5AM and On

Untitled Part 3

By the time Sam awoke, it was getting dark again. They'd slept the whole day away again. Mom would be annoyed, but like always, she'd forgive them. They rose from their bed, groggily going to rub their eyes, but yelping when their hand entered view. Sleep had momentarily caused them to forget their situation, but the sight of their desiccated fingers had the memories flooding back. Playing Wick. Dying at the hands of the Weaver kids, then learning they were stuck with their killers, presumably forever. Staring at the bottom of an old, rotting bunk for an hour, silently letting tears fall down their face until they fell asleep.

It took them a moment to realize that they were crying again, and they could only barely bring themself to wipe the tears off their cheeks. Their skin was rough and dry, more textured than it had been in life. The sensation was strange, alien, and uncomfortable, only making them tear up more. They abandoned the idea of getting up, instead choosing to flop back onto the old mattress, curling up around their pillow and burying their face in it. They just couldn't keep their thoughts from spiraling downwards; all they could hear was you idiot, you'll never go home again and it's all your fault. Sam didn't get long to wallow in these thoughts, however, as a soft knock came from the door to their cabin. Out of habit, they dragged themselves out of bed to go answer it, scrubbing away their tears with their pillow still clutched against their chest. Taking a deep breath to center themselves, they opened the door with a creak.

Though not entirely surprised by her presence, they were still unnerved by the sight of Lillian at their door, standing on the ground rather than floating. She smiled up at them, chipper attitude contrasting their own morose one. They forced a small smile onto their face, not wanting to relive her bad mood from their time playing.

"Uh, hi."

"Good evening! You wanna play checkers with me?"

Sam just stared at her, surprised by the sudden proposition. "...you have checkers?"

She nodded, obviously excited. "Yeah! There are board games in the counselor's cabin. Makes it more fun around here."

They had to take a moment to think about their answer. They really weren't in the mood for games, but were afraid to outright reject her, still walking on eggshells with the kids. Lord knew how long it would be until they fully calmed down around them, if ever. "Uh, can't you play with one of your brothers?"

She puffed her cheeks and pouted in a way that Sam had to admit was kind of cute. It reminded them of their little cousins. "It's no fun playing with the boys! Caleb tries to eat the checkers, Tom and Benny always let me win, and Tim either never wants to play or is way too competitive."

Something in her expression told Sam that she wouldn't take no for an answer, so after a moment's pause, they just sighed and gave in, tossing the pillow back onto their bed. Lillian cheered, taking Sam's hand in her own freezing one and leading them to the counselor's cabin. She sat them on one side of a table, grabbing a worn box off a shelf and bringing the checkerboard out of it. She rambled about various things while she set up the board, but Sam wasn't really listening, zoning out a bit. They hadn't played checkers since they were younger, when their mom taught them to play. Mom was so good at games and puzzles; she always told the story about when she won a chess championship, and she'd taught Sam to play all sorts of things, from chess to Othello. Sam had hoped to teach her something in return sometime, but it seemed that now, they'd never get the chance.

Their attention was brought back when Lillian stopped talking, looking at Sam expectantly. After a moment of silence, she spoke again, voice gentler than it had been before, gentler than a 5-year-old should be capable of. "Are you okay?"

They were about to say yes reflexively, but realized too late that tears were pricking in their eyes. God, they didn't want to cry in front of the kid, but they just couldn't help themselves. The wound of their loss was still too fresh. They should've been angry with her, with all of the kids! They'd been the ones to kill them, after all...but they just couldn't muster up the feeling. The only one they could manage to blame was themself. They were the one who chose to play Wick, who chose to mess with things they didn't understand, and now they were paying the price. Their face scrunched up as they tried to contain their emotions, pulling their legs to their chest. Lillian crossed around the table, standing at their side with a look of concern. They couldn't bear to look at her greyed skin, her black eyes; it all just cemented their current situation. A sob forced its way out of their throat, and with one came more. Before long they were bawling into their knees, grieving for the life they didn't get to have, for the family and friends they could no longer see.

It took them a bit to cool down, only stopping when they couldn't cry any more. They'd cried more in these two days than they had in the past year. It would've been embarrassing in any other circumstance, but right now, they thought it was deserved. After all, if one was allowed to cry when other people died, it was totally understandable to cry when they themself died. Death in general was sad, scary. Sam didn't like it one bit. When they lifted their head from their knees, they found Lillian was still standing beside them, her tiny face creased with worry. Seeming to know what they were upset about, she stood there awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of her...sweater? Dress? Sam wasn't sure what it counted as. Water dripped from it, but disappeared by the time it reached the floor.

"We're sorry, you know. For what we did to you. We don't like to be bothered, and we took it out on you, and now you're stuck here too. So we're sorry."

Sam just blinked at her, shocked. They hadn't expected an apology. While it was appreciated, they simply couldn't put all the blame on the Weavers. They wiped their tears with a hoodie sleeve, trying to compose themselves, though it didn't matter now. "Uh, thanks. I'm sorry too, for...'bothering' you. It was dumb of me to come here in the first place."

Now it was her turn to look confused, her expression quickly changing to a childishly stubborn one. "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault! You seem like a nice person, and-and you didn't do anything wrong! We were just being meanies."

They snorted at that, chuckling for the first time since they started playing. It wasn't much, but it was a start. "Agree to disagree."

Lillian paused. "Really. Don't put it all on yourself. It's ok if you're mad at us! I don't know about the others, but I was kinda hoping that...that we can be friends. And friends don't want their friends to be sad."

A moment of more comfortable silence passed before Sam spoke again, turning their attention to the long-forgotten checkerboard. "I think...I think I'd like to be friends. Black or red?"