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There are 256 residents in Greyville. The small town contains about 68 homes and 5 schools. There are 15 restaurants and 32 clothing stores. 41 grocery stores are spread across the area. Each building looks exactly like the last that it shares a function with. Each home has the same roof and color palette and each school has the same structure and number of doors. All the restaurants share a seating layout, each clothing store has the same number and placement of changing rooms, and each grocery store has the same setup of aisles and the same floor plans.
Everything in Greyville is alike. Everything in Greyville is predictable. If you flip a coin in the center of the town, it will land on heads exactly 50% of the time.
Everything in Greyville mirrors that of everything else, except for one thing.
There is a bright blue house, the color of the clear summer sky, at the end of the street in the residential area. It stands out tremendously. It is the only house in the town that has different blueprints from all the others. It is the only house that is painted with a primary color.
It has three stories, unlike the two stories of the homes around it, and its trim is coated with the purest of whites. The roof is tiled with deep blue shingles and the door is the color of a lake during the Fall.
All the residents of Greyville call the house odd – all but one.
The 256th resident calls the house home. Their name is Lilith Yonder and they despise the world around them.
Lilith was born in a gray house with beige carpet. They were born into a drab family with dull eyes and sad faces. Everywhere they looked the world looked back at them the same. Each street looked like it lead to nowhere. Each building looked like its doors opened to nothing but more wall. Even each star in the sky looked like it had simply copied the shine of the star next to it.
Lilith hated the world around them. So they changed it.
When Lilith grew to be old enough to live in their own home, they tore down its foundations and made it anew. They built the blue house from the ground up, adding whatever rooms they wanted in that moment with whatever theme they were passionate about in that second.
Their neighbors hated them for changing the status quo. Lilith didn’t care.
As they began to change what they had a choice to change, they started to realize they didn’t loathe the world after all. They certainly disliked the situation they were presented with at the time of their birth, but they cherished its potential. They loved its possibilities.
Lilith is the strange person who lives in the bright blue house at the end of the street in a town that is afraid to embrace the color the world wants to provide it with. Lilith doesn’t hate their town for feeling this way. They pity it. They feel sorry for the townspeople who will never feel comfortable enough in themselves to begin acting on what allows them to see the rainbow of opportunity the world can provide them.
But Lilith thinks “let them be confused.”
They think “they can dislike me and my colors all they want, because one day someone will see my blue house and my three stories and my eclectic rooms and they will think ‘wow, I wish I could be more like them.’”
And one day, Lilith smiled. Because they saw that on the other end of the street, another gray house was being torn down and pink walls were being put up.
IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT KIND OF WRITER YOU ARE YOU CAN BE WRITING: POEMS, FANFICS, IDK NORMAL FICS, NOVELS, SHORT STORIES, IDK ANYTHING!! JUST REBLOG!!!
Hana sat alone in a dark room decorated with tapestries depicting various different objects of spirituality. There was one that showed the seven chakras, one describing the meanings of the different moon phases, and one with a wordy quote about mother nature and the universe.
She was at a round table with four black candles lit around her. Her eyes were shut and her breathing was deep and long. With her sat only one other person. It was another woman, younger than Hana but still just as worldly, who watched patiently in silence.
Hana was psychic. She claimed to know the secrets of the universe and how to tap into them. She charged twenty-five dollars for a half-hour session of divination and while she had very little patrons to speak of, those who did come left satisfied enough to keep coming back.
Many people walking the street of the large city in which Hana’s shop was located would pass her holdings and scoff at the sight of the sign. Very few believed in the power of clairvoyance and those who did often chose to pursue the skill in themselves rather than pay someone else to practice it for them. Still, Hana made enough to keep her shop open.
She wasn’t a con-woman of any kind. She really did have a skill in, or at least she believed, the occult and reading into the future. Currently, she was allowing herself to slip into a receptive state to tell the young woman at the other side of the table (Ella was her name; she was a regular) what the fates had in store for her.
Out of all the people Hana worked with, Ella was her favorite. She never interrupted during the quiet parts of the session, she always paid at the end in full without promising to bring the rest next time, and she respected the answers Hana gave her every time without fail, even when they were answers she didn’t want to hear.
If Hana could choose a future for her patrons, she’d choose one of love and happiness for Ella and all those close to her.
However, she didn’t have this power.
Slowly, Hana slipped into a vision. Her long, purple fingernails curled on the black cloth laid upon the table, and her brown hair fell from its pile on her head as she threw her head back.
Ella kept quiet, she kept still. She knew not to disturb Hana when the visions began, but she tilted her body forward just a touch as if getting closer would allow her to see the images too.
As the image became clearer, Hana let out a long breath. She watched, she studied, and she learned.
Hana saw running. She saw Ella racing down the street and out of her home, deep into the night of the waning moon. She saw her jumping into her car and shaking as she turned the keys in the ignition. Hana watched as Ella drove away, tears building in her eyes and threatening to spill over her cheeks.
Ella drove for a long while. She drove out of the city and into the countryside. She had just passed a crossroads when she was hit by a large shipping truck in the side. She didn’t have her lights on.
Ella began to scream as her car flew back. She landed against a large tree. The girl had something lodged in her abdomen.
She took gasping breaths and tried to open the car door, but it was stuck. She cried out and screamed and pleaded for help. The driver in the truck had already pulled away, fearing what would happen if they were charged with manslaughter.
Ella lived for another half hour. She squirmed in her seat and tried to push at the door as she slowly bled out.
The vision ended with a clear image of Ella’s head falling back and the girl taking her last, shaking breath.
Hana came out of her daze with a gasp.
“What did you see?” Ella asked.
Hana didn’t respond. The first thing she wanted to do was yelling out, tell the girl she couldn’t leave the city at night alone any longer. She wanted to take Ella’s car keys and hide them away forever, or promise to drive her everywhere she needed to go herself for the next three years. But she didn’t say any of this.
She felt a nagging feeling that told her she shouldn’t tell Ella about her future at all. Something told her that if she did, somehow, the girl would meet an even worse fate than that already in motion.
Hana had always listened to her intuition. She always encouraged others to do the same as well. But that cool, autumn afternoon, she did not.
“Listen to me well, girl,” Hana began “You need to follow my every instruction.”
That night Hana shared a lovely dinner with her husband and fell asleep next to him with their arms around one another.
The psychic dreamed a vivid dream. She didn’t always remember her dreams, but this time she dreamed so lucidly she doubted it would be one she could ever forget.
In her vision from before, Ella had rushed out of her house as if she were running from someone. Hana had not stopped to think about it at the time – she was too focused on the crash that followed after – but now she saw what was so fearful for the girl.
She dreamed of a man with hatred in his eyes and an affinity for cruel action. She dreamed of pain and skin against skin in violent outbursts.
Hana dreamed of Ella and watched as she disappeared. Never to be seen again.
The woman woke with a start, dragging her husband out of rest with her. She sobbed into the man’s arms as he smoothed over her hair and whispered love into her ear.
