Chapter 1

School starts tomorrow. I can’t decide if I’m happy or not. I haven’t seen any of my friends from school for three whole months! I think I’m looking forward to seeing some of them. I’m looking forward to seeing Malana, that’s for sure. I only talked to her like three or four times this summer. She always seemed to be on vacation with her family. They’re never home much during the summer. I think they went out to the west coast this summer, like to Los Angeles or someplace like that. Wherever they went, I’m sure it involved an awful lot of trying really hard to become the perfectly functional family. I wish my family would take vacations like that. Well, then again, maybe not. My parents would probably just argue the whole time. They really don’t seem to be very compatible. They’re like opposing magnetic poles. They’re like two live wires that explode every time you try to put them together. It kind of makes you wonder what made them fall in love in the first place.

I wish they would shut up right now. Don’t they know I’m trying to fall asleep? How do they expect me to get any sleep when they’re constantly screaming at each other? Maybe they think I’m already asleep. I don’t know. Maybe if they ever asked about me, they’d know how much trouble I have sleeping, but I’m not expecting that to happen anytime soon. God, can’t they just shut up? It’s the middle of the night! Don’t they have anything better to do? Can’t they go to sleep? They must be shouting really loudly. They’re all the way on the other side of the house, in the kitchen, and I can hear them in my room. I don’t want to hear this. I can’t decide if I should try to ignore it or try to distinguish exactly what they’re saying so I know what’s going on. God, I hate my parents. That family vacation idea was dumb. What was I thinking?

I wonder if they even consider what’s happening to me right now? Do they know I can hear them? Do they care? It’s like they’re not even trying to be quiet. It’s like they want me to hear them. I just hope Dad doesn’t hit Mom again. That’s never good. I know he hits her. I’ve seen him hit her. They were screaming like this a couple years ago when I was a little kid, and I was just crying in my bed. I decided to get up and go see what was wrong. I wanted to help. I thought maybe there was something I could do that would make them stop fighting. I figured they were probably fighting about something I had done. When I got out of bed to go to the kitchen, I tiptoed sniffling and fighting back tears into the livingroom. I peeked around the door frame into the kitchen, and I saw Dad hit Mom right in the face. He hit her like he hated her more than anything in the world. She just sort of shrieked and shrank back away from him before the tears started coming. She held one hand over her left eye and looked at Dad with a mixture of confusion and horrified alarm in the other. I ran back into my room and closed the door, hoping the sight would be erased from my memory, but it’s still not gone. I can still see it like it happened yesterday. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Something that traumatic never leaves you. In the morning, Mom told me she must’ve been sleepwalking again and she probably ran into something along the way. Adults are such bad liars. Mom doesn’t sleepwalk.

I wonder what they’re fighting about this time? It’s getting progressively worse. They’re screaming at each other at the same time, too. How do they expect to get their points across if they don’t listen to one another? They probably don’t even know what they’re saying; they’re screaming too loudly. What do they think is being accomplished by all of this nonsense?! This is ridiculous. I’m gonna go tell them to quiet down. Maybe they’ll feel guilty and shut up for once. Maybe they’ll remember that someone else lives in this house, too. Maybe they’ll realize that what they’re doing right now is destroying me. It’s could scar me for life. Maybe if I’m really convincing, I can talk them into starting some kind of therapy or something.

Malana’s parents are in therapy. They go to marriage counseling once a week. Malana says it’s the counselor who suggested that they start taking those family vacations. Maybe counseling can help my family too. I don’t know what was ever wrong with Malana’s family, though. Her family has always seemed to be so happy and so perfectly normal that it’s almost disgusting. She’s so lucky to have a normal family. I don’t think she understands what it’s like to have parents who really aren’t normal. I always feel like she wonders what’s wrong with me because I expect the worst from my parents. She always tells me I’m being too sensitive or I’m worrying about it too much. She keeps saying if I just stop thinking about it, it won’t bother me as much. I can’t help that it’s always on my mind, though. Some things are just always gonna be there. Malana has never had to try to sleep in my room while my parents scream at each other across the house. She just doesn’t get it.

God, I hate my parents. Why can’t they just like each other like normal parents? Why can’t something about this family be normal? I’m not greedy, I just want one thing in my life to be reliable and comfortable. I want a family that’s there for me when I need them. I want a family that listens to me when I try to talk. I want a family that understands me and wants to help me and take care of me. I want a family that doesn’t fall apart every single day.

Today was my parents’ anniversary. I’ve been talking about it with Dad for about a month. I kept asking him what I should get them. I wanted to do something really nice. I wanted to buy them a gift that would tell them exactly how much I need them to be happy. I wanted them to realize how much I love them. Of course, every time I asked Dad, he said I shouldn’t worry about it. He said it’s not like they’re a happy couple or anything. He kept saying how ridiculous it was to celebrate wedding anniversaries because anniversaries are just a scam to get husbands to buy their wives a present every year. He said it didn’t mean anything, but I was gonna prove him wrong. I was gonna make everything better. I was gonna change my life as I know it into something that is good or worthwhile in some way.

