Dead at 15

I pulled The Sex Pistols band t-shirt over my head and ruffled my recently dyed vivid red hair, with blue streaks. The messier it was the better really in my opinion. I turned my head at the noise as the door to the bedroom opened and shut. October had entered, journal in hand.
“What’s going on this time?” I asked her. She brushed a curtain of dark hair from out of her eyes and looked at me.
“September is doing November’s makeup,” October said and scrunched up her noise. I scoffed. It was a constant struggle between September and December to turn November over to their ‘sides’ as such. Unlike December, November liked being more…feminine. As of consequence, September liked to use her as a test subject for her make-up experiments. December was always trying to claim said test subject back with a water gun, so it was naturally a rather noisy affair.

“Again? Stupid Bimbo. If she’s gonna fucking do it she should do it when December’s not around.”
“She has never exactly been the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“True, but of course Mom and Dad haven’t done shit about it. They’re gonna have mold to worry about soon, the amount of times December’s wet the walls.”
“Yes. I overheard September saying-” I narrowed my eyes and cut October off.
“What shit is she telling November?”
“That she should start throwing eggs at you because, um, something about you being an alien for…”
“Dressing in clothes that aren’t pink?! Oh, God forbid!” I rolled my eyes. I was so sick of September not doing her own dirty work.
“Stupid girly-girl. I’d love to see her in a mosh pit. Maybe someone would knock some sense into her pretty little head. Maybe then she’d stop wearing such horrible things.” October giggled lightly.
“It hurts my eyes looking at her too much,” she admitted and I nodded in understanding. I then walked over to check that my bass guitar was in tune.

“So where’s December?” I asked, plucking the E string. I could tune it by ear, luckily enough.
“I am not exactly sure. I would assume that she has given up on the water gun by now, so perhaps plotting her revenge,” she said as if it was the most normal and predictable thing for an eleven year old girl to do.
“Well, at least she’s got something right.”
“And what would that be?”
“That September’s a bitch and needs to be taught a lesson.” October gave me a little half-smile, signaling that she didn’t think it was funny and that we should change the subject.

“Happy birthday anyway,” October finally said and I groaned in response.
“Don’t remind me. Last hours alive most likely.” I watched as she visibly cringed.
“This is not right…should we not be in witness protection or something?” I suddenly grew angry, and clenched my left hand around the neck of my bass.
“Oh no, they all died in ‘tragic accidents’ remember? Fucking people in this town…no common sense.” October gave me a skeptical look but I brushed it off. I had never really understood her to be honest. She was always a bit odd.

“Cake soon?” I asked as a lame attempt to lighten the mood.
“Yes, Mom said five minutes or so. Why?”
“My band’s got that gig tonight remember? Down at Tom’s bar.”
“Oh. Right, well…”
“I know it’s not the best night to go out but I’d probably end up with a fridge crushing me anyway if I’d stayed.” She laughed almost manically at that and flopped down on her back on her bed. Yeah, definitely weird.

“So what are you writing now?” I asked October, gesturing to her journal with my head as I put my bass into its case.
“A story,” she answered breathily.
“About what?” October sighed almost as if she were lovestruck.
“A serial killer.”
“How ironic.”
“Yes.”

“GIRLS! CAKE!” Mom shouted and we heard December frantically scrambling around to get to the dining room first. Our parents always gave a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup to whoever came to the table first – which almost always went to December. She had an obsession with those things. It was only on a very rare occasion that anyone else got one. I smiled lightly at my youngest sister’s innocent action before going down for cake myself.

***

“Your father will pick you up at ten. Okay?” Mom said in a grave voice.
“Yes Mom,” I replied mechanically.
“Directly outside the door.”
“…Yes.”
“Under the street lights.”
“Yeah.”
“Do not move from there.”
“Okay! Okay! God, you weren’t so fucking paranoid with the others! Did you just pick up on the pattern? Keep your hair on. Jesus Christ…”

Mom sighed. ‘Discussions’ like these were common between her and I. She didn’t even bother arguing back anymore, or tell me to refrain from using profanities.
“I just want you to stay safe okay? It’s bad enough that I’m letting you go to a bar of all places. But I’d be an idiot to stop you. So just be careful.” You’re an idiot anyway.
“I’ll be fine Mom,” I answered sarcastically. She sighed, her eyes stone cold. They’d been dead for years now. She didn’t reply, we just stared at each other until I heard a car beep its horn from outside. “Gotta run Mom.”
“Good bye.” I could almost hear the resonating sound of the last nail being driven into a coffin, my coffin. I sighed, picked up my bass, and left.