The next morning, Hana broke as she watched the news.
A tall woman in red stood outside of the house Hana saw in both her vision and her dream. The reporter spoke of what had happened at the home the night before – she spoke of the man who lived there with a young woman and how he beat her and took her away. She explained how the police were working to find her, and that if anyone had any information that could lead them to the girl, that they should approach the authorities immediately.
Hana only watched the television with glass eyes. She knew Ella would never be found. And she knew exactly why.
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They Look So Pretty When They Bleed - Whumptober 2020 (Day 10)
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
She sang softly, her voice shaking. She held her hand on the other girl’s cheek and wiped away the tears as they came.
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you
The other girl, her name was Yepa, pressed her cheek into her hand, and closed her eyes. She had already tried to talk over the singing young woman but had given up when it was clear she wouldn’t be getting very far.
So please don’t take my sunshine away
“I can’t do it, Heather,” Yepa sobbed. She pulled Heather’s head closer to her chest, so her forehead was pressed into her shirt.
“You can,” Heather replied weakly “you can do anything.”
“Not without you.”
“You have to.”
Yepa let out a loud wail. With one hand she was holding Heather’s head, with the other she was pressing into her love’s abdomen, right around the black handle of a knife that was hilt-deep. Her hand was slick with blood. It took all her strength not to throw up.
Heather had already accepted how this would end. She always knew. From the day she was born, she knew her end would come by blood and blade. What she hadn’t known, however, was how painful it would be.
Not the stabbing, that she had assumed would hurt quite a bit more actually, but having to watch Yepa break apart while there was nothing she could do.
The two had already argued about what would happen next. Heather told Yepa to run, that the rebels were still close by and that she wasn’t safe here, but Yepa had refused. She insisted she could help, despite her total lack of medical training. She wouldn’t leave Heather’s side. Even as she slowly came to realize there was nothing that she could do, and that all that was left for her to do was wait until Heather drew her last breath, she wouldn’t leave until she could milk every last moment she had with her.
“I love you so much,” Heather whispered, her eyes drifting shut and her grip becoming softer.
“Open your eyes!” Yepa yelled “Please! Please, not yet. Just hang in there for me. Someone is coming. Help is coming. They’ll be here any minute.”
It was a lie, they both knew it. No one knew where they were. They had left the peace banquet early and insisted they wouldn’t be needing an escort back to their shared home.
Three figures in black with bright green wristbands had jumped from the shadows and grabbed girls as they passed a crumbling statue of an angel with a sword and a bouquet of roses. The green wristbands signified that they were apart of the rebel group that had formed eight years ago. Freedom fighters, they called themselves, fighting against families like Heather’s because they were of the chosen who were told their destinies and didn’t have to walk through life blindly.
One of the rebels pulled Yepa to the ground as the other two had to work together to restrain Heather. The girl had fought back. She was strong-willed and powerful in heart. She was able to shove the first off of Yepa before they were able to do her any harm. That’s when one of them pulled out a knife.
Yepa’s screaming scared them. They didn’t seem like they had planned to kill anyone and once they realized where the knife had gone and how much blood was already pooling at their feet, they fled.
Now, Yepa was sitting in Heather’s blood, pulling at her hands and speaking incredibly fast about needing her to keep her eyes open.
The two had argued, Heather had sung to calm her love, and now there was nothing left to do but whisper goodbyes and wait.
“I love you, Yepa,” Heather said again. It was becoming more and more evident that she was not intending to keep her eyes open any longer.
“I love you too, Heather,” Yepa said between breaths “I love you more than anything.”
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
Yepa let out a short laugh as Heather started singing again. Then she cried. Then she joined in.
You make me happy when skies are grey
The girls pressed their foreheads together as they sang. Yepa clutched to Heather’s heavy body, twisting her fingers into her shirt. Heather had one hand on Yepa’s cheek and the other on her knee. She squeezed lightly with the latter hand and brushed her thumb over Yepa’s cheekbone with the former.
Yepa shut her eyes tight. Heather searched her face as if she were trying to memorize every last detail of it.
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you
Heather’s eyes shut. Her hand fell from Yepa’s face and slipped off her leg.
The last line was sung alone.
Please don’t take my sunshine away
The song ended with a sob and a scream. Yepa sat on the ground, in the dark, with blood staining her fingers and clothes. She held Heather in her arms and threw her head back, yelling into the sky.
After ten minutes of screaming, silence fell over the night.
If you walked down the street at that moment, you would hear crickets singing a song of loss and love. You would feel cool air drifting across the earth and melting ice slipping around on the ground beneath your feet.
And if you stood there long enough, if you listened very quietly you would hear a soft voice whisper to the stars, asking for guidance and hope that said:
A woman sat at an old wooden desk. She had brick-red hair and deep brown eyes that were framed in thick black rectangles. Everything about her was small: small hands, a small nose, small lips, even her voice sounded as if she was constantly speaking from very far away.
She was writing a letter. It said the following…
Hannah,
I want to apologize first and foremost. I know that I have caused many people pain and heartache, and for that, I am so desperately sorry. To you, I apologize the most. I know this isn’t something that could ever be forgiven, but I want you to know that I will die loving you. Nothing you could do would ever change that.
The woman paused to catch her breath. Her heart was speeding and crashed into her chest every second. She closed her eyes for a moment.
She said to herself, without using her actual voice and only moving her lips so no one could hear, “I’d do anything for you.”
Hands shaking, she went on…
I confessed to the authorities three days after I killed Gregory because I couldn’t stand what I had done. I know this information must be shocking, but I wanted you to hear it from me. I was jealous of the way you were always together. I missed my friend. So, in a fit of rage, I hit him with your car when you let me borrow it on Wednesday.
Again, the woman paused. She knew she had to be careful. People would certainly read the letters she wrote before delivering them, so they needed to give enough information to protect Hannah, but not make it seem too obvious about what was really happening.
Once again, she resumed writing…
Right after I realized what I had done, panicked because I didn’t want anyone to think it was you.
Another pause. She looked down at the paper for a moment, chewing on the eraser of her pencil, and then tried again…
Right after I realized what I had done, I cleaned as much of the blood from your car as I could. I didn’t want to get caught, and I certainly didn’t want you to see it. When I brought your car back to you early Thursday morning, I wanted so bad to tell you what had happened the night before, but I couldn’t. I spent that entire afternoon with you acting as if nothing had happened. And I will cherish that day for as long as I have left. I love spending time with you.
The woman was almost finished. Just two more days to cover. As long as she could make it seem as if this was just a letter saying goodbye that also seemed to act as a personal diary, she could slip in enough information to keep Hannah away from the police. Then she would be free.
The woman knew Hannah might never forgive her for what she was doing, but she didn’t care.
She had a job to do. And she was damned if she wasn’t going to do it.
The woman wrote…
Friday I wanted to see you again. But you were at work all day, so I had to be satisfied with thinking about you instead. By Saturday I was a wreck. I was finally beginning to feel guilty. I was finally beginning to regret what happened. I spent the whole day in my bed. I switched from thinking about how horrible I was to wishing I could see you once more, but again you were busy. I hope your visit with your parents was nice.
