[Emma Carrington]

`` ISABELLA D A W N CARRINGTON


And to you I lift my voice
And to you I lift my hands
And to you I give my heart

`` KEEP YOUR BODY MOVING, GIRL

the certificate says: Isabella Dawn Carrington
but i’m called: Is, The Mute Girl
the candles on the cake: Sixteen
and i eat this cake: December 3
when in the bathroom i: sit
i’ve been in school for: junior
attending this fine academy: Bennet
and i have a thing for: guys
people say i look like: alexis bledel

`` THE BEAT IS THUMPING

i see through: hazel green
the wind blows my: dark brown hair that reaches just below the shoulder blades.
i hit: five foot three inches
and the scale reads: one hundred and five pounds
i’ve been poked with needles: none
holes have been made: none
and have been caused harm: Is has a long, pale scar that starts from her shoulder and ends all the way at her wrist. From how faint it is, one could tell that it wasn't a deep cut, but deep enough to leave a mark. There's also a burn mark circling around the part of her scar that's near her wrist. It might even seem as if the scar was on the burn. It all depends on how you look at it.

`` GO AHEAD AND LET THEM TALK

i love:
`music
`playing the piano
`hearing people's voices and comparing them to different sweets
`conversing
`laughing (or, at least, as much laughing as she can actually do)
`running
`beaches, lakes, rivers (basically, bodies of water)
`forests or anyplace that has lots of trees
`history
`antiques
`old things or old ways
`colors
`looking at the shapes clouds make
`reading
`drawing
`hats
`animals, especially dogs
`reading encyclopedias
`playing soccer in the mud while it's raining
`when it rains
`when it snows
`winter and fall
`cool, windy days
`lying on the floor with a 120 pack of crayons and a coloring book next to huge glass windows where you can watch the rain fall down and doze off to the gentle pitter-patter of falling raindrops
`staying out in the rain with your mouth wide open and up to catch the falling drops.
and loathe:
`sitting still and doing absolutely nothing
`math
`numbers, except for 13 and 8. 13 because it needs a little love and 8 because it's fun to draw.
`high, squeaky voices
`voices that sound like they need a good coughing or a nice, long blow from the nose.
`being taken advantage of
`technology (not toilets or lights, but really shiny, newfangled gadgets that do all the work for you.)
`books that are all about action or fantasy, but doesn't have a good moral or lesson. (action and fantasy are all fun and all, but they get tiring at times since lots of books start to seem really similar that way. one needs a little something to stick the story in one's mind.)
`being unable to talk
`being underestimated or overlooked
`insects and spiders (other arachnids like crabs and scorpions are okay. just spiders.)
`bad or annoying noises
`hot days
`summer
`lies (not exactly liars themselves, but more of lies and the concept of lying
i want to: The thing April yearns for the most is a voice, but career-wise, she wants to be a pianist. She's not sure if she wants to be a piano teacher or an actual, performing pianist. Maybe a little of both? Of course, it'd be pretty difficult to teach something when you can't even speak. It also wouldn't hurt if she could have a lasting conversation with someone.
i’m great at: playing the piano, becoming invisible, and history.
i suck at: starting a conversation, actually keeping it alive, math, and socializing.
during my free time i:play the piano, read, color, hold imaginary conversations, or observe things.

a little story... Is, Is, Is. Where to begin? Well, first off, she's a nervous wreck. I assume you could've gotten at least that much from what you've read so far. In general she's pretty jumpy, but she gets even more so when lots of people are around her. They don't have to be talking to her or even looking at her. The fact alone that there's so many people around her makes her get as anxious as a rabbit. She'll start tapping her feet and fingers and chew her lips. She'd probably chew her fingernails too if they weren't already cut so short. Is just never was the most sociable and outgoing person. Even as a child, she might have been, but she can never remember. As far as Is knows, instinctively jerking her body around was just a natural part of her. Of course, she's pretty sure as to when it all started, but one could never be sure of such things. Maybe that wasn't the reason for all her anxiety. Maybe the problem lay further, deeper. Although Is could hardly fathom anything deeper than that day. In a psychological point of view, that's the solution. In the point of view of a sixteen-year-old-nervous-wreck, it's a bit hazy.

Besides being the most anxious, worried little thing you'd ever lay your eyes on, Is is also a definite push-over. It would be easy to attribute two and two together, as being nervous can also prove one to have a weak determination. Ask her to do something and she'd do it. It's as simple as that. Of course, no one's that weak. At least, Is isn't. For most people, there is a limit, a boundary. Is just happens to fall into that category. If pushed too far, she will flare up (silently, as silence is the only sound she can make on her own) with indignation and refuse. If she could tell the person off too, she would. For the most part though, she'll just quietly do as she's told. Even after a short temper loss, Is will quickly fall back into her obedient phase and nicely do as she's told.

