> “The voices of the past echo into the present”
>you barely got any sleep that night – too busy browsing your favorite website – all thanks to 4chan.
>Darkness still wrapped around you, despite the typical morning clamor of your alarm clock.
>As if awakening from your wondrous sheets and pillows was a viable option.
>You scoffed at your alarm clock, tasks of great importance filled your mind; you had to find the other castle, you really wanted that peachy booty.
>Speaking of which, you suddenly felt so alone in that bed.
>The alarm broke into your concentration – cackling incessantly just to annoy you.
>You threw the sheets over your head, plugging your ears with the nearest pillow.
>Where was a shotgun when you needed it?
>You frequently requested a weapon of the sorts, but somehow never managed to receive any such thing for a special occasion.
>Probably due to the murderous tendencies of your long lost cousins.
>You figured frequently exclaiming your hatred for James Hayworth, your old nemesis, likely failed to aid that endeavor.
>Thinking about his glasses and peevish grin boiled your blood.
>He was such a faggot.
>Your thoughts all but ceased as the door to your humble room shot open.
> “Anon, why the fuck haven’t you turned off your alarm clock! Actually, why aren’t you fucking up yet?!”
>His deep-seated anger had always prevailed in the mornings if he had not acquired a large dosage of coffee.
>Why was he so pissed off?
>His heavy footsteps clanked against the floor
>Getting up at this point would be a great idea.
>Why not lie there a few moments longer and pretend to sleep.
>hardened hands clasped around your ankles
>you start to panic, but your efforts are in vain.
>The sheets fly off your body as you land hard against the side of your bed.
>He was standing over you, hands on his hips, with a smug grin plastered all over his face.
-
> “Good morning, Anon!”
>He meant well, but he had a strange way of showing it sometimes.
>A deep-seated sigh left your started being.
>At least the flooring was carpet – nice at that.
“Good morning, Dad.”
>He chuckled heartily, obviously enjoying himself.
>The alarm ceased to ring as he shut it off with a click.
> “C’mon, boy, get downstairs! You know what day it is!”
>You had to think about that for a few moments.
>Landing on your ass a few moments earlier at least got your heart going.
“Friday, right?”
>At least you thought it was Friday.
>Why would your father get you up today? Especially in this manner?
>This could only mean one of two things:
>He was going to ask you to watch something with him – usually a sports event.
>The other option crossed your mind, but that would mean something big happened at work.
>His deep, almost angry voice broke your concentration, “Exactly!”
> “Get downstairs, Bubba! Your mom and I have something we want to talk to you and Dash about!”
>Without a word of response, he scurried out of the room, pounding down the stairs.
>You pressed your fingers against your eyes, trying to rub out the sleepiness.
>You really should have gotten more sleep last night.
-
>A wistful longing for your bed edged into the corner of your mind.
>If the “talk” with your parents truly were important, sleep would have to wait.
>You fluffed your pillows, completing a perfectly made bed.
>You stood back with pride. Even a SEAL operative would be proud of your handiwork.
>One thing your mother always told you was, “An ordered room makes for a good day” and she was mostly right.
>No matter how seemingly terrible the events in a day proceeded, you always had your clean bed.
>Your computer was still running silently in the corner of your room.
>You walked over to it and shut down everything; the tower, the monitor, even unplugged the several flash drives connected via USB.
>No sense it keeping it on when your family obviously had something *big* planned.
> “Anon! Get your ass down here!”
>Patience never existed in your father’s vocabulary list.
>Keeping patience never would have scored the house you stood in.
>after he lost his license as a professional contractor, life was tough.
>Although your mother was a full time lawyer, you never really felt like enough money was making it to the table.
>Your father worked odd jobs to support your mother when new cases ceased to flow in.
>at one point you felt like their constant stress over money would tear them apart.
>that was until your mother received an invitation to work for the Dubs and Co. law firm.
>Your father managed to find a job in construction due to the rising population in the city.
>He usually left early in the morning, and came home late at night during contracts.
>Luckily, for your family, the combined income of the both of your parents was more than enough to sustain livelihood.
>Even ten years later, the flow of income was more than enough.
“Hold on, Dad!”
>You stored your clothes in your dresser, like any other normal person.
>Something simple would do – a shirt, some pants, some socks.
>You pulled out the chair to your computer – an extremely comfortable chair black as tar.
>The socks would go on first, you decided – despite how trivial the maneuver was.
>You slid on the socks, tugging them up with a grunt.
>Despite how many times you tried, you never got the correct fit – always too tight.
>The pants slid on with ease; you zipped them up and clicked them into place.
>Last was the shirt, which you just threw over your head and slid on – nothing special.
> “Anon, I’m serious! Get down here!”
“I’m coming, dammit!”
> “Don’t you fucking cuss at me!”
> “Herald, drink some coffee, you’re always pissed in the morning.”
>You dug your hands into your pockets.
>When you first moved in, you hated having to occupy a room so close to your sister.
>Between the two of you, now you figured keeping the smaller room closest to the stairs was the best choice you ever could have made.
>At least you had privacy.
>Your parents – mother specifically – had taken the liberty to decorate the halls with obscure and abstract paintings of unknown origin.
>According to your mother, the paintings were a result of a court case she won long in the distant past.
>Most of the paintings were quite pleasant, save for the select few that were reminiscent of reality.
>One of the paintings at the end of the hall always sent a shiver down your spine.
>Your mother stated your illusion was a pareidolia, but the painting still looked all too familiar.
>The painting looked as if an artist splattered brilliant colors along the edge of the portrait – a mixture of reds and oranges – and decided to warp everything inward into a slotted veil of darkness.
>Looking into the painting for longer than a minute made you feel invisible – nonexistent.
>A feeling you hated to let go, but had to eventually.
>How a painting was able to do that was a mystery.
>The staircase hugged against the wall in proximity to your room.
>Any closer and you could probably touch it if you reached out from your door.
>You heard your father’s voice echo in your head.
>Moments later, you barreled down the stairs.
>Your heavy footsteps clamored in your ears all the way down, until you set foot on the bottom.
---
>The staircase branched off into a corner that led into several areas of the house.
>In essence, it was a general hub for the bottom floor, connecting the kitchen and living room to the rest of the house.
>Pictures of the past littered across the flowing ethereal ocean of blue.
>Heading through the dining room was the fastest way into the living room.
>You headed off to the left, scooting around the long, rectangular dining table.
>Bodacious as it was, the dining room was likely the fanciest room in the house.
>A chandelier constructed of gold and crystals hung idly from the ceiling.
>Several hutches kissed the wall, filled with fine china.
>They loved entertaining guests.
>Finally, you had arrived in the grand hall – the living room.
>Several columns rose to the ceiling in the corners of the room.
>Dark wooded furniture covered the grounds – ranging from recliners, to the luxurious leather couch that overlooked the granite fireplace.
>Dash and your mom conversed on the couch, but they were too quiet to make out anything other than a select few words.
>Your father was tending to the fireplace, lighting a log within.
>It crackled and flared with intensity before he stood, glancing back at you with a peculiar smile.
> “It took you long enough! Come, Anon, have a seat!”
>Dash glanced back, waving at you. “Yeah, seriously. Get over here.”
>You practically vaulted over the back of the couch, crashing right next to Dash.
>Here we go.
> “Great! Now that we’re all here, I have an announcement to make.”
> “We’re going on a vacation!”
---
 