She hoped that sounded natural. She figured, even if it didn’t, one out of place line couldn’t hurt too much. At this point, she would be utterly shocked if anyone moved their eyes off her now.
Once more, pencil met paper…
By Sunday I was broken and I went to the police to turn myself in. I know I have caused so much pain. I know you must be confused and angry and hurt, but I want you to know I still love you. No matter how horrible this situation seems and no matter what a monster some people might say I have become, I love you. I wish I could still protect you. I wish I was leaving someone behind to watch out for you, but at least I know you’re now safe. I will always love you, Hannah. I am so so sorry. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me. Forgiveness is hard to offer, but I feel it can be offered.
Forever yours,
Tina
She placed the pencil on the desk and sat back.
She hoped it was enough. It had to be enough. She and Hannah had their own way of communicating. Had their own lingo. They had taken a language arts class together years ago and found ways to express their thoughts to one another in a sort of code no one else could ever understand. Tina hoped it would work.
“Please. I don’t want to take them. I don’t want to! It makes it too quiet and I’m so lonely and I, I just, I can’t!” Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I’m on my hands and knees on the ground in front of her.
I hate her. I hate her so much. I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her.
My parents just dropped me off here. It’s called the Forest Grove Wellness Center for the Mentally Ill. Janna says that we should call it the Forest Grove Wellness Center for the Mentally Challenged because we’re not sick or less than. We just have a harder time dealing with life than most people.
So it’s that kind of place.
When they dropped me here like I was nothing more to them than another annoying mouth to feed, my parents told me it was because they loved me and were worried about me. They said the voices were becoming dangerous. That I needed help. I needed support that they couldn’t give me.
I knew they would do something like this. I always knew they hated me. And now they wanted to blame Thomas for everything wrong in this fucking world.
“The medicine is here to help you, Emily. It will make you feel better and make it easier for you to understand what is and isn’t real.” Janna put her hand on my shoulder and spoke softly into my ear. She was smiling. The bitch was smiling. She was telling me that my only friends are nothing more than figments of my imagination and that she was going to help me get rid of them and she was fucking smiling.
“It doesn’t help! It’s hurting them! It’s killing them!” She just wouldn’t listen to me. None of them ever listen to me. “I can’t take them, I won’t take them!”
They gave me those pills right as I got here. They sat me in a white room, in the most disgustingly stained brown chair, with a horrible man they called Dr. Callus who told me I was crazy and needed to be fixed.
They’re two little white tablets. I’m supposed to take them once in the morning and once before bed. I did it at first. I had no reason not to. I trusted them.
But then I took the pills and Thomas went away. Not just Thomas, but Rosa and Kale and the woman in blue, too. They all got quiet and blurry and then they just disappeared.
I even got mad at them at first. I thought they were leaving me. Abandoning me, like everyone else in my life, but it wasn’t them. Of course, it wasn't them, they would never do anything like that to hurt me.
But the doctors and nurses at this place; it’s like all they want to do is hurt me.
“It isn’t hurting them, honey. They aren’t real, that’s why-”
“Shut up!” I refuse to let Janna plant lies in my head. “Just shut up! You’re lying! All of you are lying! You don’t care about me, you don’t want to help me!”
I just keep screaming. I even push Janna into the wall and start down the hallway.
If I can just get to the bathroom I can close the door and sit against it. Maybe that will buy me some time. Then Kale can help get us all out of here just as they promised.
I’m almost there when another nurse grabs me from behind and lifts me up. Then I’m screaming, more and more. I’m pleading with Thomas, and Kale, and Rosa. I scream at the top of my lungs. They’ll hear me and they’ll save me. They always have. Always do.
I feel a sharp pain in my side before I start to get tired. Then the next thing I know I’m laying on the ground in the hall with five different nurses surrounding me.
My eyes feel droopy. I know I won’t last long.
“Thomas,” I shout with as much strength as I can manage “Kale, Rosa! Please help me…”
The last thing I hear before I fall asleep is one nurse whispering to another. She says, “We’ll have to switch her to injections.”
Then the lights go out.
It’s been a few weeks, now, since my last freak out. The nurses don’t try to make me take the pills anymore. It doesn’t matter anyway.
They left me.
All of them left me. They didn’t even say goodbye. They just stopped coming to me. They must not want to be around someone as crazy as I am.
Still, I miss them. Even if they did abandon me, just like everyone else in my life, I still want them.
Julia and Marcus had been fucking for just over two months. They both agreed that it meant nothing. They had a mutual friend named Todd who tried to set them up about a month before the creation of their current arrangement. They had tried it out, the dating thing, for a little while to appease their friend. It hadn’t worked.
I know this is late, and I do apologize for that, but I plan on catching up with the prompts as best I can. I do want to do all 31 of them so I might sit down and write a lot and then mass post a few of them in one day. We’ll see where the wind takes me. Thanks for understanding.
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Julia and Marcus had been fucking for just over two months. They both agreed that it meant nothing. They had a mutual friend named Todd who tried to set them up about a month before the creation of their current arrangement. They had tried it out, the dating thing, for a little while to appease their friend. It hadn’t worked.
But damn if the sex wasn’t something.
Like, really something.
It became a regular thing. Julia would call Marcus after an especially difficult day at the office and he’d meet her at her apartment in under fifteen minutes. Or Marcus would get a bad grade on one of his business papers from the university and he'd send a quick provocative text to Julia, who would be at his one-bedroom before he could finish his first beer.
It worked for both of them. They could barely stand each other outside of the bedroom, which made friendly outings with Todd all that bit more difficult, but during the act, they both felt as if there was truly nowhere else they would rather be.
This is exactly why, when Marcus began feeling worse after Julia pulled on her pants and picked up her handbag to leave than he did at receiving another failed assignment, the couple started to worry.
Before the doubts began creeping in, the two would fuck, lay next to each other to catch their breath, and then one would leave without another word. But now the pause after sex was becoming longer, the breathing quicker and quieter, and the leaving still silent but heavy enough to carry the unsaid words on its own.
It was after one of Julia’s calls to action that the tension was at its thickest and Marcus could no longer stand the silence.
They were laying in Julia’s bed. The thick, purple psychedelic sheets strewn out around them and the off-white pillows framing the mix of short, bright red spikes with long, curly brown coils.
Julia was laying on her back, her long hair spread out around her, and she was staring at the ceiling wondering how long it would take for Marcus to leave. She was reaching her breaking point these last couple of times she called him. On three separate occasions, she had almost muttered something a bit too meaningful under her breath during the climax of the evening. The fact that she still has yet to let anything slip out is the only thing keeping her going.
Marcus was also on his back next to her. His hand was resting on a pillow right above Julia’s head. He had to restrain himself from touching her hair, at this point unsure whether he’d rather her call him racist for playing with it or accuse him of getting too close.
