Sarah

The glass of the window to her left cracked as some dickhead threw a rock at it, but Sarah didn't flinch. She was too stuck in her own head. The paper in front of her lay bare, the pencil in her hand stirred restlessly. She had to write her thesis, but it had been three weeks and not a single word had made it to a document. Now, she was sitting in detention, the faculty had decided her ineptitude was best dealt with a behavioral punishment. Her leg tapped again and again, her hands running through her tangled blonde locks. She kept resting her fingers on her undercut, the feeling of the small hairs comforting. The teacher in charge was watching the news all the time, and never remembered to turn it down when the audio fluctuated,

"Final Broadcast; A bank robbery gone south! The U.S. National Bank, Lucin City Branch was attacked last month. Suspects made out with approximately a tenth of the vault's contents before engaging in a deadly shootout with police. All officers on scene received heavy injuries, and most are in the ICU at this moment in time. Three suspects are confirmed dead, while one remains at large. If this woman is seen, she is to be considered armed and highly dangerous. Be aware: she is a Sinner. I repeat; She is a Sinner."

Sarah rolled her eyes, the prejudice was real. P.S.I.H.N.M. were treated like living weapons, and hated for it. With the stranglehold the church had achieved, religious persecution fed into the hate of them. Corporations bought into them, the corrupt politicians. The politicians were controlled by the corporations, who engineer their propaganda for the richest majority, the Evangelists. Sarah's brow furrowed as her thoughts raced ahead of her, and her pencil lead snapped as she caught a glint of light in a mirror. She quickly looked down, her eyes shining a soft yellow glow to the desk before they dulled and faded to her natural blue. Her left forearm itched, it always did, along with the scar on her stomach. If only she had been paying attention, her bumper wouldn't have clipped the semi, and she-

The school bell screamed at her from the ceiling, it was time to leave. She pulled the paper into a fist with the pencil and threw it in her bag before haphazardly slinging it over her shoulder. After pulling her long, curly hair out from under the bag, she continued. She made eye contact with Mr. Forrest, both of them glaring daggers at one another. She didn't break eye contact, instead letting the doorway do it for her as she left. About thirteen people were moving as a horde through the hall, all detainees. Sarah tried to block them all out as two horsed around, knocking her into a locker,

"Watch out, Smith!"

She didn't bother continuing, waiting behind so she could walk alone. While she waited, Sarah put earbuds in and looked around. Senior year, she had somehow managed to make it without being held back, despite the fact that she never actually did her homework. The trophy case across from her declared the school's accomplishments; Band awards, most of them, they had the best in the state. But there were track awards, some football medals, and more. There was even an altar to Miranda Lambert, who had famously gone to Lambert Academy, and they named it after her. She stared hard at Lambert's smiling eyes, wondering where she got off on pretending to be so happy. With a light tap on the metal behind her, Sarah pushed off for the door, her combat boots clunking along.

She had her key out before she got to her bike, and fumbled with the lock before pulling it out and letting the chain fall. She locked the chain around the top tube before cycling off. She rode in the street, not caring that the city had never implemented the biking lanes the last three mayors had promised. The cool wind of October's end soothed the fleeting humidity of Texas, which never truly left. Her breathing fell into rhythm as her playlist hit its stride, and she zipped to the Sole Foods where she worked. The only government funded food bank in the city, Sole Foods was named so because it was the sole option for many of the city's desperate. It was a megacomplex, most of it a factory that made the plastic packages for groceries and the like.

Work was destitute, as usual. Near the end of the day, the boys from school had made their way inside. When they were refused service for their hostility, they turned to bullying an old homeless man for his soup. Sarah hopped the counter without thinking, "Alright, guys. Leave him alone."

"Or what? You'll caww de powice on us? Please, Sarah, they got better shit to do." Sarah glared from one to the other, damn she hated rednecks. Some were fine, some were even kind. Most were inconsiderate dickbags.

"I'll put my foot up your ass, would you like that?"

The bullies let the old man go, turning to Sarah, "I don't like the way you talk, you need to learn some manners. What do you say Joshua?"

"Cletus, I think you may just be right. Waddya say we teach this dyke a lesson?"

