the sound of birds singing somewhere trickled into her ears. sunlight was peeking in through the half-open slats of the blinds, washing over her, bathing her in their warmth.
it felt good to wake up.
her eyelids were heavy and it was only with some effort that she managed to open them, squinting at the ceiling. she stretched out and yawned; a soft squeak escaped from her throat as she relaxed again and turned onto her side, tugging the sheets back over her. it was fabulous underneath them. who would want to leave that?
she certainly didn't.
her eyes adjusted to the light in the room and she looked around lazily for a moment.
she let out a little gasp, and her eyes went wide.
everything was there. everything...
she almost fell out of bed in her haste to throw the covers back and get out.
all of it.
it was her room. just like it had been before. just like the way it was.
there was her desk, with old school papers scattered on it. and her computer, and the lamp. here was her bed that she had just awoken from, with its pale green sheets and wonderful blankets. there were familiar clothes stacked in a pile. shoes over there. pictures on the wall. a poster or two. the closet. everything.
she was home. home again.
she took the pair of jeans that hung over the back of her desk chair and looked at them. nothing had changed.
she put them on.
they fit.
she stood there, in her old room, the place that contained all of her childhood memories, and breathed shallowly. she did not know what to do or where to go.
she stepped over to the door and opened it. a slight hesitation, and then she stepped out into the hallway. it was empty.
but it was the same.
"Mom?"
her voice sounded strange to her own ears, as if she had not heard it for a very long time.
up and down the hallway she looked. all the doors were shut. the pictures on the walls were hung perfectly. not a fiber of the carpet seemed out of place.
she went down the stairs.
"Dad?"
there was no answer. no sound. just her walking.
she stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and looked towards the front door. there were her shoes.
only hers. no one else's. she wondered.
she was confused.
no one upstairs. no one in the halls. no one in the den, or the living room, or the dining room.
the silence soaked into her.
she walked towards the kitchen. the door was closed. she was beginning to wonder where everyone was.
she turned the knob and pushed it open, and stood there in the doorway, gaping.
ruined.
everything was ruined.
cupboards opened, their contents spilled out onto the floor. the table overturned, broken clean in half. things littered the floor everywhere.
she stepped inside, and things crunched underfoot. panic was rising in her. what was going on?
she looked over, towards the door that led outside to behind the house, and screamed, staggering back.
everything came flooding back into her mind at once, and she screamed again, clutching her head, pleading for the memories to leave.
the questions. the panic and then the rage. the struggle, the shouted threats and pointless attempts at reason. the sickening squish. followed by more. and more. blows falling in a whirlwind of fury and tears and years of frustration.
she stared the body crumpled by the door, lying in a pool of its own blood, fresh as if it had just happened. a knife lay at the body's side, broken.
her side ached and burned. she touched it. her shirt was wet. she looked down.
red was staining the thin fabric slowly.
she remembered the way the knife had felt when it pierced her skin.
she looked again at the body.
"Father," she whispered, wincing in pain.
something crashed.
it banged, rattled, and thundered down the stairs. something cracked sickeningly, and the sound ceased. she feared turning around.
the silence was pregnant and anxious.
slowly she back up and turned, entered the hall again, approached the stairs, holding her bloody side.
she stopped, and began to cry. terror washed over her again.
the wooden rocking chair had broken into pieces on its trip down the stairs. the woman was still tied to it, her face to the ground. she oozed blood onto the carpet as if the wounds were fresh, like those of her father's.
she approached it fearfully, stood in front of it, stared at it.
there was no explanation.
"You couldn't even do this without screwing it up. Thorough, I admit. But so messy. Pathetic."
her head snapped upwards and she backed up into the wall, shaking.
he descended the stairs step by step, his grey eyes locked into hers, that sick smirk on his lips the entire time. he stepped over the corpse.
"Are you happy with what you did?" he asked.
"what--you--Zero--why are you here? how did you...?" she choked out.
"Are you happy?"
she stuttered.
he stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. she staggered sideways and sobbed.
"Answer me when I ask you something. Don't be the little bitch you were when you decided to do this."
"shut up," she whimpered. "shut up..."
"How hopeless, how stupid, how pathetic do you need to be to do something like this?"
"they deserved," she began. she did not want to be hit again.
"No, pet. You were the one who deserved. You deserved everything you got. All of it. You brought every bit of it upon yourself - when will you learn?"
"it's not TRUE," she shouted. and she ran.
she ran back towards the kitchen, and she knew he was following her.
frantic and pained, she grabbed at whatever she could get her hands upon in the kitchen. finally she found the old wooden block that held the knives on the floor. she drew one out, and he entered.
"Such a sad little girl, aren't we?"
she ran again, desperate to just get away. she jumped over the bloody corpse by the door and kicked it open, running outside, into the grass, the warm sunlight.
the birds were still singing, and twittered about happily, unaware of the turmoil below.
he walked after her as she ran through the field.
finally she stopped, out of breath, and turned to face him.
"Are you quite done?" he asked.
she said nothing. he continued to approach her.
he gestured.
she looked in the direction he indicated, and her knees shook. why show her? why?
the grass was burned and ruined, the earth scorched, a ring around the charred lump that had once been a body.
"Everything you did," he was saying, "was worthless. Everything you endured, you brought upon yourself." he was almost grinning. "No one's on your side. They never were." he stopped in front of her, and they looked into each other's eyes.
she spat in his face.
he seized her shoulders in his hands, holding tightly, and she clutched the knife harder. she grit her teeth as he cast that sadistic look down at her.
"So misbehaved. Look at the mess you've made all around here. You're such a bad girl. Do you know what happens to bad girls?"
she tried to pull away from his grip.
"They get punished," he said. pleasure dripped from the words, thick as honey.
she screamed at him, about what she did not know - words and sounds came out but she no longer had control over them. she wrenched one shoulder free and plunged the knife at him. over and over she stabbed at him, sobbing and screaming, desperate, afraid. the pain in her wounded side was blinding.
the knife sank into his chest with the sound of rending flesh and crunching bone. the handle halted at his skin, and she could not retrieve it. he did not collapse to the ground.
he grinned, and he laughed and laughed.
he lifted her up, and he broke her.
---
open eyes. breathing hard.
black ceiling. dark room. cold sweat.
another night, another nightmare.
she pulled the rough sheets around herself more tightly, shivering and afraid.
her muscles were tense and sore.
"just," she told herself, "just a dream."
just a dream.
she imagined she could still hear the birds singing.