So you've heard all about the undesirable qualities of Is, but there's got to be at least one good quality, no? For example, despite Is's anxiety, when she plays the piano, it's completely gone. Even if she were to perform in front of a large audience, she's completely and utterly calm. Perhaps it's the cool, soft touch of the keys. Perhaps it's the rich, ripple of sounds her fingers magically seem to create. Or perhaps, perhaps, it's the simple and warming fact that when she sits on that stool, when she places her fingers on those keys, she finally, finally has a voice. A voice that can be heard not only by her, but by others. A voice she can use to communicate with others. A voice all her own. Or it could be that nervous, shaky fingers aren't exactly cut out for instrument playing, so being calm and put-together is kind of a given. Is can become relaxed and peaceful other times too, but those are few and rare. One of them being the few times when she begins to drift off and make believe that she's playing the piano out of thin air. This doesn't happen often though, seeing as how Is has realized that this gesture of hers often attracts much attention. And that's the last thing Is needs

`` THEIR WORDS MEAN NOTHING

my family members: Is has a mother, father, and one older brother. Her brother is a year older and usually detaches himself from his quiet sister when at school. Even at home, he's rather reserved. Sometimes, Is even wonders if he's actually her brother, since the difference between the two is startling. Whereas Is is quiet and reserved, her brother is actually quite popular and suave at school. Of course, at home he's much more withdrawn.
my parents: lawyers
and they earn: They are either in the upper middle class or lower upper class.
i was born in a hospital in: Pomona, CA.
i’ve lived in: Pomona, CA.

and here’s the backstory.... Once upon a time in a land far, far away, a baby girl was born to an ecstatic couple. They were overjoyed at their new baby, vowing that their secondborn would always be happy. Hogwash, of course, but nevertheless, they were good people. However, there was just one, small problem with the baby. She was a mute. At first, the doctor couldn't find what the matter was with baby, as it was making no sound when it was coming out. He even gave it a few extra spanks before realizing what the problem was. The couple was shocked, but relieved. From the doctor's expression and sad, heavy air, they had expected something worse. But the girl was only mute! It would be fine. They and their son would learn sign language and the girl would learn it too. At least she could still see and hear. Not being able to talk didn't mean that the world was going to end. As for her older brother, he seemed to find their new baby sister's muteness interesting. Plus, the whole family enjoyed the lack of noise Is made. Both parents realized only too well when they had their firstborn just how loud a baby could get. Not to mention two.

Is was born to a loving couple who always meant well. Unfortunately, that didn't mean that things went well all the time. On her first day of the fifth grade, Is was picked on and teased for her disability. Several children found her inability to respond as rude haughtiness. Instead of trying to explain the situation, however, Is told the authorities. Namely, the teacher and her parents. Wrong mistake. The "bully" in question was punished and reprimanded, of course, but only grew even fiercer. Eventually, Is got the idea and stopped telling her parents and the teacher and didn't even bother trying to explain why she wasn't saying anything, lest the bully grow in even greater anger. As the days went by, the bully eventually lost interest in Is, but the girl had it drilled into her that she must never, ever tell anyone if someone bullied you and that you shouldn't fight back or say anything at all. It'd only feed the fire, and they'd eventually lose interest and walk away. With this new relevation, Is rose from the fifth to all the way to the eleventh grade, hidden in the back with no noticeably great nor bad grades. Mostly B's and a couple of C's. Her parents found no opposition nor any teenage rebellion as the How to Raise Your Child books said there would be and were perfectly fine. They weren't too happy about the C's, but at least their charming firstborn was stinging in A's. So for most of her life, Is lived the ordinary life of an ordinary girl.

If it were not for one detail, however, Is's childhood would have seemed unbearably boring and meaningless to her. That detail was music. Or, more specifically, the piano. Is had a passionate love for music, finding their sounds simply magnificent. It all happened one day as she had been watching Saturday morning cartoons when a commercial of a pretty young woman playing the piano appeared. The sounds were nice, but the next day when her mother took her shopping, Is saw a piano. Entranced by its elegant beauty, she sat herself upon the stool and fingered the keys. Finally, she pushed down on one of the keys and clapped her hands in delight at the sound. So rich, so beautiful! Immediately, Is asked her parents to give her piano lessons. So, Is began playing the piano and has been ever since. Thus, between avoiding opposition of any kind at school and being the quiet, obedient daughter at home, Is kept her sanity through the piano.

Now, one might be just a tad bit curious as to the scar and burn on Is's left arm. It was an accident, of course, but nevertheless, it happened. Is was about thirteen when one night, as the whole family had gathered together before the fireplace, they all decided to play a game of charades. That's right, charades. When it was Is's turn, she got "fencing". It wasn't too hard to act out with her bare hands, but she wanted to make it more realistic by using a prop. And by prop, I mean the fire poker. I assume you're starting to realize where I'm going here. The fire poker, unfortunately, happened to be lying on a sort of alcove just above the fireplace. As Is reached for it, her fingers just barely brushing against the cool metal, she slipped. She was pretty much safe and well, save for her wrist, which tumbled onto a stray piece of burning wood. Right after that, down came fire poker, iron and all. It sliced her skin from the shoulder to the wrist. They rushed her to the hospital swiftly, but the doctor assured them that Isabella was fine. The family was relieved to find that the injuries were not serious and would eventually heal, leaving only faint marks. Another assumption as to the reason for Is's nervousness may begin here. Perhaps the fact that she may never play the piano again because of her wrist had frightened April into the tense, uneasy person she is today. Then again, it's just a thought.


and, now, for the little snippet...

