girl. The girl's cry was one of pain and betrayal, a betrayal that could be felt in the marrow of my bones. Words of brutality and insult began to tumble from my mother's mouth in a sort of crazed frenzy. Each word came with a thrust of the knife at the little girl, and none of them missed there mark. The little girl stayed where she was, taking each blow as if she were a punching bag. Blood poured onto the girl's white dress, and jagged rips and holes appeared in the smooth silk fabric where the knife had torn it away. Eventually, my mother threw away the knife, instead choosing to tackle the little girl. The verbal abuse was now coming in unintelligible screams of rage, and my mother began to wrap her hands around the girl's neck. Before she could completely crush the girl's breathing tube, a small wisp of sound escaped from the girl's mouth, "Mother, please." That is when I started running.
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