He did like her. He wanted to get too close. He wanted to get too close and never back off ever again. But he didn’t want to ruin what they had now. He was worried that if he got too close, and she didn’t feel the same, that he might not even be able to salvage their current relationship.
Event thought their current relationship was slowly tearing him apart from the inside out.
Julia was thinking similar thoughts in the silence. She could feel Marcus’s hand floating above her skull. She told herself she didn’t want him to move it and wrap his arms around her body instead. She told herself that she didn’t feel anything for him at all and that the only reason she allowed him to still hang around was that she was desperate for the sex.
She didn’t believe it, but she told it herself anyway.
Moments passed with the two in bed in silence. Anticipation grew in both parties as time stretched on, but neither moved to say anything.
Finally, Marcus made a decision.
“I don’t think this is just sex anymore,” he said.
Julia didn’t answer him at first. She just laid there for a while, waiting for him to continue talking. She thought that he must have noticed the way she almost let those words slip the past few meetings. She thought that he must have been put off by her growing feelings.
When it became obvious Marcus wasn’t planning on continuing before getting an answer, Julia spoke.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
Part of Marcus was pleased. This meant she hadn’t realized the way he’d been thinking about her. It meant he could blow this all off now and pretend it never happened. That he could call her tomorrow and have her come over and see her again, even if it meant the emptiness in his chest would only grow larger.
The other part of Marcus was heartbroken. He had hoped, despite his best efforts, that she might have felt at least a little bit in the same way.
He considered changing the subject or just pretending he hadn’t said anything at all. But Marcus was an optimist at the root of it all, so he kept talking.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” he began “and I know this could ruin everything, but I like you. I tried not to. I did. But I do and I can’t really do much to change that now.”
Neither of them moved as Marcus spoke. He stared straight up at the ceiling without turning to look at Julia’s reaction, and she did the same.
Julia was fighting off tears. She didn’t want to feel things for him. She was just beginning to convince herself that it was nothing, but then he had to go and drop this weight on her.
“I just,” Marcus tried to continue talking when he was met with more silence “I wish I could say something, or do something to show you. I know what we said at the start of all this and everything I just, I can’t control the way-”
“Stop,” Julia muttered.
“What?” Marcus finally turned towards her. She laid still on her back, staring at the ceiling.
“Please,” she said again, "Just stop.”
More silence.
It took a few moments to get his composure, but once Marcus felt steady enough to move, he got out of bed and started to pull on his clothes.
Neither of them said a word as Marcus got his things together. Julia stayed in bed and refused to take her eyes off the ceiling until she heard the front door close behind Marcus, signaling he had left.
She let out a scream and seized a pillow before launching it across the room as the tears finally mde their way down her cheeks.
Outside, on his way to his car, Marcus cursed himself for saying anything. He cursed himself for his feelings. He cursed himself for his tongue. And most of all, he cursed himself for his hope.
Julia nor Marcus allowed themselves to think of the other for the following week. Julia had hard days at work and went home to shower and read instead of calling. Marcus continued struggling in class and went home to eat and watch television.
Weeks passed, then a month. And right as Marcus was beginning to forget about the girl he developed feelings for without wanting to, he got a text.
Where Do You Think You’re Going? - Whumptober 2020 (Day 5)
CONTENT WARNING: Abuse
I love Johnny. He’s good to me. He loves me. Takes care of me.
We have are troubles though. All couples do. But when it’s good, it’s really good.
I know my friends are worried about me. I know my parents think he’s not enough. But he is for me. No one has ever shown me the kind of love her shows to me.
He hit me once. Only once, but it was enough to scare me away for a few days. We talked it through though and we’re better now. He promised he’d never do it again.
My friends say they miss me. It’s true I haven’t been spending as much time with them lately, but that’s just because of how much I scared Johnny. It’s my fault really. I ran away before he had any time to explain himself. It was wrong of me. He helped me see that.
He’s always trying to help me become a better person, and I love him for it. Without him, I never would have had the confidence to wear the type of clothes he’s bought me or try out the kind of makeup he likes so much.
I owe him everything. He’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. And the best part is that I’ve helped him too. He told me what a dark place he was in before we met. He told me how depressed he was before and all the dark thoughts that he had to deal with. He told me how I was the only one who was able to help him through it. How could I not love someone who values me like that?
I’m not afraid of him. Sure, when he raises his voice I get nervous. And yeah, when he moves too fast I flinch, but I know he loves me. I know it. He tells me all the time.
“I would be nothing without you,” he says.
“You can’t ever leave me, April. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you left.” he insists.
I did try to leave one time, but it was so awful for him. I’ll never do it again. That was the night – the one night, the only time – he hit me.
I said I wanted a break for a little while. That he was getting too clingy. He got mad and we started yelling. It was a stupid fight really and I regretted it as soon as it began.
I got loud, he got louder, and before I even knew what was going on he pushed me hard into the table. I tripped and fell onto my back with a bang, breaking one of the dining room chairs as well.
I was so shocked I didn’t know how to react. He cooled down pretty quickly after that and, oh, the look in his eyes.
He felt so horrible about it, he really did. But I was too dimwitted to see it. And I ran. Like the scared little girl I am.
But we’re better now, and all that is behind us. He’s so kind to me. He still gets angry sometimes, and it can be scary too, but I know he still loves me. He would never do anything to hurt me on purpose. Sometimes he says things that he doesn’t mean, but I’m always the one who brings him to that point. Really it’s my fault. He doesn’t raise his voice unless I deserve it. I know that now.
I only told one person about that night, my friend Lin. She overreacted a bit which is exactly why I didn’t want to tell her in the first place.
“That’s not something you should just forgive, April!” She had yelled.
“I didn’t ‘just forgive’ him for it. We talked through it. He loves me. It’s okay now.” I tried to explain.
“No, it’s not. That’ll never be okay!” She was very adamant about trying to pull Johnny and me apart. “You can’t go back there. I won’t let you. He’s an abusive jackass, April, you have to see that.”
I hated hearing her say those awful things about him. But even then, she got in my head. I started to doubt things about our love. I see how wrong I was now. I hate myself for ever thinking about him like that.
When I told him what had happened after Lin got so angry and left, he said I shouldn’t see her anymore.
“She’s just jealous of what we have. She’s not our friend. She wants to hurt you. Don’t talk to her anymore.” He spoke in a firm voice, but he was kind.
I started ignoring Lin’s calls after that. I blocked her on everything too – Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat – as Johnny insisted. He cares about me so much.
Sometimes I feel like he’s too good for me. I’m not nearly as much as he deserves. He told me once that no one else could ever want me. That he was doing me a favor by being with me. I know that sounds bad, but he’s right. He was just trying to remind me of how special he is. And he is. So, so special.
I know we tend to fight more than most couples, but it’s my fault really. I’m always doing these stupid little things without thinking. The other day, I kept ignoring his texts while I was at work. He could have been in trouble and I was too selfish to take a break and answer him.