Click.

And in other news, Doctor Edward Lance Murphy has just recently discovered a new cure to every disease and illness known so far to mankind. Isn't that right, doctor?

Click.

Dad, I'm scared. I don't wanna play hospital anymore... You said it wouldn't hurt.

Click.

Yes, that's right. I have discovered a cure. An immunity! No longer, will humanity be plagued with the common cold, the flu, or even cancer!

Click.

Calm down, Johnny. This won't hurt a bit. I promise that this is the last time you'll get a shot. Do you like getting sick? No? I thought so. Just imagine, right after this very last shot, you won't ever get sick again!

You'll be absolutely healthy! You can even eat as much candy as you want! No more cavities!

Click.

But doctor, there have been troubled reports about your methods. It has been mentioned that you experimented on your own son.

Click.

Really, Dad? All the candy I want? Really?

Click.

Is this true, doctor?

Click.

I'll live, right, Dad? I won't die?

Click.

Doctor?

Click.

Dad? Dad?!

Click.

Doctor Murphy.

Click.

Dad! Dad!! I-It hurts. It hurts a lot.

Click.

Doctor, are you listening?

Click.

Dad, what's happening to me? What's happening to me, Dad? Dad? Dad?!!

Click.

DOCTOR MURPHY!

Click.

DAD!!!

Click.

Eyelids fluttered open. A hand moved up to touch the ceiling, but...the hand was gloved. Another gloved hand moved to touch the cool, smooth leather. The left hand wore a white glove, but the right glove was black. The hand reached up to touch my face. I winced, but the hand stopped mid-air. My hand. I looked back up to the ceiling. It looked like...a carpet. Was I upside down? Was I on the celing?

I brought my hand down, or up, considering that I might've been on the ceiling, next to my lap and felt something soft and cushioned. The seat. I was sitting. I was in a car. I looked up to see who was driving, but the driver has his back to me. It was a man. He had short, dark brown hair. Could it be? Was it him? I looked up at the rear-view mirror, hoping for a glimpse of the man's face, but instead I saw something that puzzled me.

I could see a person. A boy. He was heavily clothed, for it was winter, in a long sleeved shirt, knee-length coat, jeans, and a scarf that wrapped around half of his face, concealing all but his eyes. The color of his clothes were rather strange and startled me. The left side of his coat, shirt, cap, jeans, and scarf were all pure white. On his right side, everything was a midnight black. From under his cap, tufts of hair stuck out at the edges. They too were a splitting of black and white. Like Cruella Deville.

I grinned at the thought, and noticed the mirror boy's cheekbones rise as if he was opening his mouth or smiling. It disgusted me. He was hideous.

Then the boy shifted his shoes which were, unsurprisingly, black and white. The left being completely white, even the laces, and the right shoe being completely black. But the most startling thing about the boy was his eyes. Like the rest of his attire, the left eye was a milky pearl white. Hueless. The other eye was like a single, shining coal. Fathomless as they were, the eyes unnerved me.

"C'mon boy. I ain't got all day." The car had stopped moving.

I took one last look at the boy in the mirror and shuddered. As if mocking my insecurities, he shuddered too. Step by step, I slowly got out of the car and the gruff voice from before called out again.

"Hey. C'mere to the back of the car. Ya gotta get yer luggage."

I turned my head and noticed that same dark brown head near the trunk of the car. My heart lurched. Was it possible? Maybe he came back for me. Maybe he could fix me now. He was smart. I'm sure he could do it. Shakily, I made my way to the back of the car. I could see him. He was leaning into the trunk, tugging at something.

Then he turned around.

I could now clearly see his face. He had a thick, dark beard and moustache and a pale, bubble gum pink scar ran down one cheek. The man lay something down at my feet.

There.

No, it had to be a mistake.

"I've done my part. I've brought you to the middle of nowhere, just as you asked. Now, so long, kid."

The man drove off, leaving behind a trail of exhaust plumes. It wasn't him. It wasn't Dad. I stared down at the ground and saw a suitcase with words written in a scraggly, shake script on it. John Bishop Murphy. Then my eyes noticed something else. My gloves. One black. One white. The boy. The boy in the mirror. His black and white gloves. I let out a choked scream. I was the boy in the mirror. That hideous monster. That horrible, disfigured boy. The boy. The mirror. The gloves. The eyes. The suitcase. The boy. ME. I was the boy. John Bishop Murphy was the monster in the mirror.

`` I WISH WE WERE OLDER

(wo)man behind the mask: Yakatsu
has lived for so long: Fifteen
has been part of this world for: Two years
any other personas? No
Where did you discover us? I found the ad for this site from another forum.
Tell me what I wanna hear! I don't really have a particular band in mind. When I listen to music, I don't pay attention to the artist, so half the time, I have no idea who I'm listening to.

[Surrey Monroe]

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