Anniversary presents are not easy to buy. I went into a bunch of different stores and, for the longest time, nothing I saw really said what I needed it to say. What I ended up getting was one of those plates they advertise on TV. It’s one of those collector’s items that’s supposed to increase in value the longer you own it. I don’t know how it could possibly increase that much in value, though. It already cost me a fortune, but it was worth it; it’s gorgeous! It’s a pale cobalt blue with a silver-trimmed edge and silver-lined clouds on it. On top of the clouds are the words “I love you” printed in the most beautiful silver script you’ve ever seen. When I saw the plate, I just had to buy it. I spent all the money I had on that plate because I knew it would look amazing right in the front center space of our china display cabinet. It could be there for everyone to see. Anyone who came into the house would know that our family, regardless of how strange it may seem from the outside, actually does involve a lasting and loving relationship between parents and child. The plate is so stunningly beautiful that it makes me want to cry.

I gave it to them early this morning. It was wrapped in shiny paper with the same color silver in it that’s on the plate. I paid the store to wrap it for me since I knew they could do it better than I could. I wanted it to be something really special. When I gave it to them, the first thing Mom did was yell at me for spending my money. Dad just kind of looked at it and asked what it was for. He had completely forgotten that today was their anniversary. I think he forgot because he wanted to forget, though. If he really loved us, he would have remembered, right? I mean, come on, I had been mentioning it for a whole month!

Argh! I didn’t think it was possible, but they’re getting even louder. I’m starting to pick up on a few key words here and there. I’m pretty sure I just heard someone say “divorce.” God, I hope they aren’t thinking about getting a divorce. All the kids I know who have divorced parents are really weird. I don’t want to be...ah!...

What the hell was that? Something just fell and made a loud crashing noise. It sounded like someone took a glass and threw it to the floor in the kitchen. Mom is screaming at Dad, and she sounds different now. She sounds like she’s trying to calm him down, but she’s still yelling. Actually, I think she’s crying too. I wish I knew what was going on. Now she sounds like she’s choking. God, what a horrible sound. What the hell is going on? She sounds like she can’t breathe. This has got to stop. That’s it: I’m going out there.

Wait...it stopped. It’s so quiet. I should go listen at my door. They couldn’t have made up. They never make up. They never even try to agree on anything. They should probably just get a divorce. Just because some of the kids at school are weird doesn’t mean I’m gonna become weird, too. Their marriage is hopeless. It’s still quiet. I think I’d better go check it out.

The hallway feels cold and still. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this alone in my life. I know my parents are two rooms away from me, and for some reason, I feel like I’ve been deserted. This is so strange. It’s almost like the world has stopped. Time has disappeared, and I’m the only living being still moving forward while everything stands frozen around me. The kitchen seems really far away. I’m getting more and more confused by the second. The light in the bathroom is on, but the light in the livingroom is off, so it’s like I’m suspended in dead silence, halfway between the light and the darkness. It is so cold and dark and miserable.

Wait, if I step into the kitchen and my parents are standing there kissing, what would I do? I can’t just say, ‘Oh, sorry,’ and go back to my room. They’d probably kill me if they thought I was spying on them. Wait, that’s ridiculous. What are the chances that my parents would start kissing now? I don’t think they’ve so much as looked in one another’s eyes for years. Well, miracles can happen, right? Yeah, maybe in some universes -- certainly not in my universe.

Oh my God -- maybe they’re not just kissing. Maybe they’re having sex on our kitchen table. I really don’t want to see that -- talk about being traumatized. Maybe I should just go back to bed. At least they’ve stopped yelling. Maybe they’ve finally come to an understanding that they really do love each other and we can all be one happy family again. Were we ever? Who knows? I can’t remember that far back. I just have to know. Well, I’m already out of bed. I might as well take at least one little peek. I have to save myself from my overwhelming curiosity. There’s no way I could fall asleep without knowing now. All I have to do is stick part of my head around the corner, and my curiosity will be quenched.

Oh my God...this can’t be happening. I must be dreaming. It can’t be possible that I’m seeing my parents lying on the ground with pools of warm blood growing around them. It can’t be. Ow! Oh my God...my legs just gave out. I’ve landed on my knees with the weight of my entire body so that every bone in my body feels like its just been shattered. I’m falling over forward. I have to catch myself. This is like a scene from a bad horror film. This can’t be my life! I can’t be falling forward with my hands sliding forward on the tile as I catch myself. My hands have not just landed right in the middle of one of the growing red puddles. This is not happening. But it is! I’m sliding across my kitchen floor on the slippery blood of both my parents as it mixes together, joining them one final time in the spiritual warmth of mutual ecstasy. I’m covered with blood. I don’t understand what’s going on! Help me! Somebody help me! Who’s gonna help me? The only people who help me are my parents, and they’re both dead! They’re dead! Help me! Please help me! I don’t know what to do! I can’t breathe...I think I’m gonna die....I feel like I’ve just dipped my hands in the blood of a fallen empire. My hands look like they should be attached to the carcass of a freshly butchered cow hanging from the ceiling of a meat locker.

