Chaos Inclined

I came home late that night. My mom had already left for work, and I was alone in my ominous house. I walked directly into the kitchen and looked on the refrigerator for any notes- nothing. While I sluggishly climbed up the stairs to my room, I noticed something on the table. I turned around and walked towards the dark floating object. The lights took a moment to flicker on. I hated how everything in this house took forever to work. They were just flowers and balloons. I hadn’t seen anyone give them to mom, and I was sure no one would be sending them to me. The balloons had a heart on it with the words “time can heal any shattered soul.” I found that interesting, and a little bit too hopeless and dark to be put on a balloon. Next to it on the table was a beautiful arrangement of white orchids, with an opened note on the top. The note was addressed to my mother, Marie. It said the following: Dearest Marie, I am deeply sorry for your loss. But this tragedy can only bring us closer, and I am always here if you need me. Sincerely, Lucy Mead. Go figure, I thought to myself. My neighbors were always trying to get my mother to like them.1

This made me curious, however but I would ask my mom what happened later. I was almost tempted to pop the balloon though, while standing reading the note, it made my hair rise from static. I stomped back up the stairs, and walked into my bedroom. The magazine was right where I left it. On my bed was “Bleeding Horrors Monthly”. This was my favorite thing to read. My mom had subscribed it to me when I joined the fantasy and horrors club at school about a few months ago. Every time it came in my eyes were glued to it. This week I hadn’t gotten the chance to flip through it because I had been staying after school to get help with my science project. But today I was totally committed to reading it from cover to cover. I grabbed the magazine and started down the stairs. 2

When I got in the living room I placed it on the arm chair and went to the kitchen to get a few matches. I loved reading by candle light- especially the stories that people submit in. I lit a few candles and placed them on the table beside the arm chair. I was glad my mom wasn’t home to bother me to get work done or whatever. When I start reading you can’t get me to stop for any reason at all. I got into a comfortable position and studied the cover picture. It was a little girl holding a red balloon in a dark room and a man next to her holding a heatr. Interesting cover I thought. I flipped to the contents page, and noticed they had and influx of new stories. I turned to the one that was based on a true story. I always loved those ones, because I would try to image that happening to me. I turned to the page and began to read it.3

I was automatically caught in story. It was about a girl whose mother was a workaholic and her father that had left her mother after a bitter fight. They said the parents argued intensely for hours on who would have custody of their daughter after the divorce. It began to describe the girl’s life. She was an honor student in her high school, with many loving friends. She was very interested in art and literature, and apparently was in many clubs. I paused for a second and thought-at least this chick will be easier to relate to. I kept reading to find out that she was left alone while her mother was at work. This happened many times so the girl was not bothered by it. I jumped. I sat the book down on the table next to the candles. Something fell and crashed on the floor. I walked back into the room with the flowers and balloons. My cat Lucifer knocked down the flowers and the wonderful vase was dilapidating on the floor. By now he had fled this crime scene and off to make another. I hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a few towels and a new vase. I scurried back to the room and replaced the vase and put the mangled looking flowers into it. Then I had to pick up the chunks of broken glass and dry the floor. The balloons were still floating though. Still they mocked me with the “shattered soul” saying that I couldn’t understand. I took the vase into the kitchen, and filled it up with water. I returned the vase on the table next to the balloons where it had been before. Hopefully mom wouldn’t notice, and if she did all I would have to do is get her a balloon with a corky saying to cheer her up. 4

My magazine lay on the table where I left it. I got back into my chair, curled up and flipped back to the page I was on. The story with the girl continued. Her father was in a rage of fury after the argument. The next day her mother left for work at the same time, and her daughter came home late. It said he watched the girl from his car glide through the house, and go on with her normal routines. The father was sure his daughter wanted to live with him. He came to the house and the girl let him inside. They conversed over the matter of who she would stay with. The daughter said she felt in her heart that she would always stay with her father no matter what. She said he had been the only one who loved her in the crumbling family, and her mother was never around. However, she said that her father couldn’t provide for her, and that she found material happiness with her mother’s income. The father was by then, angry she had not wanted to stay with him over a money related issue. He had never been able to provide, and his self confidence had been shattered when he was abused as a boy by his own parents. 5

The girl opened the front door and told him he should be leaving before mother returned home. He walked to the door, and slammed it shut. He took the girl into the kitchen and sat her down on the chair. He looked at the tears streaming down her face, and apologized for his anger but he only wants to explain things. He said to his daughter that he just couldn’t leave his only daughter in her mothers care. He told her that her mother was irresponsible and wouldn’t care for her at all. The girl sat there, her tears resided. She said to him “I love you”. Her father smiled and said “I love you too, and that is the only thing I need to hear.” He turned around and stabbed her in the chest. It immediately killed her. Crying and trying to wipe the blood off of his face, he carved a circle around her heart. He pried her lifeless heart from her chest and put it in a box. He placed her body in the living room on a chair. Next, he wrote a note to her mother saying “Her heart belongs to me; you can’t have custody of that now can you?” He left the house with the box and drove away. Her mother returned later to find the note and her beloved daughter dead on the chair. She couldn’t feel guiltier for leaving her daughter alone. The sight was horrible and the loss of her daughter to her husband was unbearable. The next few days would be treacherous but the family was comforted by balloons and flowers and commiserating words. The daughter was surely a wonderful and innocent life. She will always live in our hearts, even if her own was stolen. I looked up from the book and tried to relate to the girl. I stepped up from the armchair and walked slowly to the mirror. I tried to picture the scar from the wounds inflicted from her father on me. I lowered my collar and looked into the mirror. I was left gasping for air. Where was my heart?6