Massacre survivors, Sam and Tara Carpenter, follow a precise routine; locked doors, no midnight gatherings, and limited social media━except for their mother, Christina. She pretends and avoid the elephant in the room between the sisters. The tragedy...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
────────────────
March 28, 2022. early morning.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤA PANG IN THE HEAD. There's nothing but this blaring sound that drives me crazy. I inhale the faint scent of lavender and alcohol. I roll over my back, groaning from the aches coursing through me. I flutter my eyes open and see a blur of cream-white and pale yellow. The silk curtains brush over my bare feet.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤFor a second, I thought I was in a psych ward room until I peered to my far side. Tara's sound asleep in her bed, with her raven locks flittering from her soft breath.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤI wonder about yesterday, propping my arm up in bed as my vision adjusts. I kept thinking and thinking, like I was scratching on a surface and expecting a surprise behind it. I kick over something as I sprawl my long legs on the ground.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤThere it is. The answer to this early overthinking.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤA half-empty bottle of vodka.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤI might've drunk too much than I could remember. Perhaps my mind blocked the very reason why I did it on purpose, knowing I woke up to a painful consequence.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤNow I wonder if my mom found the bottle. If she did, I expect her to have the grace to return it to the fridge. Instead, she left it here to probably have an excuse to scold me rather than ask me why I was drinking.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤA few drinks cure what never left me; the disappointment that'll never be amended, and the dread of someone waiting to kill us.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤWhen we moved out of Woodsboro, I used to think I'd come out stronger as a survivor. I wanted to be for Tara's sake. Mom squeezed into the picture a little too late, too abrupt. The moment she returned post-incident, it was only Tara whom she caught from falling apart.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤMeanwhile, I'm assumed to play the big sister role and not give a flying fuck about how much Mom reminds me that I'm just a lost little girl left alone with her fears and doubts.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤI tried anything worth any merit for her genuine respect–my overprotectiveness being my strength. Mom would veer power and argue we don't need that many restrictions since we lock our doors consistently and don't go out often. It wasn't like any killer's alive anyway. She would say.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤI was waiting for her to add: unless you're one like your father.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤI wanted to make peace being the estranged daughter to Mom under one roof—if not for her passive-aggression to provoke me. I'd notice her pretending not to appear too negligent in front of Tara. It was an aggravating performance. I'd mostly come up with lousy excuses to disengage, then it would hurt Mom's pride when her acting wasn't working on me. It's revealing the shame of who she is to Tara.