***

My mind was far from easy as I walked up to the car waiting for me. I was thinking of my parents. Really, it must have been horrible to have buried seven children, or rather what was left of them, and then send another one to their doom in full knowledge of what was destined for them. Was that murder in a way? I didn’t know.

“Hey Toby,” I said as I climbed into the car. Toby smiled at me, his greasy black hair falling into his eyes. He would’ve been good looking if not for all the oil on his skin and in his hair. As embarrassing as it was to admit, we’d been flirting for the past three months. It was just weird because we’d been friends since diapers but whatever.
“Hey!” He replied, an excited look in his blue eyes.
“Hi Toby’s Mom,” I said as I also acknowledged the lady with the slightly gray hair as I set my bass down across the back seat and on top of my lap.

Anyway, Toby was the guitarist in our ‘punk’ band I guess, called: Morals Are Dead. Crap name but we played all right.
“Happy fifteenth by the way! What did ya get?” Toby asked as his Mom chuckled and pulled out of my driveway.
“Thanks…uh money, a new bass strap and this real vintage leather jacket from England that Grandma and Henry got for me.” My Grandmother and her new husband lived in France.
“Sweet!”

“So are we picking Lee up?” I asked. Lee or Liana was the drummer in our…trio.
“Oh, she’s meeting us there.”
“Cool.”
“So you pumped?”
“A bit nervous, but yeah. It should be good.”
“Better than the ‘skate-park-incident’ at least.”
“Oh God, shut up.” That was not a good gig.

***

I smiled as I sang the final lines to the song. Uncle Tom had let kids from our high school and stuff into the bar for our gig. No underage drinking, of course. They’d gone nuts when we'd started playing. It was the happiest I’d been in a while. A pretty cool way to spend my last night right? I kept trying to convince myself that there was a chance that I’d live but the iron lump in my stomach was strongly indicating otherwise.

“Thank you guys for the support tonight! Have a great night, and please, if you’re going to puke, do it on your friends, not me. We are Morals Are Dead and, well, later!” The crowd snickered and applauded us once more before I unplugged and packed up my bass. My ears were ringing from being so close to the amplifiers.

I talked with Lee and Toby for a bit before heading over to Tom.
“Great show August,” He said as I took a seat at the bar. “Really got those kids going. They’re not leaving as quickly as I’d hoped though.” He frowned at that and I smiled.
“I’m sure they’ll clear out. Hey, what’s the time?” I ended up shouting the last bit as the noise level crept up a bit.
“Uh, five to ten.”
“Ah, cool.” Suddenly a dude went flying across the bar. I recognized the boy automatically as Toby. “Fucking hell! Who did this to him?!” I screeched.
“You guys are fucking pricks!” I heard a familiar female voice yell.
“Oy! The bitch is with him!” A few voices yelled and I turned to see Lee glaring furiously at a couple of guys that looked like seniors.

Suddenly her fist came into contact with a guy’s nose and chaos erupted around me. I shoved my bass on top of the bar, God knows where Tom had gone, and went over to help Lee who was attempting to fight the two guys off at once. I gasped when an elbow came into contact with my jaw. I cussed again before receiving a blow to the head. I had fallen to the floor, but I was still conscious.

Did someone hit me with a metal bat? Where was Tom? Variations of these thoughts ran through my now throbbing head. My body had become limp and I couldn’t pick myself up. Blood dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision. I could tell I was deep in the mass of people, and my head kept getting kicked. I then realized that wasn’t going to get any help.

Then, I couldn’t breathe. My chest had been stood on, crushed. I could feel my ribs cracking. I couldn’t even scream. Again and again I was trampled. I began coughing, like I had something in my throat, but only blood was coming up. Why couldn’t I overdose and die peacefully? What a horrible death!

A horrible death, but a death all the same.

August Victoria Lambert
08/03/90-08/03/05