When I got home that night, we got into another fight. I felt so horrible for hurting him like that. I had to beg him to forgive me and promise that I would never happen again. He suggested that I quit my job so he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore. He promised he would take care of me anyway. He’s sweet like that.
Now we live together and it’s great. He’s great.
I don’t deserve someone like him. I know I’ll never deserve someone like him, but he stays with me anyway.
I love Johnny. Johnny loves me. So what if other people think we’re a bad couple? They don’t matter. Nothing else matters except making him happy. I’d quit a thousand jobs and lose a thousand friends if it meant I could keep him happy for the rest of time.
If that’s not a beautiful, committed relationship, then I don’t know what is.
It was a Tuesday night and I was on my laptop locked away in my room. The bed wasn’t made, it never was. I never saw the point in prettying something up that would just get ruined again that very same day. I had my favorite sweatpants on and big, bass speaker headphones over my ears blasting the loudest music I had in my library.
Being bullied is so much better than being cyberbullied. At least that way you know who hates you. You can see them face-to-face. Online you just have to take it.
My brother, Kane, told me to just ignore them, block them and sign off, but it’s not that easy. They keep making new accounts and coming back for me. I know I should just stop going online, but I feel like that’s letting them win. Besides, why should I be the one to disappear? They’re the ones breaking the rules. They should be the ones to suffer, not me.
It’s the way say things as if it’s nothing. They talk about my mom and her abandoning us. They say it’s my fault she left; that she didn’t love me because I was too selfish and dumb. As if they know anything about me.
It would have been worse if Kane was still on my back about it too. When she left, he was hurt worse than I was I think. It’s because I was still a kid and he was old enough to feel betrayed. He blamed me for a while, though he would never admit to it. Kane thought it would be less painful somehow if he could prove it wasn’t his fault my using a scapegoat. And of course, the scapegoat wouldn’t be our dad; it had to be me.
That’s how I know it’s kids from my school. I don’t post shit about my mom like that online. The only way they could know is if they know me in person.
I’m bullied at school too. No one seems to like me no matter if they see my face or not. But that makes things a bit easier. I have an idea, based on the way they talk, who it might be behind the screen.
Jim always talks shit about how skinny I am at school, which is similar to how L00serkill3r always makes fun of how weak I look. I tried to tell him he spelled “loser” wrong when he first started coming at me, but the guy was so focused on making me feel awful he didn’t seem to care.
If it is Jim, things could become difficult. He is right about one thing – I’m not built like a bull the way he is. He looks like the type of person that could kill you with one punch through your chest and who tears apart phone-books for fun.
I have a notepad with conjectures scribbled on it next to me. Jim’s name is written on the top with my ideas set in bullet-points beneath it.
Another possibility is Roni. He hangs out with Jim at school all the time, but he’s smarter than that blockhead. He jabs at any tiny mistake I make in schoolwork. Sometimes, when I top his score in our math class, he’ll take special care in making my day a living Hell.
He falls in line with another dickhead on the site, NaH69. Stupid name, but the use of periodic table symbols makes me think it could be that smartass.
The last contender is Gabriel. Gabe is on the track and field team so he’s fast and athletic, but not big. I don’t see him hanging around Jim and Roni as much, but he’s still an asshole like the rest of them.
He could be either one of the two users I deal with. He fits both profiles.
On my notepad, I draw a bubble map with the usernames in the center, and lines and circles dragged out around it, connecting them to the three guys I have in mind.
Any one of them could be apart of the terror I have to deal with online, but I can’t be certain which one. I’m sure it could be all of them, working together, but something tells me it’s just one of them one their own.
It doesn't really matter who it is though. They all terrorize me in one way or another. Every last one of them deserves what’s coming to them.
I know there’s only one possible way to get them to stop. I have to show them I’m not weak. That I’m not the child they’ve made me out to be.
I have a plan.
It starts on Friday. During the day I ask Tanya where Gabe lives. She knows because she’s on the school newspaper and interviews the kids on the sports teams all the time. It takes some convincing to get her to tell me, but I insist that it’s for a project and I just lost his address. She rolls over eventually. She was never the brightest.
I decided on Gabe because he was the easiest to find. Jim would have been too tough to fight anyway and Roni was super jumpy all the time so it would have been harder to sneak-up on him.
That night I tell my dad I’m turning in early because I have big plans for the weekend. I don’t need to use the story I had prepared about going for a marathon run, he brushes it off without even looking at me. He’s always tired. It makes part two easier.
I stay in my room until he and my brother go to bed. By then I’m already dressed in black. Black jeans, black jacket, and black beanie to cover my spiky blonde hair. Any help to go unnoticed will be vital.
Once I’m certain everyone is asleep, I sneak out of my room and into the garage. My dad keeps his revolver in a safe under the worktable. It’s locked up as it should be, but he told me and Kane the combination awhile back in case there was a situation where we would ever need it.
He was right. I needed it.
Once I had the gun, I made sure it was loaded and turned the safety on. Then I slipped it into my backpack and got on my bike.
Apparently, Gabe doesn’t live all that far from me. I get to his house before my legs even start hurting from peddling. It’s easy to slip into his backyard. They have the kind of white picket-fences people always talk about when they mention starting the perfect family. Their patio in the back is small. There’s a little herb garden near the edge of it growing basil and some other stuff.
It’s late – almost midnight – but the hate comments usually come early in the morning so I know he’ll still be awake.
I keep close to the walls of the house and peek into the windows as I circle the place. I find Gabe’s room quickly.
I can see him at his desk, typing away at his computer. The blue illuminates his head, his silhouette as clear as day. I give him a few moments to sit there and type.
I always thought it was strange, the way people act when they don’t know something life-changing is about to happen. They don’t, can’t know, so of course they don’t act differently. That’s was so mesmerizing about it.
Finally, it’s time. I tap on the window once and wait. Either he doesn’t hear it or he ignores it, so I have to tap again. This time he turns around. I make sure he can see movement in the bushes right across the way from his window.
If he were smart he’d run and get his parents. But I’m counting his incompetence.
He disappears from sight and I crouch next to the backdoor, pulling the gun out of my bag and switching the safety off.
When he opens the door and steps into the night I don’t waste any time in hitting him in the back of the head with the butt of the gun and all the strength I can muster. He falls easily and is too dazed to scream. But I know that won’t last.
I pull my mother’s old scarf out of the backpack and sit on his back as I wrap the silk over his mouth. Now he’s screaming. Or trying to, anyway.
I tie his hands and ankles together for good measure and drag him to the side of his house where there are fewer windows. Then I grab him and sit him up on his knees.
Kneeling down in front of him, now we’re eye to eye. I wait until recognition flashes over his eyes before I stand up again and show him the gun.
I can see shining tears as they pool under his eyes. He’s drooling all over my mother’s scarf now, pressing his hands into the ground behind him and shaking his head like a mad man.
For a moment, I just stand there and bask in the feeling of power. This is what I wanted. To prove myself. To prove that I’m not someone to mess with.
I’m not going to kill him. That was never my intention. What would that do anyway? If I killed him I’d want to avoid people finding out. Then no one would know how powerful I am, what I can do.
