I've always wondered what it's like to be 'normal'. I regularly catch myself fantasizing about one day being able to wander alone without someone looming over me, or constantly directing me to pace myself before I wound up injured. Which to me makes no sense whatsoever, looking back on all the other times I'd been hurt, and no one gave me so much as a sideways glance. My family's logic has always been redundant in my favor when it came to incidents like this.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the reason all this happened to us.

Who am I kidding? Of course, I am. Everything wrong with the people who converse with me is all my fault.

In my dreams, I reside beneath the oak tree out front. The house and the entire world as gone away and it's only the dancing leaves and me. I can inhale on my own and smell the dewdrops sparkling in newly grown blades of thick, soft grass.

There, where the skies are infinitely blue, and the clouds are as delicate as flowers, I imagine myself in my white nightgown with a warm breeze weaving in and out of my hair.

There, the only one who can remind me of my past mistakes is myself. I don't sob or scream when in the midst of such thoughts, unlike my father and sister.

When I am at war with myself, I don't take out my frustration on others. Instead, I keep it to myself and remain humble here beneath the shade of my mighty tree.

When I cry here, I need not worry about anyone being her to stop me or be at my side with a million questions. I can quietly let the tears fall freely down into my lap and observe them drenching the fabric that hides my bruise from the judging eyes of those who inflicted them upon me.

In this world, I can do whatever I please, yet foolishly sit in the same spot without moving. With not so much as a book in my hand, I sit overlooking the earth at my fingertips. I dig my nails into the dirt and twirl twigs that had fallen long ago but remain frozen in the state they'd dropped in. Each had at least one bud blossoming from its edges when I reach for them.

Once in a while, I do think my innocent Jacob, questioning if he resents me for not being the mother he rightfully deserved. When I looked hard enough at those shoots, I would notice my baby's young face. His sleeping eyes and mashed-button nose scrunching like the last time I held him shakily in my arms.

I sometimes think of Dean, precious Dean. Is he too resentful towards the likes of me? After all, I wouldn't blame him. I'm the one who took of the rings first. I don't believe these are things 'normal' people dream of every night. 

 When I begin thinking of how horrible I feel about not missing them, I am always woken up by one of the nurses- By 'nurses' I mean one of the extra staff members we have. This one just so happened to be the cook. Muffet must be off work today, thank goodness she has at least one day to herself.

I didn't wake immediately, so to speak, since no one is permitted to touch or shake me, it took the poor man nearly ten minutes to drag me back into consciousness.

My eyes flutter open, inviting the light to freely shine in my eyes. I hiss in discomfort, jerking upwards and grabbing for a blanket to cover my face Immediately, I'm hit with a detonation of burning, endless agony from the head down. The room molds back into darkness as I wince, clenching my jaw to keep from shrieking in pain.

My head was pounding so loudly that it was all I could make out. It alone was enough to make me want to throw up.

Carefully, I raise my hand to touch the back of my head only to find it wrapped several times around by medical bandaging. I thought we'd run out last time. Maybe Muffet bought some more of them. Bless her soul.

I don't notice who woke me until I feel a bead of sweat trickling down my temple. Craning my neck to look over and behind me, I spot a man made entirely of flares standing with a glass of water and a sheet of paper. He flickers, flames brightening as he bows his head.

I smile weakly through my obvious misery, greeting him like an old friend.

"Grillby, long time no see."

He lifts his head, nodding with a faintly visible smile on his face. His words whisp quietly through the air, sounding as though they were spoken from afar but were murmured just beside my ear.

"Likewise, Francine."

The monster man places a leather gloved hand to my head, tilting it forwards, to examine the bandages I presume. He tsks, rubbing his thumb into the site of the blow. I wince in displeasure once again. When doing so, Grillby retracts his hand quickly, pitty in his eyes, I'm sure.

Though he has never been one to talk much around here, I have grown so used to having to read his expressions to know that he felt guilty one way or another for not being here at the time I fell.

In hopes of putting him more at ease, I begin to joke a bit. He's always enjoyed seeing me tough things out with humor.

"I guess you were right when you said I was hard headed. Good thing too, if not for that then I wouldn't have any solid bone left to protect my brain from being so clumsy all the time!"

I tried to giggle for him, hoping it would amuse him. To my joy it did, his shoulders bouncing while he chuckled silently.

I feel a smile twitching at my lips, and my heart swells to know that maybe I wasn't so useless after all. At least now if I die, I did something worthwhile before my departing.

Once he was through, Grillby helped me out of bed and made sure the oxygen tank was working properly. Regretting, I told him I didn't need the air hoses and that I'd be fine. He looked at me sternly,

"Do you promise me that you're truly going to be fine without it?"

Biting my tongue I nod, deliberately lying to him merely for a small taste of my freedom back.

He too nods, removing the air hose from my face and turning off the machine with a huff. I don't remember having the hose on really... That may be why I could breathe so well before.

"You know, Francine, I can never read you anymore."

"How so?"

With a slight grin on his face, he points to my lips "You don't flap your gums as much as you used to."

Pretending to be offended, I lightly punch his gut.

"Don't be like that!"

Chuckling, he pets my hair, "Yes Miss." and leaves the room without another word.

Closing the door behind him, I let myself glid over to my vanity and steadily seat myself before the large mirror. Gazing at my own reflection, the girl looking back at me is no identical match to the one I know is deep down inside me.

The girl I see before me looks years older than her youth, carrying bags under her dull, lifeless eyes and paled skin. Her brittle lips don't appear soft and pleasing the way they used to, and her smile is hidden by frown lines.

I shake my head, retreating towards the closet for a fresher set of clothes.

That is not me. I'm so much more than some walking corpse. I have to be. For all those I let down, I have to be more. No exceptions. Not anymore. 

I pull out one of the many dresses from the far end of the rack, a lovely, light blue one with a simple design. From the top shelf, I find a gold ribbon to use as a potential belt of sorts.

In the midst of undressing myself for the first time in three months, I'm left to rediscover many forgotten scrapes and bruises I'd long let go unnoticed. I trace my body with shaky fingers, running them up and along the many scars' indentions and divots, I wonder ... Do people go to hell for white lies as little as the one I just made?  

Seeing myself in such a nice color had begun urging me to rip every bit of it and myself apart. For what reason, I'm still not sure. But the longer I looked at myself the more agonizing it became to keep my eyes open. 

((I understand if you all are disappointed by this choppy chapter. Also, don't worry if your confused. Everything will explain itself later. 

And NO. She isn't depressed or suicidal. There IS a reason for everything. I promise.

Much love, Eko ))