>As by instinct, you and Dash collectively exclaimed, “Awesome!”
>She turned to you, grinning tremendously, and punched you straight in the shoulder.
>Your arm went numb – she was in fact a girl, but her arm could pierce steel plating.
> “Did you hear that, Anon?”
”Yeah, I heard it!”
>Your own smile crept across your lips.
>Excitement poured over the numbness it your arm.
>It was your mind over matter, right.
>Vacation…a phrase uttered during a few spare times in your life.
> “I bet it’s going to be somewhere really cool!”
”Where do you think we’re going?”
>Excitement flowed feverishly through your veins.
>You found yourself staring at your father, and you could only assume Dash did the same.
>Seemingly, infinite possibilities bounced around in your head.
> Your father tugged on the collar of his shirt, grinning.
> “I guess you two will have to just find out! I’m going to have to ask you both to pack warm clothing, and a lot of it!”
>His laughter was heartwarming.
>Dash visibly twitched a little.
> “You’re not going to tell us?”
>She sighed loudly, twiddling her fingers together.
> Your mother’s hand settled on Dash’s shoulder, and her compassionate voice followed soon after.
> “You will love it, Rainbow. The location pertains to both of your interests, and I know time away from the city will definitely be a blessing. Trust us on this, I implore you.”
>A place where both you and Dash would enjoy sounds promising.
>Your father piped in, “Exactly! Now go upstairs and get packing, you two. Your mother and I have to get everything else ready. We’ll be gone for about an hour or two.”
>You stood up straight after Dash.
> “Fine. C’mon Anon, let’s get packing.”
>She turned to you, grinning, before she pushed you forward.
>A glance back confirmed your mom and dad heading for the front door, holding hands.
>Wall obstructed your view as Dash pushed you through the dining room, and towards the grand staircase.
 
 
 
---
>You caught your breath.
>Coffee stained your old, white shirt.
>A hard shatter cracked through your mind.
>You probably dropped the cup on your way up the stairs.
>The inside of your house was dark, and gloomy; undoubtedly, your parents were sleeping.
>Her hand lifted away from your back – she was gone.
>You choked back a sob, grasping at the memory previously vivid in your mind.
>Images faded away from your mind, leaving you to darkness.
> “It didn’t have to end like this”
> She was everything to you, and it all ended with your mistake.
> “You killed her”
>Tears welled in your eyes.
>Her door remained at the top of the stairs.
>Sweat dripped off your weary body as you struggled to climb the steps.
>Breathing pained your chest with every breath, as if knives penetrated your soul.
>You clasped the cold brass knob, and turned inward.
>The door swung inward without as much of a hitch.
>Darkness swirled in your eyes as you made out the remnants of her life.
>The bed made as perfect as she was.
>A fresh pair of clothing tucked neatly atop her dresser.
>Complete harmonious retribution of your actions.
>Tears fell freely from your swollen eyes.
>You ran your fingers through the soft sheets of her bed.
>The film flickered to life, flaring brilliantly in the tenebrous shadow in your mind.