She dodged Cletus' swing, he was slow and dumb. Two jabs to his stomach sent him falling to his knees, but he'd be up soon. Joshua's uppercut was smarter, faster, stronger, and it knocked her back. He stepped forward, and she kicked his lanky leg out from under him, forcing him into the splits. As his hands shot to his crotch, Cletus threw a slugger at Sarah, which she dodged once again before slapping him directly in the ear. Sarah whipped around for Joshua, but he was gone. Then, she caught sight of a fist in her peripheral vision; The primary knuckles caught her left cheekbone and sent her spinning as a dull throb filled her left cheek. She tripped over her own feet, fell to her hands and knees. Her bag was wrenched from her, the contents spilled on top of her. A textbook hit her in the back of the dome, and the world turned to black and white static. She tried to get up, but was promptly sat on top of. As her air slowly depleted, she could faintly make out snickering and the fluttering of pages. Then, a gasp and a sucking in of air. The pressure left, and as her vision returned, she realized she was looking at her sketchbook, open to a poor drawing of a random girl she had done during the summer,

"Listen up, dyke! I catch you even looking at my sister again, I'll put a fucking bullet in your mentally ill head." She hadn't even noticed Cletus' grip on her hair until he let go, and then he grabbed the book and ripped it down the spine. A foot raised, and then the world was quiet.

Something was scratching at her through glass, little sharp claws. She thought she heard the purring of a cat, but the sound stopped with a fluttering of wings. She was in a capsule, and it was shrinking. She put her hands to it to push, and it shattered on contact. She was falling for so long, occasionally being wounded by a shard. Then, a pane of thin glass stretching out in all directions through the infinites darkness. It got closer and closer to her falling body-

The soft, warm glow of a lamp. She couldn't see out of her left eye, and breathing hurt so damn much. Her head was fuzzy, all she remembered was throwing those two jabs. Dr. Nolan poked his head into her little space, "Thought I heard a sharp breath. How's my favorite patient?" He sat on the foot of her bed,

"If by favorite you mean we see each other often... I'm fine, if this can be called fine."

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Nolan sighed, "I wouldn't call it that. Here, these should kill the pain." He set a bottle of pills down, "You taking the antidepressants I prescribed?"

"Yeah. Can't say I'm noting much of a difference."

"Well, give it time. These things aren't stimulants, so they'll take some time to kick in."

She sharply exhaled before taking two pills and tossing the rest into her bag, "Am I cleared?"

"As if I can hold you, we both know I'm barely a doctor."

Her eyebrows raised snarkily and she got up and left, boots dangling from her fingers. Sarah pulled her bike from the 'garage' of the Sole Foods, which was really just a weird external closet. She didn't play her music on the ride home, instead listening to the silence of the city. It got eerily quiet at night, almost dead silent. She focused on her breathing as she crossed the climax of a hill, the descent taking her from the industrial sector of downtown and into the suburbs. She grimaced as she hit the brakes and swung the bike into her driveway, throwing it into the yard as the chains clinked. She had to try three separate times, but managed to unlock the old front door.

When she closed the door, she could hear the shift in tone. Patricia, her mother, was always the first to speak up, "Young lady, where have you been? You were meant to be home three hours ago." When she turned around, her mother let out an audible gasp, "You were out fighting again! I told you, young lady, quit picking fights!"

"They started it!" Her screams bounced off of the walls of the foyer, through the kitchen, and into the dining room,

"I don't give a damn who started it!" When her mother cursed, Sarah's sister let out her own audible gasp. Patricia composed herself, "Whatever, you seem to have already received your punishment well enough. Join us for supper."

Sarah threw her back to the side and sat down with a huff. Weston, her younger brother, couldn't take his eyes off her bruises. When their parents weren't looking, Weston poked her cheek with a, "Does this hurt?" Sarah grabbed his wrist and forced it down to the table as she glared daggers at him. She leaned back in the old wooden seat, the whispers were making it impossible to work up an appetite.

'...r da...ter's a ...linq..., w... do ...o? W...t di... o wr...? I re... na ...ke he... n. Fucking disgusting, can't believe you're my fucking sister.' Sarah winced at the clarity of Selene's thoughts. Ever since Selene had stolen her sketchbook a year before, she knew. Selene lorded it over her, threatening to out her at every turn. Selene really did hate Sarah, and it hurt. Sarah turned to her food, forcing the biggest mouthfuls she could down her throat before asking, "May I be excused?"

Her father, Paul, nodded with a kindness only he afforded her. She was upstairs in moments, drowning out the world with music. Even with the speakers blaring, she could hear the argument Selene spurred up in her absence. After an hour of trying to drown out the noise, three raps followed by one heavy knock, their secret knock. She let her father in, always glad to talk to him, "Hey, Dad."

"Hey, sweetheart. Your sister's, well, I'm sure you can guess." They laid down on the carpet, the tops of their heads touching. He reeked of oil and gasoline, but she didn't mind it, it smelled like home to her, "How are you?"

"Hurting."

"I meant inside your head."

"There's a... an absence, I dunno how to explain it."

She could feel him nod, "Yeah, depression runs heavy on your mom's side of the family. Not that she'd ever admit that."

