Dour clouds blanket the sky and the hint of asphalt is in the air. The streets was barely kissed by the miniscule amount of rain before the downpour, and a cyclist or two pass by her house before the rain envelops the sad sack of a town, Derry. A black lab was goggling at the grey, depressing clouds with his curious, black eyes. He swiped his nose with his pink tongue before a drop of water tapped the edge of his nose. Oz howled and barked from the dehydrated backyard as he ran along the fences. The local pups echoed his call of warning. Ozzie was part of the neighborhood choir of canines that occasionally sang when the sky inhabits a metallic odor. The black lab let his tongue unroll itself from his mouth as he was panting. He sat himself down before he pointed his snout into the sky.
"Oz!"
Ozzie snapped his head towards the door. He shuffled his front paws, unsure if his owner called his name. She called his name again sweetly. Oz bounced out of his position, and pranced his way up the porch's three-step stairs. A little jingle came from his collar as he slipped his furry body through the hole. As he bounced his way to his owner, the peeling, mahogany leather collar rubbed against him. The piece of duct tape on the edge glided against his neck as he ruffled out his fur with a shimmy. He sauntered over to nurse Thomas with his tail wagging happily behind before setting himself onto the cold tile floor. His chin rested on the front of his paws, and the nurse stroked his head lovingly before setting it back on the table, folded.
"(Y/N)," Nurse Thomas sternly called out to her daughter. Andy Thomas clicked her fingernails against the table. Her eyes were cold with irritation and displeasure with two eyebrow squished together. Anger poked her left eye making it twitch. Andy's jaw clenched while she exhaled through her nose. (Y/N) could see the steam shotgun right through her nose. Curiosity was to blame for this stupid fucking outcome. She couldn't keep her inquisitive, slimy fingers off of the spine of her mother's college textbooks. Before the meeting at the dinner table, (Y/N) toppled down a broad book from the closet shelf and the "CIA worthy" folder peeled itself from its juicy insides. The divorce papers were splayed across the floor, right next to the textbook, and mom already has steam curling out of her ears and a pair of canines ready to rip off her wandering fingers.
The pre-teen studied the cold, lifeless manila folder, which was squashed down by a saucer and a chill cup of tea from thirty minutes ago. A sliver of text from Maine's divorce papers was presented out of its holder. The young girl's stolid eyes constantly read, "-PLAINT FOR DIVORCE (with children)". The words fizzle out of her head. She re-reads and it fizzles again. Again and again and again. This.. This should not exist. This should be some cruel joke that someone decided to pull out of their ass because that is the only hole they can communicate their humor from. She yells to the version of herself that inhabits her mind.
Unfortunately, it wasn't some odd and eyebrow-raising joke Richie Tozier would sling shout of his trash-can-mouth at the back of the sixth grade classroom. Something that skimmed around: (Y/N)'s real name Problematic-Accident junior! She was named after her shitty mother! "Kill two birds with one stone!", her daddy said to himself and scrambled to a jug of big tits in New Orleans! He'd gawk towards his poor friends. But, it wasn't. God, she would beg onto her knees, suck any fucking dick off, and eat shit for this just to disintegrate.
It was just the blade of reality, mugging you from all of your riches and joys of life. Cold, sharp reality. She was always hit by this cold, malicious thing when her curiosity was possessed like Marian Rolf- a fictional figure from the movie, Burn Offering, from the 70s. Curiosity never really did kill the cat. It murdered and devoured up innocence and childhood with its claws and teeth, and ended up regurgitating bones of cold adulthood and maturity.
(Y/N) scraped the side of her cup with the nail of her index finger. The chilled cup of tea weighted down the paper with its saucer. Her eyes unhinged themselves from the papers, and glared towards her steam-shooting mother. She could see her jaw grinding back and forth constantly. The wrinkle in between her eyebrows is doubtlessly, permanently tattooed to her face. Her daughter of thirteen silently observed the amber liquid stewing with the cold, rainy air.
Slam! The porcelain saucer chattered against the paper after Andy impact her palm against the clothed table, which had little diamond designs her father adored. She noticed stains from the last dinner her family had together. Tomato.. No wonder her mother cooked that night.. Andy had always kept in mind to stay away from tomato because of her husband's horrible relationship to it the red fruit. Normally, she would be the one to sit down doing paperwork while her daughter cooked up something everyone said they enjoyed. Knowing how her mother lied, her culinary dream was slightly crushed by the possible faux compliments gifted to her. (Y/N) squeezed her shoulders inwards while her head slightly ducked down in fear. Her frightened eyes shooting back at her mother's.
"(Y/N) Harwell," she called out aggressively."You're fucking tuning me out and soon enough I'll start tuning you out my life, you hear?" A slight country accent, she had from when she was a girl, snuck into her vexed warning. The heel of her white tennese shoes angrily bouncing up and down. Andy Thomas let her slender finger snatch up the rim of the cup while her other hand slid under the saucer. She placed it beside her. The manila folder was the next victim, "Now tell me where the hell did you find this?" she growled with an angry passion. The folder right next to her face as the white fire in her eyes enlarged. Silence overwhelmed the impatient beast of the mother.
"Answer me!"
"In your old college books!"
"Don't you dare fucking yell at me!" She scolded . Andy Thomas shook her head and chuckled in disbelief,"What did I tell you not to do?"
"You told me not to go through your bo-."
"Yet, you did exactly that! I told you not to go through my books, but you didn't listen to me!" She sneered at her. "Why didn't you listen to me?"
She could perceive the angry hormones and adrenaline tickle and swirl around her spine. (Y/N) could feel the regret already inject the pit of her stomach, it was like an unknown source of blood pouring out at the bottom of your knee from a picked scab. It was there, but you couldn't feel it until you see the damage.
"My dad left!" She sobbed out unintentionally. The water works just bursting out of her.
"and you-you di-di-di-didn't you tell me! Why didn't you fucking tell me that my dad went a-w-wuh-wuh-wol?" (Y/N) yelled. Her face felt hot and the air felt swollen as she tried to stop her hiccups. She could feel her throat rubbing out raw."I thought he was rotting six feet under!" (Y/N) lips felt like they were being pulled down by weights. She could try to form her lips into a straight line, but she would always end up like a fucking pouty baby. A fucking pouty crybaby. Andy swiftly got up, the chair has been thrown back by her sudden irritated movements. A hollow echo erupted from inside the chair. The table viced in between her angry claws. A apoplectic snort came from her nostrils. Her eyes jumping back and forth; you could tell that she scheming out a punishment for her pest of a daughter. (Y/N) did not like the way she looked when she was nailing things together that involved her daughter's suffering. What's going to be now? The couch? The basement? The shed? The regret was already filling the insides of her stomach. It felt like slime was slurping at the meat of her stomach's walls. The slime release from its suction cup hold, and reveals a special bruise of anxiety.
