Homicidal Housewives are Overrated

“You’re gonna get into a car accident by 19.” Yeah, right. 

So here I am, sitting my ass on my parent’s old Fuschia colored couch without a single friend or even a driver’s license. That wrinkly elderberry-smelling “Oracle” lady can suck my toes! 

I lift and drop my hands with a huff, the worn cushions around me make a phuff noise and sink under the weight of my arms. There’s only so much Criminal Minds, Forensic Files, and Cold Cases one can stomach in a day and I've been sitting here for 30 hours of the last two days. Who knew murder could get so boring? I suppose it could be the repetitiveness of homicidal wives…

I groan as I rise and lumber to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror my face is puffy and my eyes are sunk in with a lovely lavender purple, I look like a damn zombie. Cupping my hands I splash my face and slick back my hair, that does nothing but get my Star Wars t-shirt soaking wet and make me look like a soppy sleep-deprived rat. 

A quick glance out the thick black curtains lining my windows tells me it’s still early in the morning, guess a run might be nice? Ma would kill me for leaving the house and Pa would be right behind her scolding my “foolishness” or “ideology of invincibility”. Just the thought makes me roll my eyes as I plop back down to the couch. The TV is still playing but I’m not watching anymore, not even the promise of a mystery to solve engages me any longer. I want to go outside, I want to live life. 

“You can live life after you turn 20. Then the prophecy won’t come to pass.” My Ma’s words ring in my ear and I groan, getting in a car crash doesn’t even guarantee death or even anything really, I don’t get the big deal. 

I’m so frustrated I want to scream, but the walls between my room and my parent’s room are stupid thin (believe me I know) and I don't want to wake them; yet from all the noise in there some nights I’m not sure why I don’t have another sibling or 2, or 3, or heck 6! I wonder if they have some kind of set schedule or if it’s just when they’re frustrated by my situation. I try not to imagine my Ma saying “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are days for that nonsense,” but I can’t help it, that’s exactly what my Ma would do. I shudder at the mere implication of my parents banging. 

So I throw my head back and cover my mouth before letting out a scream any actor in a horror movie would envy. I’m seriously so bored I’m imagining my parents getting it on. Bleh! Just thinking about them kissing makes me wanna puke. 

Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them kiss. Curiosity makes me close my eyes as I wrack my brain, wait a minute. 

I sit up, suddenly trying to remember any time I’ve seen my Ma even kiss my Da’s cheek. My parents haven’t shown any type of affection towards each other in front of me. Maybe I just haven’t been exposed to different types of affection? (I did learn everything I know about dating and such on TV) Yet, the noises from their room? Is that affection? What’s happening in there at night? 

Ugh, I’m being paranoid. I rub my eyes. I need some sleep or at least a coffee, or how about both?

I haul myself back out of the couch (yes out, the sucker is deeper than the Grand Canyon) and stumble into the hallway and wander my way to the kitchen. Moving clumsily I pour some water in the coffee maker, put double the amount of coffee grounds in the machine than it advises, and slump over on the counter. I’m just gonna close my eyes for a minute, right? 

I open my eyes to a cold floor, cold coffee, and my parents’ cold disapproving gaze. 

“Goddamn, I didn’t know I lived in the fudging arctic circle! Chill it with the icy stare Ma, Jesus!” I groan as I stand from the floor. My parents look on, my Ma’s eyebrows rising into her blonde bangs. 

“Annie… You know we don’t-” 

“Nah Ma, not this morning please.” My Ma opens her mouth to talk again but I grab the entire coffee pot and fly back to my room. One glance at the clock as I race out of the room tells me it’s almost noon, Jesus I slept a long ass time.  

“Annie!” My Da comes after me but I know my Ma stopped him when he doesn't storm into the room through the door I slammed shut. 

I look down at the spoils of my effort, an unwelcoming half spilled pitcher of coffee, a brand new stain on my white tank-top, and a gigantic bruise on my hip from bumping into my bed. Great. Fan-flipping-tastic. I’m loving life right now! If you can even call this a life. 

God! I hate this smelly purple couch. I hate this cold-ass coffee. I hate this bright TV. I hate the migraine pumping my head with pain. I hate this stained tank-top I’ve been wearing for a week now. I hate these worn-in sweatpants. I hate the mass of curls matted into almost dreads on my head. I hate the odor coming from under my bed from a pizza I shoved down there a month ago. I hate the disgustingly artificial fluorescent lights above me. I hate the dark curtains covering my windows. I hate not being able to feel the grass under my feet and the sun in my face anymore. I hate- I hate my life! 

There I said it, I hate this life. I bet I could love it if given the chance but this is ridiculous! I’ve barely stepped outside for fear of what some wackjob in a hot pink wig on Halloween “predicted” when I was still in the womb! I wasn’t more than a lizard looking thing in a fleshy egg thingy! How can some woman predict my whole life when I was just a blob of clay, not even formed yet, let alone set in stone. She couldn’t even specify if I was injured in the “accident” or if I walked away like nothing happened. 

I’m going outside. Today. Now. I bolt from my room, coffee suddenly forgotten and before my parents can even think to grab me I’m out the door. The sun is blinding and I revel in it until it starts to hurt my eyes. 

I quickly shut my eyes and slowly lower myself to the ground, my back is pressed flat against the warm concrete and my hands are buried in the cool grass. Goodness, I’m in heaven.

I even ignored my parents’ frantic yelling or the screech of tires on asphalt that my parents have always flinched at. 

Is it normal to accept death so readily? I don’t wanna move from my spot in the sun so I’m willing to die? Yes, I suppose I am ready for death. 

I wait for the rumored cold feeling of death to clench around my chest but it doesn’t. The driver has wrapped themselves around the tree across the street. I sit straight up and turn to my parents, I point at the car then at myself and let out a shrill shriek of absolute glee, hopping up and down like an idiot as I continue to croon like a happy rooster.

Prophecy my ass.