The Past Never Sleeps

The Peaceful Façade

A flash of movement caught her eye—parents dropping off their children, couples sharing quick kisses before parting ways, and kids waving goodbye with gleeful abandon. It was a scene of mundane normalcy, yet Sarah couldn't bring herself to participate in it. Her usual smile felt foreign, forced, like a mask she couldn't quite wear today. A headache was gripping her and had seemingly been sent by the Grim Reaper himself.

She would probably be disturbing the lunch lady in the cafeteria for some ginger tea, but to get there, she would need to muster the strength to complete this jog she embarked on today. She had hoped that the jog would distract her from this hell-sent headache, but she was soooo wrong.

Focus on the trees. Think happy thoughts. FOCUS, SARAH! Anywhere except this headache.

Wow... The headache was getting the best of her. She made a mental note not to drink so many scotches again. Her pace started to slow down and eventually stopped. Beads of sweat formed around her head. Her eyes spotted a spot on the curb of the pavement. Yeah, she knew millions of germs would be lurking there just waiting to catch their next victim. But at this state, did she really care?

She pushed herself down and held her head in between her hands, hoping for some comfort. She rubbed the region circumvent to her temples. She gently opened her eyes, training them to again get used to the sunlight.

As her hands reached for support along the curb, her skin brushed against a crumpled packet of chips. The texture of the plastic against her skin felt oddly comforting, grounding her in the physical world even as her mind threatened to spiral. She picked up the packet, frowning at its unusual weight, and without much thought, as she would have done if her mind wasn't throbbing as if her heart had moved in her skull, tossed it into the nearest bin. The simple act gave her a fleeting sense of control, though it did little to ease the gnawing unease in her gut.

The bin was filled with ripped paper, which somewhat looked like official documents. Usually the garbage is taken out by the dump truck early in the morning. She shook her head, as if trying to get all the exterior thoughts out and litter them on the ground. She already had a lot on her mind and didn't need a bin full of paper to be added on that list. She dodged on her pair of airpods and started jogging to the beat of Taylor Swift's 'Style'.

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye

And I got that red lip classic thing that you like

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'Cause we never go out of style

We never go out of style

You got that long hair, slicked back, white t-shirt

And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt

And when we go crashing down, we come back every time

'Cause we never go out of style

We never go out of style

The only thing she heard was the beat of the song, until the dreaded police sirens filled her ears and her eyes were greeted by a huge crowd.

She had always jogged through this part of town but never really paid attention to the houses. So unless someone had come here from her area, it was impossible to figure out what happened. She frantically searched the crowd, hoping to find someone, anyone, who would explain the mob. Then she spotted the familiar auburn locks in a messy braid. She pushed her way through the crowd and managed to reach the 50-ish year old woman, "Mrs. Whitewood, what is going on here?" Sarah whispered. No response.