No, I need him alive. Alive but scarred. Alive so he can run back to others and tell them about me. Tell them to never cross me again.
Kneeling in front of him again, I place the gun over my lips to make him shut up. Once he quiets, I whisper with all the hatred I’ve been holding on to for the past three years.
“Tell all your friends what happens when you mess with me,” I say “Tell them not to so much as look in my direction, if they don’t want to look as pathetic as you do right now.”
I grab him by the hair and pull his head to the side.
Leaning into his ear, I say “And don’t go into detail about this or I’ll be back. And you’ll find out what I can do with this.”
At that, I shift the gun to his stomach and pull the hammer down so he can hear it.
Then, a bang rings out into the silent night.
He slumps over. He isn’t crying anymore. He’s not wiggling.
I touch his neck. To feel his pulse, like they do in the movies. I must not know how to find it though because I can’t feel anything.
Screams are the next thing I hear. Gabe’s mom is behind me, at the backdoor, yelling for her husband.
I don’t pay attention to her. I just look at Gabe. I had switched the safety off when he left his room so I could make sure he heard the click of the chamber rotating. I thought you needed more pressure on the trigger before it went off. I had barely touched it. Barely brushed it.
They’ll never get the message now.
Gabe’s dad must be bigger than he is – I guess the apple falls pretty far from the tree – because the grabs me by the neck and throws me to the ground with so much strength I’m too shocked to do anything about it.
For a while I just lay there, with Gabe’s dad’s leg on my back and his mom crying into the phone, thinking about what had gone wrong.
Later, after the police have come and I’ve been dragged out in handcuffs, serious-looking men with badges ask me what I was thinking.
I’m not sure why, but I can’t seem to tell them. I just look at them and stay silent. They look disappointed in me.
When my dad comes to visit later, he’s crying, asking why. Asking what he did wrong. Kane just yells at me. I don’t speak to either of them.
It’s the gun’s fault, I think. Who would make it so easy to accidentally do something so permanent? It’s like that damned website. Something so small could change so much.
I try to tell myself that he deserved it. As I’m processed and searched by guards, as my fingerprints and mugshots are taken, I keep telling myself he had what was coming to him.
He didn’t have to bully me. I didn’t have to attack him. Even-Steven.
I tell myself I don’t regret it. I tell myself it wasn’t a mistake, that I meant to kill him. Somehow that’s less painful than the truth.
I have nightmares about him every night. Sometimes he’s laughing at me at school, sometimes he’s crumpled on the ground at my feet. I feel a hollow feeling in my gut in all of them.
He’s gone, I tell myself.
He can’t hurt you, I think.
He’ll never leave you alone now, I know.
Somehow, the feeling that he’ll always be with me, is less painful than the truth.
In the Hands of the Enemy - Whumptboer 2020 (Day 2)
CONTENT WARNING: Homophobia
The hospital smelt of chemicals and used bedsheets. Cecil had already asked three different nurses and two separate front desks where his brother was being cared for, but he hasn’t gotten clear instructions yet. He walked down the white halls clutching a bouquet of yellow tulips close to his chest.
His brother, Miles, was “in room 4H, dear, fourth floor and down the first hall to the right, but make sure you go through the blue hall not the yellow one they are a bit close, it’s right across from the gray vending machine you really can’t miss it.” He was dragged into an ambulance late last night after experiencing major pains in his abdomen. Cecil got the call about his failed kidneys just a few hours later. It went to voicemail and he had woken up to quite an alarming message.
Still, Cecil couldn’t seem to find it in himself to worry too much about his brother. They had a nice relationship. Or a decent one, at the very least. As decent as two identical twins with an overbearing mother and an impossible-to-please father could be anyway. The brothers got along fine, but there was always this sense of competition between them. A feeling as if there could only be one. They were nice to each other, they didn’t even fight much, but inside they both knew the other was a threat.
Their father didn’t help smother the growing flames of resentment between them either. He only ever gave one of the boys' attention at a time. He only ever praised one of them per month, only acknowledge the existence of one of them per week.
When Miles got into business school, he won their father’s attention for an entire year. It was as if Cecil didn’t even exist. He told himself he didn’t care. That he didn’t need his father’s approval, didn’t need his love. He hadn’t known how wrong he was until he came out.
Their father was never violent. He was never abusive. He never hit them, never raised his voice at them, never insulted them directly. But when Cecil had sat him down, along with Miles and their mother, and told them he was gay, their father reacted in a way no one would have ever guessed.
He stood up, walked up to his son, slapped him once across the face, and told him to get out.
Cecil’s mother was kinder. She fought with her husband for the first time that night. She demanded that Cecil was allowed to stay. Her other half raised his hand against her too, but it didn’t fly. She didn’t step down, either. She was six months pregnant at the time.
It was always like this. There was an inner turmoil between the brothers that never seemed to climax. The two had to share everything. A room, toys, friends, love, even basic human respect. Looking exactly alike was hard enough, sharing everything else as well made it even more irritating.
They had the same warm skin, the same dark brown eyes, the same thick hair, even the same skinny build. The idea that Miles now wanted to share a kidney was simply ridiculous.
Miles always got the upper hand when it came to their parents. They were probably looking down at Cecil (up at him, Cecil would insist) having second thoughts about coming here to help his brother and scoff at his indecisiveness. His father would be thinking it should have been you. His mother would be thinking you have to do this.
Cecil knew it wasn’t exactly his choice. He was the only person who could save his brother at this point. His wife would have done it without a second thought. She asked the doctors multiple times if she could, as she had explained over the phone last night.
“I’m so sorry,” she had said, “I asked if I could- if there was anyone. You need to help him. Please! I know it’s last minute, and it’s a crazy thing to ask, but you’re the only one who can help him.”
Cecil had never had surgery before. He’d never even gotten sick any worse than the common cold, so he’d never been in a hospital for himself. He had gone with Miles and their father when his mother was giving birth to her third child, but even then he spent all his time in the waiting room.
When their father came out without their mother and told the boys what had happened, he vowed to never step foot in another hospital again. Only bad things could happen in a place like this, he thought.
Their father died of a heart attack exactly one month after their mother and little sister passed. Miles prepared the funeral. Cecil attended, and spit on the grave when everyone went home.
Cecil stood in the elevator for the fourth time that day. There was no front desk on the fourth floor, so when he got lost he had to either go down to the first or up to the fifth. The slow rides did nothing to help with his nerves. The music they played on the ride up only worked to anger him more.
As he stepped out of the elevator, he left a rain of tulips behind him. He was holding the stems too tightly. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.
The idea that he would have to go through this sort of pain to make up for a problem he had nothing to do with made his ears turn red with furry.
He turned right when he saw the blue sign (the halls weren’t really blue or yellow, as the nurse had made it sound, but had little signs next to them with a circle drawn with a specific color) and walked down another hall, avoiding rushing nurses and hysterical family members as he went.
