Pandemonium | Hyunjin

Just come home

Life is full of choices. Every decision fuels the butterfly effect and sometimes, you never know which is the right choice. No matter what you decide, the 'what-if' will always be there. Carmen's what-if's lulled her into an empty sleep. 

Bits and pieces of dreams faded into darkness. Every time she slept, it held her in its hands. She hoped that maybe some prophetic dream would slip through. Perhaps, she'd get a glimpse of her sister in a familiar setting. Maybe a building she knew or a house that she had passed before, but nothing came about. 

It was just nothingness. an empty void that left her hollow when she woke up. Whether it was four hours or nine, sleep meant nothing anymore. That usual feeling of refreshment and rejuvenation disappeared. Days slipped by faster and faster, but there were still no answers.  

Authorities didn't have any leads. Strangers took flyers, but there were never any true leads from them. The only call that was worth following turned out to be a dead end. Carmen and her father ventured into the nearby woods, dancing on the edge of desperation. 

They took turns shouting Lily's name. The mound of dirt they found was empty. Cops came out to double check. Carmen didn't pay attention to the cop that gave the pair an earful for tampering with potential evidence, but they didn't care. 

They watched cops dig with shovels. Down, down, down. Deeper and deeper into the half-frozen ground. One officer grumbled about the need for a ground-penetrating radar. It would have saved them time and energy. Plus, it would have been quicker. 

Nobody's fingers would have had to freeze because gloves slipped off the wooden shovel pole. Bodies wouldn't have to work three times as hard to reach the objective. It would have been easier than everyone holding their breath, but the chief insisted they do it by hand. 

Shovelfuls of dirt were tossed behind backs. Dirt clung beneath fingernails. Between bare trees, two officers were trying to break apart large clumps of dirt to make sure they weren't missing anything. Two other officers were taking turns digging in the growing hole. 

When they stopped at four feet and said it was pointless, Carmen's father begged them to go the full six-feet. Carmen had to turn around to pull herself together. Her bottom lip quivered and she shut her eyes to stop the tears. 

The argument was shut down once the sheriff showed up. He called back the number at which the caller called. He was hoping for more clarification about the incident. Instead, he was met with the angry mother of a teenager. Apparently, the kid was guessing that Lily was dead. He was hoping they'd find her body in the woods, so he'd receive the five-thousand dollar reward. 

Carmen could barely feel her father's hands on her shoulders. The sheriff apologized, not that it was his fault, but it didn't make her feel better. Faces had turned red from the cold. That deep winter chill was already inside everyone. It'd take hours before everyone would feel warm again. 

She passed out in the passenger seat of her father's truck. Her head rocked each time the car bounced, but she didn't stir. Her body was too exhausted and too cold. She didn't remember getting out of the vehicle or heading inside. 

She did, however, remember waking up on the couch. Multiple blankets were draped over her body. Everything was pitch black when she woke up. In the middle of the night, the house was dead silent. Despite the blankets, she was still freezing. The wind soaked into her skin and froze her from the inside out. 

As she lay listening to her own steady breathing, she played pretend. She pretended that her sister was tucked in her own room. Lily didn't go to sleep without one of her parents tucking her in. She was nine and she knew monsters weren't real, but she liked to pretend. 

"Aren't you getting a bit old for being tucked in?" 

"Do you want the monsters to eat me, Dad?" 

Carmen used to find it annoying. She used to think it was childish since she had outgrown being tucked in years ago. In some ways, Lily still seemed like a baby. She was easily comparable with a five year old instead of an eleven year old. 

Childish and immature. Easy to anger and a loud temper tantrum thrower. Lily was still so young, but she'd eventually grow out of it. Everyone knew that, including her parents. Tantrums were fading and the back-talking wasn't happening as much. There were more giggles instead of footstomps. 

The Holbrooks never attended church. Carmen only knew the basics about the bible. Prayers were foreign on her tongue, but she spoke them anyway. She whispered them while curling into a ball on the couch, tucking her blankets up to her chin, a forever net of safety. 

Lily wasn't being covered up anymore. That winter chill might spread throughout her bones and be there forever. Nothing could stop the monsters from swallowing her whole. Everything was falling apart and so was the entire family. 

Their mother had to be admitted into the hospital the previous morning. Their father was right beside her. Occasionally, he'd text Carmen updates, but she knew it was pointless. Her mother was catatonic and they didn't know when she'd come back. 

She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't drink, and she wouldn't speak. All she could do was stare at a white wall with empty eyes. Her brain tried to process the missing void of her daughter, but it wasn't clicking. When she slept, she slept for hours at a time. The usual eight had switched into ten or more. 

Sometimes the body just can't cope. They say it takes a village to raise a child, but the truth? Sometimes it takes a village to coddle you. Sometimes the current of grief is too strong. Sometimes we are forced to give up all that we are and place it into the hands of the people around us. 

The familiar comfort of family and friends, the kindness of soft-spoken nurses, the determined nature of doctors who want you to get better; it's a hell of a lot better than the unfamiliar and isolating darkness that comes beneath being six feet under.