"Hey babe, got something in mind, just right for you."
I asked him to call me, we had a thorough discussion on a serious matter at hand. I wanted his opinions on my kin. Of course he was all over killing them off, but how is what I was looking for. Staging and accident is a bit tricky, and to take out four people it has to be done just right. So when he called it was a relief of some kind.
Course this is all just gathering opinions to finalize my own decision. But it assisted nonetheless.
Scheduled posting (because I'm too busy organizing this whole family incident): I visited home on Saturday, they go out Saturdays on long drives to one of the old towns in Pennsylvania. Like the flea market. I remember clearly, the huge field and people coming together, setting up stands. We never cared to purchase anything, it was more about looking at what people crafted together or the old antiques that were there. My family likes history, they like listening to the stories about an object or a place. Hell, even a person. I muse that perhaps that's what quirked my interest about people, growing up with an insatiable curiosity for understanding them and their stories. Maybe it does tie in to how I don't see them as anything beyond characters, people that is. Which is true in its own way, I suppose. Not the point.
I never told you all about my family, huh? I always kept it a mystery if I had a brother or a sister, what my parents are like, my own blood related origins. I guess there isn't a point to protect something already dead. I have (had?) a mother and father, still together, who bicker a ton but are glued together. Both their parents passed away when I was young, but I remember my time spent with them. My sibling is actually siblings, I did that purposely to protect the little one. I have an older sister, Cassie, who is very independent yet dependent all at the same time. The sort of girl that gets a cat call whistled her way, and her response is to punch the guy in the face and call him a pig. Ha! True story there. The one I've kept unmentioned thoroughly is my little brother. I might be close with all my family members in one way or another but our bond is tight. It has always been tight. Or was, I don't even know.
Lucas, my brother, is a ball of energy. Which is why I have to fight to keep sugar out of his system. I was born blonde, he still is. Got some freckles too, where they come from I have no idea. It's adorable. He'll try and fight or wrestle me through-out the years, never worked out on his end, but it was always fun. He loves sports, even if he's a bit clumsy. By a bit I mean derps all over the place. He's a shy kid, the moment someone he doesn't know well says hi he's behind me. Ten year old maniac, though.
My brother and I play a game called Five Star. Anyone know this? They might from school. It's literally just smacking someone and leaving a red hand print. Snerk, get it? Five Star. It's the stupidest game but we tag teamed getting Cassie. She'd throw a fit, chuck a head of lettuce at one of us. My sister is a grouch at times, but gets unnaturally hyper. It runs in the family, I've noticed. It's hilarious, really, she'll try and rough house and start a playful fight. Regrets it a moment later. My sister in the smallest thing on the face of the Earth. Maybe that's an exaggeration, just by a bit. She has a nasty bark but very little bite, despite trying her damnest. And despite her being older I've grown up being the stronger one, hehe. Pinning her is easy, the fact she's ticklish never helped her case. Whenever I let her free she runs straight to her room giggling like I'm going to chase her. I never do. Lucas does, though as I lounge around on the floor. Just for a minute before he pounces, heh.
We are close siblings, always have been protective of one another.
I'm glad I have my memories back, even if the truth is not what I want to hear. Being able to remember these times makes all the difference. The good, the bad, everything in between was worth it with them.
So that's my family. Generally nice people, how I ended up this way I don't know.
I walked in the door this morning and Lucas came screaming. I guess he was pressing his face against the window again to see who pulled in the driveway, haha. He leaped at me and I nearly hit back into the door, the kid wouldn't let go. I gave him a big squeeze and set him down before offering a piggy back ride, he took it eagerly. We walked through the small house to see the rest of the family, they hadn't left for their usual routine yet. They invited me to join but I turned them down, said I'll be around when they got back in the afternoon. Lucas whined and Cassie tossed me a glare for not going, I shrugged it off. Trying to remain indifferent towards them, detaching myself slowly.
While in the house, alone, I searched through it in various ways. I sat on my bed and traced the pattern of my nightmares. Get up, walked to the other end of the house, exit. Go to the garage, grab the axe. Walk back through the door I exited from, close it, lock it. Walk to Cassie's room, eliminate. Walk to Lucas's room, eliminate. Walk to my parent's room, eliminate. Do a once around the house, leaving bloody footprints everywhere, knocking down and breaking family pictures. Dig the axe into the basement door, over and over again, screaming. Leave it in there. Walk back my room and sit back down on the bed, wait until the blackness took me away.
I followed that pattern in the dream and inspected each room. It has been years, sure, carpet replaced, wood cleaned, walls repainted. But I was looking for anything.
