Seventeen Years Later
16 Dec 2019Today’s prompt: “Imagine a character at two very different ages, and describe his or her day at each age.”
“Yo Carly! You ready?”
Carly shoveled a final spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into her mouth before reluctantly picking up her backpack and slipping into the passenger seat beside her older brother Jake. Jake pushed buttons on the radio until he found music instead of morning show jockeys, then pulled the car out of the garage. He and Carly drove to school in silence, song lyrics from the FM station providing the only dialogue. They preferred it that way as a rule, but Carly was particularly grateful for the silence today. The last couple weeks had royally sucked.
Her breakup with Brad would’ve been hard enough on its own, but Brad was pretty popular. She’d been admitted to the popular kids’ circle when they started dating, but now that they were done, she’d been kicked a few rungs further down the ladder than she’d started.
Carly’s main locker was decorated with spit wads when she arrived at school.
Her P.E. locker had notes slipped through the vents. Most of them called her “whore” and “slut,” but there were more creative and disgusting ones implying she probably sodomized vegetables or needed to shave her back hair.
Carly was everyone’s favorite target during dodgeball that day.
At lunch, Veronica and Britney deliberately filled the remaining open chairs at their table with backpacks when they saw her walk by with a lunch tray. As if she didn’t already know better than to even try to sit with them.
In fifth period science, the guy who sat behind her put gum in her hair.
After her last class, Carly had grabbed her books from her freshly spit-wad-studded locker and was heading outside when she spotted Veronica, Britney and Jessica talking together in the hall. A few weeks ago, they’d been her friends. Or so she thought.
“Do you guys smell carnival barf?” Veronica said loudly. She pointedly sniffed the air, then with mock surprise said, “Oh, Carly, I didn’t see you there.”
“Speaking of carnival barf, where did you get your shirt, Carly?” Jessica asked. “Was Sears having a sale on all their ugly stuff?”
“Oh, give her a break, Jessica,” Veronica said. “She needed something that would go with her hair.”
“She needed something that would go with her face!” Britney laughed.
Carly’s face burned as she trudged to her brother’s car, the girls’ laughter echoing behind her.
Seventeen years later, Carly pocketed a Larabar and poured a travel mug full of coffee. She dropped her kids off at grade school and drove to the compound. She popped her trunk, donned the hooded black robe neatly folded inside, and picked up the silver dagger.
The man at the door scrambled to hold it open for her. Cultists within the compound hushed their chatter and bowed low at her approach.
“Is everything ready?” Carly asked a white-haired gentleman.
“Yes. The sacrifice is prepared,” he replied.
“Gather everyone up. We’ll start in 10 minutes,” Carly said, and ducked into an office.
Carly unwrapped her Larabar and calmly, solemnly sipped her coffee and chewed the bar. She idly scrolled through her Instagram feed. Footsteps rushed down the hall as people ran to take their places, and Carly made a mental note to soundproof her office. It was impossible to concentrate with that herd running down the hall.
Fifteen minutes later, Carly strode out of her office to the auditorium, where you were chained up over a sigil, surrounded by a circle of cultists. She unsheathed her dagger and led the cultists in a chant.
It had been 17 years, but Carly still imagined Veronica’s face when she stabbed you.