"Dad, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm supposed to be applying for colleges this year, but I can't focus on a damn thesis."

"I feel ya, I do. I was the same way, dropped out and all. But trust me when I say; You gotta just push through. It'll be worth it, make you a more valuable employee. They'll pay you more, give you more raises, the fun stuff."

"I know, I know, it's just..." A tear escaped her eye, "I can't stop thinking about it. About her. When will it stop hurting so much?"

"It won't, Sarah. You'll go your whole life, and you'll never stop missing her."

"Then what the fuck is the point? We suffer just to hate ourselves?"

"You have to use the grief. Humans are the only species on Earth that are prey to emotion. They can smother, choke, and control. You have to pull yourself above the surface, make a raft out of the pain."

"How? So much as breathing is hard."

"Everything is hard, sweetheart. Fixing cars is hard, finishing school is hard, marriage is hard. You gotta choose a path and stick to it, or you'll get lost in the space in between."

They stopped talking, then, just listening to the music. Then, during the silence between changing songs, a scream ripped through the halls before being cut off. Sarah's heart started racing, and her father shot to his feet. Sarah stopped the music, and Paul opened the door ever so quietly. It was silent, dead silent. It was never silent in this house. Paul whispered to his daughter, "Stay here, okay?" She nodded and slid over to the door as he left. She saw him dip into his room before emerging with an old revolver, a family heirloom. The barrel was short, made for concealment. He disappeared down the stairs, and it was then that Sarah noticed she was shaking. She was looking at her hands, so she didn't see the flash, she just heard the bang of the gun. After moments more of no sound, Sarah steeled herself. She crept along the floor, not daring to stand. She crawled past crosses, portraits, and the old grandfather clock in the hallway to the ballister. She looked downstairs, and saw two men in the living room. One was short, pudgy, holding a bloody knife. One was tall, muscular, with blood pouring from his shoulder. Patricia was tied up, duct tape over her mouth as she tried to plead with them through the muffle. Selene was unconscious, bent over the coffee table. Weston was on the floor, a shallow gash in his forehead in the shape of a corner. Paul was face down, soaked in a pool of his own blood. The tall one noticed the whimper that Sarah let out then, and his eyes shot up. He raised her father's gun, and drew the hammer,

"Alright, little girl. Down here, unless you want to end up like dear old daddy." Sarah couldn't comply, she was rooted in place. The tall one mumbled for the short one to get her, and in a moment she was being dragged by the hair to the first floor.

"Shame, the aristocrats like 'em fussy. Whatever, that face'll fetch a nice enough price." It was then that she saw it, the tall one's metal arm. Blood was not pouring from his shoulder, it was oil. There was a star tattooed on his neck, and ARMY tattooed on his fingers, the ones that were flesh still.

"Alright, time to sample the merchandise." Time slowed, adrenaline surged, all she heard was her heart pounding. The tall one yanked at Selene's clothes, the short one pushed tape towards Sarah's mouth. Paul's blood soaked her sweatpants, tears streaked down Patricia's face. Weston's eyes fluttered open briefly. A sharp, sharp inhale of air. The tape glowed as it reflected the light in her eyes. Then she screamed, and all hell broke loose. The house shook, the short man flew back, and the tall one covered his ears. It didn't do him any good, however, as Sarah's scream took form and threw everything from her. The house fell apart. The ceiling caved in, the furniture flipped and flew, and everyone went soaring through the air with it all.

Her hand was on the steering wheel, the leather finish new and smooth.

Fires started up, she was inhaling smoke.

Faye's hand rested on her thigh, her head on Sarah's shoulder.

Glass was in the air, she was inhaling that too.

"I have an idea. Let's pull over and... you know."

Sirens, police and the fire department.

"We can't, we gotta get to the venue for the wedding."

Fear filled her, pulling Sarah to her feet.

"Come on, I'll be quick."

Her feet bled as she stepped through shattered glass, ceramic, and wood.

Faye pulled at her arm, drawing her attention from the road.

Her ankle rolled as she stepped out into the yard, and she fell to her hands.

The front bumper clipped the wheel of a semi-truck in the opposing lane.

She pulled herself onto her bike, pushing off without a thought.

The car spun around, and then the front right wheel was caught by one of the back tires of the semi.

The wind soothed the pain a little, and as she rode she began to feel, to cry.

The car took to the air, flipping over.

She worried, wondering if she should go back. A voice in the back of her mind told her not to.

The car landed upside down in her lane. The passenger seat was split by the railing, including most of Faye's chest. Sarah's stomach was pierced by shrapnel.

She was out of energy, so when she rolled into the doors of the Sole Foods she didn't even dismount. Sarah fell to the ground as she slammed into the doors, and the world faded into nothing.