He shouldn’t have to make this kind of decision. He could die in there. If something were to go wrong, if the anesthesia didn’t work or kept him under too long, he could lose his life because of this situation his own brother was asking to put himself in. The way Cecil saw it, if he did agree to go under, there still wasn’t any guarantee it would work. Miles’ body might reject the organ, or slip away while in surgery, and there was really no reason to put his own life in danger along with his brother’s for something that wasn’t certain to work.
Cecil passed the gray vending machine and turned down into another hall.
He had people he cared about too. Miles had a wife and some kids and company to run, but Cecil had people too. He had a boyfriend and a dog. Not to mention all the houseplants that would certainly die if he didn’t return. He cared about Marcus a lot and trusted him enough to be intimate with him, but he had absolutely no faith in the man’s botany abilities.
Why should he put all that at risk for someone who never risked anything for him?
The doors finally began to guide him without too much confusion. He passed room 4B, and 4D, and 4F…
When he saw it, he slowed his gait. He crept close to the window but made sure that the people in the room wouldn’t be able to see him.
Inside, he saw Jennifer, Miles’ wife, and Rebekah, his oldest daughter, sitting around Miles’ unconscious body. They were talking through tears.
Cecil stood and watched them silently.
He could die if he agreed, but that wasn’t the only possible outcome. The worst that could happen was he died. The best is that he survived and lived the rest of his life with one kidney. He only needed one anyway. It wasn’t that bad. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.
If he didn’t agree, he would be fine. Nothing would change. But Miles would certainly be dead within days. Hours, maybe. Cecil would lose his brother and it would be all his fault.
Cecil’s hand around the flowers tightened and he clenched his jaw as he stared at the back of Jennifer’s head.
He was choosing one life over another. He was choosing between sons, between brothers. He knew who his father would have chosen. He knew who the favorite twin was. He knew who would have been left in the hospital when they were born. It was the one with a family. With a wife. With kids and money to his name. It was the one who was the owner of his own successful computer programming company. It was the one who wasn’t a disgrace, a moron, an abomination damned to Hell for things he couldn’t control.
Cecil’s hand on the flowers loosened and he turned away from the window.
He knew what the right thing to do was. He knew what the right thing was.
But he was never good, never smart, never righteous enough to do the right thing.
It’s like his father always said.
“Sometimes, you have to step over people to get ahead in life. Only the weak worry about who’s left behind."
Cecil turned on his heel and walked back towards the elevators. He dropped the tulips in a waste disposal bin on his way out.
Jabbing his thumb into the first button in the elevator, Cecil felt something. He had expected guilt, or sadness, mourning perhaps. What he felt instead was freedom. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He didn’t just feel free from a hard decision. He felt free from being tied to a double, to a reminder of his own shortcomings in life. He felt rejuvenated. He felt strong.
Cecil got into his car and drove back towards his apartment leisurely. He wasn’t in any kind of rush. Why would he be? He had his whole life ahead of him.
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CONTENT WARNING: Cult mentality, violence, and mentions of suicide
Ebony hadn’t meant to join a cult. It was really all just a big joke at first. She was in her first year of college and never really had many friends in school before, so of course, when the quiet kids asked her if she wanted to hang out with them, she agreed. Sure, the group was a bit odd, and they spoke about other students in a more removed way than most cliques, but she figured they were just different like that. Lots of kids at her high school thought she was strange too.
She had a few good friends, Elena and Jax were really the only people in that damned school who showed her any kindness, and the three of them had their own kind of jokes and quips too. They didn’t all get the same tattoo, though. Or dress the same every day. Or belittle anyone to death after they had expressed a different opinion than the majority. But all groups have their own special quirks like that.
Besides, it was too late for Ebony now. She got the tattoo, she wore the clothes, she shared their opinions. They had just been so damn nice to her. No one else was ever that nice to her. Not even her own family.
She started going to the meetings the group had. They would get together once a week at various places. Sometimes it would be abandoned warehouses, or public parks no one ever visited anymore, or one of the member’s houses if they lived alone. The meetings were simple enough. They got together, said a little chant in a circle, drank some wine, and spent the rest of the night hanging out like any group of college students would. Ebony didn’t have any suspicions because there wasn’t anything to be suspicious about. She never paid much mind to the chant. It became like the Pledge of Allegiance after the first few times. Sure, the wording was a bit strange, and part of it was in Latin, but after she had it down, she recited it without much thought. She never stopped to consider what it was exactly that she was really saying.
No, it was far too late for her once it started turning from “strange” to “wrong”. The plan was in motion for months now. They got together during their weekly meetings and talked about everyone’s roles, everyone’s responsibilities, and what they all had to do after to keep living. Ebony had been surprised, of course, when the plan was first suggested, but then she looked around at these strange people – her people – who had really become more of a family at this point, and she went along with it.
It was the head of the pack, Jamie, who had brought up the idea. He said it was necessary. Said it was the only way the group could guarantee passage into the proper afterlife. Jamie was always saying funny things like this. He was a unique sort of person. Certainly strange, even downright weird at times, but he just had this personality you couldn’t help but follow.
So the group began planning. They began withdrawing from their lessons at the college, Ebony’s own grades started to drop, and began to watch the other students more than their professors. It took three weeks to find the right person, nearly as long as the setup for the event itself, but once they found them everyone knew it was perfect.
They had chosen a girl named Haley. She came from a rich family. A nice family. A good family. She had three older brothers and one little sister. Everyone around her adored her. She came from the type of family that took group photos every year and sent out cards to tell all their friends just how wonderful they were doing and just how proud the parents were of their perfect children.
She was perfect for everyone. And so she was perfect for them. They sent Ebony to talk to her because she was the newest and hadn’t quite yet gotten to prove herself to the group. Ebony was more than happy to be able to help out. She pulled Haley aside during break one hot afternoon and pretended to be curious in the suicide prevention club she ran.
She was president of the club. She had to fight with the faculty for a short while to get them to agree to allow her to run a club based on such a sensitive topic. She was that kind of person.
Ebony expressed interest in the club and asked Haley to join her in having a cup of coffee in the cafe down the street from the school. That was where the rest of the group would wait to collect them both.
Haley didn’t agree at first, either because of some gut feeling that something was wrong or because she really was behind in some of her classes and needed extra time to study, but that didn’t last very long. Ebony was smart. She had gotten into the school on scholarships alone. She was captain of the debate club n in her third year of high school. She knew how to convince people. And after being apart of her new group, she knew how to manipulate people.
She told Haley that she needed someone to talk to. Told her that she was interested in her club because of the way she’d been feeling. Told her that she saw the club listed in the school newsletter and felt the warmth of hope that she had missed for so long. She told her she needed to talk with her to feel right again.
After that, Haley finally agreed. She was that type of person.
Everything went smoothly afterward. Ebony got Haley to the cafe right as its owners finished closing up (they always closed extra early on Thursdays) and her family was there, waiting for them. They knocked Haley out after a short scuffle. It took a while, but they had found a relatively effective formula for chloroform online (you could get tutorials for anything on WikiHow these days) and put it to good use. Once Haley was down for the count, they put her into the back of Stan’s SUV. He had even gotten it washed for the occasion.
