Muder she Did

My life is a Mess

They told me I would be okay, that it wasn't my fault. Various doctors, therapists, and old ladies at churches told me everything would be alright eventually. But would it? How could it not be my fault if they didn't know what happened?

I sigh and get out of bed. Thoughts like these are so common, I barely think about it anymore, more like an instinct. The memories are so old I can't tell what my mind's made up and what is real anymore.

I dress quickly and make my way downstairs for my third cup of coffee this afternoon. Time for my graveyard shift at the all night coffee shop. I've been working there as long as I can remember, my aunt has owned the place for years, and offered me a job practically as soon as I could form words. It's nice to have a friendly face to work with (and a good pay).

I take my meds as I walk to the bus stop, various meds I have been taking over the years to help with my so called "trauma". Every time I see a new doctor (always set up by previous doctors) they prescribe a new pill that will miraculously "cure" whatever new diagnosis they have given me. I'm so confused that at this point I just sign the papers and buy the drug.

"Hey! How was your night?" My aunt greets me with yet another cup of fresh brewed coffee.

I take it graciously and give her a hug. "It was alright." I've learned to just keep certain thoughts to myself. I don't need more psych consults than I've already had.

"Good, good. Let me know if you need anything."

I smile, grab my apron, and head to the kitchen to make orders. It's gonna be a long night, and I'm the only one on shift along with Al, the cook. The coffeeshop is a small, wooden place that used to be a corner store way back when. My aunt has owned it for as long as I can remember. She's basically been an older sister to me ever since the incident.

My parents have been out of the picture since I was six years old. As far as I remember, we were out on a walk with golden retriever we bought earlier that week. I laughed and laughed because I named him Golden and that was the funniest thing to me as a six year old.

It was around noon when we left our house, and I told my parents I wanted to walk by the graveyard. I don't know why, but they agreed. So Mom, Dad, Golden, and I all walked past the graveyard on the way to the park.

That's when it happened. Someone must have hid in the bushes of the graveyard because the next thing I know my parents were on the ground with smashed in skulls and the puppy was nowhere to be seen. I screamed and screamed, I didn't understand what happened.

What seemed to be hundreds of policemen interviewed me the next few weeks, as I was the only witness on the scene. From what I've been told, I wouldn't speak about what happened. Since they found no evidence as to what killed my parents, nor did they have a reliable witness, they closed the case seven months later. The only thing they found relating to this case was the dead golden retriever seven blocks down.

My parents deaths have been a mystery ever since then. I blame it on the town's lousy police department, because there have been mysterious deaths over the years, and they couldn't seem to solve those either.

 "Hey, Olivia, you alright?" Al looks looks down at me from making his pancakes.

I realized I've been sitting down with my head in my arms for at least ten minutes. This happens a lot when I think about what happened to my parents. "Yeah I'm good," I get up and stretch, "Any more orders?" He's making pancakes. "Oh, right."

******************************

After a 12 hour shift, I'm so tired I can barely function. I take the first bus back to my apartment and crash onto the couch. I sigh and grab my laptop to start some college work. I start researching the many different majors. There are so many things I want to do, but it all depends on money, scholarships, acceptances, etc, etc.

Besides, what's the point of college? I mean, I don't have any plans for myself, and I already missed out on a normal childhood. So, I don't have any clue of what life is supposed to be like. I have a decent paying job and an apartment. That's all I need, right?

My various doctors have always told me I have an emotional detachment from everything. "It's from the trauma," they'd say, " big changes at an early age can cause life-lasting effects." What they don't know is anything about my life prior to the incident. What if I've always had an emotional detachment to everything? That's the thing about doctors, they always look for a cause-effect problem, and diagnose you based on that. They don't bother to check a history, because apparently "I was only six, so there wasn't enough time for habits to develop."

Whatever, I really don't have time to think about things from my past. I have my future to worry about. And right now, I have my hunger to satisfy....

To be continued.