𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝.
❝ in which you piece together the fragments of your past...
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You estimated that it had been four days since you first left the bathroom and discovered your dead family members inside what you presumed to be your aunt's house.
In that approximate time frame, you had spent the majority of the time sleeping. You also lost consciousness around 4 times a day, collapsing in the middle of trying to make sense of your dire situation, with no greater warning except a slight blur of vision before everything would go black.
You had also consumed the last of the fresh food left in the fridge. All that remained were a hefty stash of canned goods—your family was clearly prepared.
You had also placed bedsheets over your dad and the bodies of your mother and aunt after dragging them outside into the garden. God, that was awful. You wore rubber laundry gloves but it still felt like you were directly touching their squishy, rotting and terrifyingly opalescent flesh.
You tried your best to clean the flesh, bodily secretions and blood off the furniture but after fainting twice during the process, you had given up and laid more bedsheets over the contaminated areas.
And throughout the entire process—the eating, cleaning, fainting, and crying—all you could remember, what kept replaying itself like a broken record over and over in your blank head, was the scene of your dad sacrificing himself to save you and your brother from your own mother and aunt.