The group decided to take the girl to an old barn that had been used only once before for a regular meeting. A few members went on ahead of them to set up and the chains and ropes were already inside. After making certain she was still asleep, Ebony helped Tim and Gina put heavy shackles on Haley’s wrists and hefted her up to hang by her arms from one of the low rafters in the ceiling. Once she was secure in the air, everyone scrambled to pull on the over-sized dark green sweatshirts taking extra care in placing the hoods over their eyes and nose. Then they waited.
It didn’t take too long. The chloroform was homemade, after all. Haley woke up with a scream. Her tiptoes just barely brushed the ground, and she danced on them with desperation in attempt to get some leverage on the chains that held her up. The group got to work immediately, ignoring Haley’s screams, cries, and pleads. They tied her ankles together with the rope. They could have done this before she woke up, but there was something fulfilling about watching a person getting restrained that gave everyone in the room (save Haley, who was feeling worse and worse by the second) a rush of ecstasy. It was Ebony’s idea to wait for her consciousness for this part. When she first suggested it, she had been greeted by supportive statements and encouraging expressions. She felt proud of being the one to suggest it first.
Once Haley could no longer kick her feet, and her shouts or terror became not much more than defeated whimpers of fear, the chant began.
It was the same chant Ebony had been reciting for almost a year now. She knew it by heart. She barely even had to think about it. Her mouth moved, and the words came out. As the chant grew in volume, the group began to form a line in front of their captive. Jamie stood at the front, facing the line with his back towards Haley, and he held a solid, wood baseball bat. Once Haley began to collect her thoughts and understand what was about to happen, her screams started again. She wasn’t begging anymore, though. She wasn’t calling out for help. She was simply screaming because she knew she was about to be beaten, and there was nothing else she could do.
One by one, the members took the bat from Jamie and took their turns with her. Jamie gave them all two minutes, nothing more and nothing less.
Ebony was close to the center of the pack. Her hands itched with anticipation. She never stopped to think about Haley’s parents, or her loving brothers, or her little sister. She never stopped to think about all the kids in her club who really did feel like she was the only one they could talk to. She never even stopped to think about tomorrow and how this night would change her forever. All she could think about was what was in front of her. And she was ready for it. Oh, how she was ready.
When her turn came, Haley’s screaming had stopped again, and she hanged quietly, only letting out a small whimper when the bat came down. Ebony was a little disappointed by this. She had wanted to hear her reaction to what she was about to do. But once Jamie handed her the bat, she took her place in front of Haley, and their eyes met. She could see the pleading in them, the dwindling hope, the ever-shrinking faith in Good, and Ebony felt the rush all over again in knowing there was still something to beat out of her.
It took several hours for each person to have their turn. Haley had passed out after the first one, and it took a painful eleven minutes trying to wake her back up, then they all had a second go at her.
By the time Ebony got to go a second time, Haley was already dead. No one seemed to notice, though. They all stood there beating a corpse until early dawn the next day. Then they packed up. They tossed their sweatshirts into a large trash bag and wrapped the baseball bat in one of its own before adding that to the bag as well. Then Stan drove everyone home and he and Jamie went down to the pier to throw the bag into the sea.
Days passed, then weeks, then months, and then a year. Ebony had brought her grade back up in school. She was on her way to being the top of her class. Jamie had left the school the year prior and Gina had taken his place in the group.
At one of their weekly meetings, after the chant and the wine, they reminisced about Haley and about what they had all shared together. Ebony was the one to suggest a second round. She craved the praise she had gotten when she suggested tying up Haley’s feet while she was conscious the first time, and she was more than satisfied when she got to experience it again.
It became a yearly event. It went like this for four years until they were all caught. Ebony was on her way to becoming the leader when the police found them in the middle of their rite. They had a boy named Francis strung up in the barn. He was already beat quite good, but he survived to the group’s dismay.
The trails were quick. Each of the members was sentenced to death. Not a single one of them pleaded not guilty. They knew what was in store for them, but all it had taken was one. And they had nearly four at this point. They all had a guaranteed spot in paradise now, and they certainly weren’t going to waste it.
TRIGGER WARNING: Explicit description of suicide and overdose
If I stay still long enough, I can feel my heartbeat without put my hand over my chest. I can feel it shake my whole body. It’s fast, but it’s strong. I wonder what it will be like when it’s quiet. When there’s nothing there in my chest anymore to beat.
I don’t regret it. I don’t. I have to tell myself over and over again every time I think about picking up the phone but I know I do not regret it. I just have to stay here a little longer, just a little more, and feel my heart move my body without me having to urge it on.
I think my breath is fast too. I try to slow it down, I breathe in counting to five, hold it counting to three, and breathe out counting again to five, just like it said on the article about panic attacks online. It doesn’t seem to change my heart, and once I stop my breathing goes right back to being fast again, but I don’t mind it.
I bet this is what it feels like to be flying. To be free, roaming out in the sky with nothing below to catch you but nothing above to keep you there either. Maybe that will what it will be like when my body goes still.
It’s only been five minutes, but should it be taking this long? In the movies it goes much quicker than this. The broken mentor or the hopeless lover will take the pills and drop dead within the same scene. Creative license, I guess. But I wish that was how it was. Because now I’m doubting what I did. Now I feel like maybe I should call someone. Maybe I should go to the bathroom and get rid of this stuff.
But no. I knew what I was doing when I did this. I made a choice. I should stick with that. I wish I could play my song. It’s far too late to play the piano now though, isn’t it? I suppose it can’t matter now. Anyone who would get mad at me wouldn’t be able to yell at me for very long. With that in mind, I sit down at the piano and I play.
I’m making a lot of mistakes. The song isn’t as sweet as it usually is, as it should be. I must be nervous. Now there’s tears threatening to block my view of the keys. Everything is blurry and I have to blink more and more to be able to keep a clear line of sight at my hands.
But then I realize – I’m not crying. I’m not crying at all. My eyes are blurry because the pills are finally doing their job. I should be happy, then. I’ll be gone soon. My body will be still.
I have to lay down on the floor. Keeping my body upright on the piano bench is too hard. I’m too heavy. It’s cold down here though. I should’ve brought a blanket out with me, but I didn’t think I’d be laying here on the ground.
No, that’s not true. This is exactly where I thought I’d be laying by the end of the night. But I didn’t think I would need a blanket. I didn’t think I would feel the cold.
My heart is slower now. My body still feels like it’s rocking with every beat, but now it isn’t beating as often. That’s good. It’ll stop soon. That’s what I wanted.
But it’s not what I want. Dammit, it’s not. I wanted this. I wanted it so much. Or at least, I didn’t want the alternative. But now…
Now.
I have to get to my phone. I have to call someone. I have to get help. Is it too late? Am I past help? I can’t even lift my head off the ground.
I don’t want to die. Oh god. Oh no. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
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