0010: Broken
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More yelling from the bedroom.
Everly sees herself as a 10-year-old, clutching the wooden banister of her childhood home, her face squeezed between the bars, listening.
Screaming from the kitchen, so passionate and visceral that it zippers into her skull and escalates into silence.
Her sister is gone, and it’s all her fault.
Everly blinks, forcing the memory from her mind. The door slams. The sound of a shoe hitting the wall.
Hayley follows Everly’s gaze to the bedroom. Another thud, this one softer.
“What? Everyone fights,” Hayley says.
Everly glares at Hayley’s red ketchup face paint swirl. It’s smeared across her forehead and down into her left eye. In a last-ditch effort to leave the apartment, Everly appeals to Hayley’s vanity. “We don’t have our toothbrushes or face wash and unless we both want to wake up with a giant condiment squirt zit shaped trails on our cheeks, I suggest we leave.”
“Good. Point.” Hayley stands, smooths down her long red silk dress and smacks her silver car keys into Everly’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Hayley follows Everly to the door and back down the sidewalk. She wonders why Everly always has to be such a buzzkill.
A voice calls to them.
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Written by Michelle Lang. Image by #MidJourney.
Everly sees herself as a 10-year-old, clutching the wooden banister of her childhood home, her face squeezed between the bars, listening.
Screaming from the kitchen, so passionate and visceral that it zippers into her skull and escalates into silence.
Her sister is gone, and it’s all her fault.
Everly blinks, forcing the memory from her mind. The door slams. The sound of a shoe hitting the wall.
Hayley follows Everly’s gaze to the bedroom. Another thud, this one softer.
“What? Everyone fights,” Hayley says.
Everly glares at Hayley’s red ketchup face paint swirl. It’s smeared across her forehead and down into her left eye. In a last-ditch effort to leave the apartment, Everly appeals to Hayley’s vanity. “We don’t have our toothbrushes or face wash and unless we both want to wake up with a giant condiment squirt zit shaped trails on our cheeks, I suggest we leave.”
“Good. Point.” Hayley stands, smooths down her long red silk dress and smacks her silver car keys into Everly’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Hayley follows Everly to the door and back down the sidewalk. She wonders why Everly always has to be such a buzzkill.
A voice calls to them.
---
Written by Michelle Lang. Image by #MidJourney.