Scream

Maren Desario

I left Ozzy's house to go to my own. My father and a crap ton of other officers have been patrolling the neighbourhood in search of any suspicious activity or people. Where was that a couple of weeks ago, though? Like, we could've used some patrolling a long time ago. A few examples: the maze at the carnival, the prize at the carnival, the security and cameras of the hospital, the funerals of the people killed by the serials...you get the idea. 

 But I could get angry over the lack of drive from my dad early on, or I could focus on not dying tonight. Call me crazy, but I think the second thing has priority over the first. Tonight is the end. Finally. 

 As a full circle, I've decided to wear what I wore the night of Destiny's scream: a simple, darker coloured sundress with flats. But then I look in the mirror and sigh. Tonight isn't some giant symbolic event: it's a finale where half the cast gets offed. A sundress is impractical.

I take it off and put on casual clothes.

"Time for some renovation," I sigh to myself.

Marching into the kitchen, I grab a knife and saw the dress length until it's a shirt. I hold it up and examine my masterpiece. "Perfect...with a twist of Maren."

I venture back to my room, where I sport shredded, black skinny jeans, and a pair of converse. "Yeah..." I nod to myself. "That's more practical."

I don't have some massive transformation that changed my life and how I see the world. I don't have some sudden realization about who I am, either. I've known who I am since the start; that's what made me so different. 

 But now everyone knows who they are now – nothing enhances your true self like a serial killer. Now we're all a little different.

But what kind of differences will survive tonight?

Will any of them?