I don’t think I can support myself any longer. What harm will it do to lay my face down on the ground for a minute to try to get closer to my parents? The blood was warm when I first felt it, but now it’s getting colder by the second. The blood is the only cushion between my face and the floor, and the floor feels almost like it’s moving. I don’t have the energy to move myself. I’m going to lay here on the ground between the bodies of my dead parents until I die too. I can’t fight.

Wait a second,...suddenly I need to know what happened...I need to know...I need to find out what caused this, what happened...I should at least move my head enough to take in the scene a little bit...well,...maybe once I get up the energy....

To the right of my blood-covered face, there’s a blood-covered shard of glass. It must be part of the glass I heard shatter earlier. Hm...it’s a little more difficult to pick up than I thought it would be...goddammit!...my parents are lying on the ground dead, and this glass can’t even have the common courtesy to stay in my grasp while I try to pick it up to inspect it!...I’m gonna cut myself with this thing...it’s so slippery....

Some tiny specks on the edge have escaped from the wash of blood...they’re blue. I’ll wipe the blood off with the edge of my mostly blood-drenched sleeve...it says something...it has beautifully scripted silver letters that read “ove.”

I can hear the clock ticking away like nothing has changed. I can hear the seconds ticking by incessantly, pissing me off to the point of violent rage. I want to kill the clock. The seconds continually pass by, while I am left here alone to inspect the wreckage of my life. I can’t stand the sound! I can actually hear the entire world passing me by, leaving me behind in the past. It suddenly sounds terribly loud, and the ticking is piercing my eardrums with its calm insistence. Please, someone tell time to stop! I can’t stand the thought of time continuing while my life has been instantaneously shattered! Time should stop for a tragedy....

My mother is lying in front of me to the left. Her legs are bent in the most awkward angle I have ever seen. She looks like she just fell out of the sky and landed with a horrible crash. A large shard of broken glass is sticking out of the center of her throat like a flag marking the territory of a tyrannical ruler whose army defeated the land. The blood has soaked onto her white blouse in soft patterns of the most atrociously grotesque red-brown stains. Mom would’ve killed me if I ever did that to a shirt she had to wash. Her hands look so pitifully limp, like they were reaching for something and just eventually gave up. She must’ve fought so hard! Two of the fingernails on her right hand are completely torn off. Thin streams of blood are dripping their final drops onto the scattered pieces of shattered glass beneath her hand. She doesn’t look like herself. I’ve never seen her look so defeated. Her brow is furrowed into a relaxed but frozen look of concern and hatred combined with obvious thankfulness that her hell has ended.

To my right, my father sits slouched against the cabinets below the sink, the inside of his left forearm torn to shreds like it was the most offensive thing in the world to him. His right arm is even messier, with random cuts and slices of flesh peeling off in several different directions. The floor is becoming progressively redder. This has to be a horrible dream. All I can do is stare. My eyes are glued to the body of my lifeless father. His arms are positively drained of any reminder that he was once a living creature. His head is leaning back against the cabinets -- his eyes still wide open, staring at the ceiling. He looks more relieved than anything else. Well, anything else except dead. He definitely looks dead. I can’t look away. This is the most gruesomely disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life, and I can’t force myself to look away. It’s like I keep expecting everything to dissolve before my eyes, as I awake from this atrocity. It’s like I have to stare until the scene is burned detail for detail into my memory where it will remain for the rest of my days. Beneath my father’s left hand is the largest piece of the broken plate where the muscles of my Dad’s hand could no longer clutch it. Tiny pieces of torn skin are stuck to the longest point. Oh my God. My parents are dead.

I don’t know what to do! I want to cry...I want to run screaming to the next-door neighbors and call an ambulance to take my parents away...I want to call the coroner so I can listen as he declares them dead...I want to watch as they’re buried beneath mounds of grassy dirt in the nearby cemetery. I want to puke. I want to die. I want to wake up. I want to find myself back in my former reality. My life as I know it has spontaneously changed paths. I’m still staring in disbelief. I can’t tear away my frozen stare. I want to run to anyone in the world who knows what I’m feeling right now so they can console me, but I know that no one could possibly do that for me. No one loved me more than my parents. I’m suddenly damned to a putrid existence of hatred, defeat, and mindless acts of rage and violence. I will never be the same. Reality seems like the most unrealistic concept in the world to me right now. I need help. Help...help me!...

I don’t think it sank in until right now. Tears are starting to stream down my face. I want to go to my father and shake him until he tells me why he did this. I want to know why no one thought about me. I need to know...I need help...help me...help me!...I think I’m gonna fall over. I’m so tired. I think I need to go to sleep. I’ll just lay my head on my mother’s stomach and sleep until this all goes away. Damn this family. Damn this awful world. Damn it all to hell.