After I met Chaos, I stopped crying, amongst other habits like wondering why Mum and I were stuck with him, or if I’d done something wrong by being born.
Chaos taught me many things, and the most important of all is: you have to start it yourself.
You can’t wait for chaos to happen.
Dad is a master of chaos. He causes it every day. Every night.
It ends with Mum curled into a ball and placing ice to her face. She doesn’t want me to look at her when she’s like that. She does everything in her power to hide it — makeup, baking, smiles.
Lots of smiles.
She’s inside now, hiding, crying.
I’m not.
I stand at the edge of the pool, staring down at all the red.
Chaos in its truest form.
For the first time since that day I returned home, I take a deep breath. A long breath.
I can breathe and it’s not black. I can see and it’s not the darkness. I can feel and it’s not nothingness.
I don’t know how long I stand there, watching and trying to remember what he said.
You’re a monster.
He thought I was a monster.
Maybe I am.
I turn around like a robot, my body heavy and rigid, and leave. Not only the pool area, but the entire house.
Our mansion disappears from sight, but the scene in the pool keeps playing in the back of my head like a film.
The red.
The hand.
The gurgles.
And then…the silence.
You’re a monster. He said something after it, but…I can’t recall. I was too caught up in the chaos to remember.
It’s late afternoon, so the dusk is orange and bright on the horizon.
Not knowing where I’m going, I stand in the middle of the street and watch the sun’s slow disappearance behind the buildings.
Soon, it’ll be dark. Soon, it’ll be chaos.
My feet carry me to the nearby park. It’s usually empty around this time because mummies take their kids home. It’s a small park with tall trees and dark green benches similar to the one near the pool.
Maybe if I sit here and think about the park and the darkness, I won’t think about the pool.
I should’ve brought a book with me.
I’m about to go back and get one when I notice a small figure huddled by the bench at the far end of the park underneath a large tree.
She’s wearing a pink dress that has so much stuff at the bottom, making it twice her size. Her shiny, golden hair is tied in a long ponytail by a butterfly. The same butterfly is on the belt that surrounds her waist. She’s hugging a doll that looks just like her and is even wearing the same dress.
That girl always does stupid things like that.
Silver often comes over when I’m playing with Aiden and Xander, but I don’t like her.
She talks and argues a lot — like, a lot — and it ruins the silence in my head.
I should leave, but something stops me.
The tears in her eyes.
She constantly sprinkles her face in glitter as if believing she’s the dolls she plays with. Now that she’s crying, the glitter soaks in tears and fall in two rivulets down her cheeks.
Silver doesn’t cry. At least, I’ve never seen her cry. I’ve wondered how she does that, and even though I don’t like her, I’ve wanted to ask her and see if it’s because she also thinks it’s useless.
Now that I’m seeing her crying for the first time, I can’t leave. I can’t even move.
All I can do is watch the way moisture pools in her huge eyes. Their light blue colour darkens before those tears stream down her cheeks.
Her face is a mess, full with snot, glitter, and her endless tears. Her cheeks are red and her lips are rosier than usual.
Chaos.
It’s come to me again.
I don’t think about it as my legs lead me in her direction. She doesn’t sense me, or rather, she can’t. Aiden always says I move silently. It’s because I learnt to tiptoe out of my father’s reach.
But I never tell him or Xander that.
We’re not supposed to say such things. We’re proper people with proper manners and proper secrets.
Once I’m behind Silver, I pull on her ponytail. She gasps, then cries out.
That’s what I usually do to kick her out of Aiden’s house when she talks too much. She screams at us that boys suck and I should go to a bad place.
No idea why I did it just now. I don’t really want her to disappear, but I also