Winona Morris always knew she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. When it became apparent that she was never going to grow up she decided to become a writer anyway. After sharing her multi-genre fiction on various free blogs over the years she has finally decided to lock her imposter syndrome in a closet so she could be a "real" writer. Her story "Being the Eldest Daughter" will mark her anthological debut in "Books of Horror Community Anthology Vol. 4 part 1" in September 2023.
She currently lives in coastal Georgia with her husband, 2 kids, and 8 pets. When not writing or working at the full-time retail job she's kept for nearly 2 decades, she likes to read and live vicariously through other people on social media.
You can connect with and learn more about Winona right HERE.
AFFIRMATIONS
by
Winona Morris
Jessica had not been sleeping well since the accident.
She liked waking up early, though. Alone, she did not have to put a mask on and pretend.
While her family slept, she sat in front of her vanity and met her own eyes in the mirror.
"I am allowed to feel good and to experience pleasure in life." She told her own reflection. She repeated the phrase five times while maintaining eye contact with her reflection.
"Eye contact is important," the therapist told her. "People who are lying can’t look you in the eye. You MUST look yourself in the eye."
There was a different affirmation every day. The therapist had a never-ending supply of them.
This morning, Daddy left the house before breakfast. He had been doing that much more often since the accident. It was beginning to bother her.
"I don’t have to give up my hopes and dreams," she told her reflection the next morning.
It was hard for her to keep eye contact with herself this morning. She kept looking at the scar just below her left eye. It was pale and would have been easily covered with makeup if she had been the kind of girl who liked makeup. She never had. "You’re pretty enough without the war paint." Daddy used to tell her.
Maybe it would help to cover it up.
Sighing, she looked up at the picture on the wall of Daddy hugging her while she held up a quiver of arrows with a large blue ribbon on it. They used to practice archery together. Before the accident.
Since the accident, her mother has not let her. She even wanted her to get rid of her blue-ribbon quiver or hide it, but she refused. Just in case Daddy ever wanted to go with her again. It hung beside the photo.
"Daddy," she said at breakfast. "There is a casual competition at the range. I thought we could go?"
Daddy just chewed his eggs and toast and did not even look at her.
"Please, Daddy. I miss us spending time together."
She cried but was not sad. The different tears confused her.
The next morning’s affirmation was, "I am allowed to have a voice."
"Why don’t you talk to me anymore?" she demanded at breakfast. Why don’t you look at me? I just want you to love me again!"
Finally, Daddy looked at her and saw the tears on her face. He frowned and said, "Would you just shut the hell up already?" Then to Mother, "Karly, can’t you turn the damn thing off until I leave the house or something?"
Jessica made her escape while her parents fell into a familiar argument.
Daddy shouted, "No, that thing is not my daughter. I’m not delusional enough to pretend that it is!"
"Delusional like me, you mean?" Mother shouted back.
"Our Jessica is dead, Karly. She’s dead, buried, and gone forever, and I’m done pretending that fancy doll with delusions of grandeur is my daughter! I should have never let you bring it into our home; let it live in her room. It’s disgusting!"
"You’re her father," Mommy pleaded with him.
"I am not that thing’s father!" He yelled back at her. "It is a robot, a machine. IT. IS. NOT. REAL!"
What she had heard made her feel strange inside again.
What Daddy said was true. She remembered Jessica's first death. It was part of the program. Remembering how she died was important. In case the grieving parents needed to talk about it, she could tell them the arrow killed her instantly. She never felt pain. That was important.
Mommy needed her to not remember she was dead, though, so she pretended.
That was also part of her program.
Affirmations were normally part of her morning routine but looking at her washed-out reflection in the bathroom mirror, her eyes red from crying, she told her reflection "I am allowed to feel sad sometimes—that’s part of being human."
It was therapy day.
Sitting naked on the metal table in a bright white room, she did not flinch as they put the cold metal pads all over her skin.
"Tell me about your week, Jessica," the therapist said.
Jessica did not have to actually talk. The pads were downloading her memory input for the family therapist to go over.
Talking made her more human, though, so she told how the scar under her eye bothered her. She thought if they covered it up, maybe Daddy might be able to look at her. She talked about how sad she was, but that she felt something new. Something like sadness, but different.
"You are feeling anger," the therapist told her. "You are angry that the father won’t love you. You are programmed to give peace to grieving parents. Your mother is getting along quite well, and you are doing a wonderful job, but their arguments have gotten worse since your last visit, and most of them seem to be about you. It could be that your presence is doing more damage than good. We may have to try a different tactic soon."
She did not rest that night but lay awake, pondering anger. She did not like anger. She wanted to do her job and give Daddy peace, but she could not give him peace if he did not want her. Now they might take her away from Mommy. That would be bad.
"You do not have to be wanted to prove you are real," she tells her reflection the next morning. She only says it once. Everyone was already in the kitchen having breakfast.
It was important that she go downstairs before Daddy left for work. Looking at the scar on her reflection that morning, she had finally figured out how to give peace to Daddy so that she could keep helping Mommy.
Pulling an arrow from the blue-ribbon quiver hanging beside her vanity, she went downstairs to say good morning to Daddy.