I was on my hands and knees in Cassie's room, looking under her bed. There was something red, it interested me. I was never allowed long in her room, she wasn't home yet from up the street, though, what harm would it do? I crawled under the bed with a flashlight and examined what looked like droplets of red paint. Which was silly, my sister didn't have an ounce of red in her room.
The moment I touched it I heard, "What are you doing?" I heard her voice from behind me, I pushed out from under the bed and switched off the flashlight. "Don't do that." She whimpered, shaking violently. It confused me, I didn't know why. "Please don't do that ever again. I don't want to remember."
"Remember what?" My childhood self asked, completely oblivious to what I had done under his influence. (Which makes this memory after their murder, when they were first created by my guess.)
"Just promise me you'll stop looking." Stressful tears were forming in her eyes. I tried to comfort her, worried that maybe it wasn't paint after-all. Maybe someone hurt her.
"What am I looking for, though?"
"You can't keep looking. Please. They don't remember and I don't want to either. I thought you got rid of all the reminders, I'll get this one. Then we can go back to not remembering. If there aren't any reminders how can we remember?" She was crying now and I didn't know why. "Please, just get out of my room."
I did. I went back when she was at a friend's house a few days later and found the spot was clean. When I asked Cassie she was confused, it was as if her memory of it was wiped clean.
That's what I remembered when looking through the house. I couldn't find anything and I wasn't about to tear the house up to do so. At least, not yet.
Which leads me to question why didn't she remember? Was it interaction with the blood, or even reflecting on the blood enough to trigger the truth about their existence? If someone wills something into existence, say blindly through grief, would reflecting on that grief enable the one they grieved for to remember why they were brought into existence again in the first place? There are plenty of other little theories that came to mind when I pondered over it, not yet ready to post anything.
They came home that afternoon and I asked them a series of questions to try and see if they remembered anything. Word play, asking the similar questions in different formats or wording, trying to figure out if they were lying or not. They don't remember anything, I've came to this conclusion. That night when they died is just another night when they were asleep. It was as if that interruption never happened.
It's better they don't remember. Their deaths will be seen as a fluke accident, I'll carry that weight.
I spent the day playing normal and said I'd be back in a few days to spend some with them. Cassie suggested I be her slave and carry her shit as she dragged me around town, or grocery shopping, or at the... Mall. I shuddered then as I do now. Only good thing about that place is when we troll people together, heh. Lucas just wanted me to play the whole time, and make him another blanket fort like I used to weekly. My room would be destroyed half the time just for making them for him to sleep in. My parents were welcoming, despite their work schedules and all. I guess being away got me noticed, ha. Spent the afternoon having them catch me up while I pretended to not care about what I was going to do a week from then.
Tucked Lucas into bed, told him a story like I used to. Wild, outrageous, the exact things I thought to be impossible in normal human lives. Hahaha, ughs. Kid didn't want to sleep, thought I wouldn't come back for a long while if he did. Can't blame him, though. I laid on the bed and let him cuddle to fall asleep, idly petting his head and stayed with him like I said I would. I wasn't able to sleep, I stared at the ceiling until the sun rose and it was Sunday. He slept peacefully, was happy to see me still there in the morning. It in turn pleased me to have that effect still. Being the early birds out of the house I helped him make pancakes for everyone. Lucas clung to my back as I leaned over, cracking eggs over my shoulder and stirring the batter. Pulled a chair over so he could see over the stove top clearly, made dinosaur shaped pancakes that morning.
We played Scrabble, one of his favorite games. One he loses often and tries to cheat at. It never gets old. I would lay out legit words he didn't even hear of, he'd call me out on it and look it up. Tried to do the same to me and dance around the fact he was just making them up. The classic, "That's not a word." "Yea huh." "Nuh uh." "Yea huh." "Nuh uh." (insert stare off here).
I left early afternoon, because I had to. I could feel myself itching to sync back into everyday life with them. That's impossible, though. Not because they aren't real but because it's not the life I could just fall back into. I mean, come on, seriously. Look at me, I'll never settle down into that life ever again. And despite whatever longing feelings I have to be with them again, I know it wouldn't last. This is just the life I'm fit for and feeling comfortable with, like I'm in my own skin. That sounds awful, or like I've just gotten used to being in this situation. But really, it's nothing like that at all. I don't know, Mystery often mused that I was always made for this, even without memories. "Fit for battle."
I laughed it off, saying I watched too many movies, read too many books, spent too much time in fiction or my own head. Looking through all the books I have, which aren't in the least bit normal for a female my age (or previous ages), I can't help but shrug thinking she might have a point given their context. Even in literature my interest for this shit was always there. Ha. Point is, I'll always be sucked back into this life because it's something I know how to handle. I guess that makes me a little fucked up, but this isn't anything new to us, now is it?
-Shady (had a pretty good weekend)