Not an Accident

CONTENT WARNING:

This story contains themes of sexual violence, bullying, mental health, racism, and physical violence in varying levels of detail. Please continue at your own risk.

Living here, in this small, ignorant town, going to my small, naive high school, looking like I do, loving who I do, sucks. And that’s to say the least. For some background, I live in a small town in the countryside of Tennessee called Greentown. I go to a high school called Cookie-Cutter, which is ironic because it is much like a high school you would see on TV. 

Everyone pretty much hates us here. I can’t say that I blame them, though. I hate me, too. My family is the only strange family here; everyone else is normal (exceptionally so). Everyone mocks us and bullies us. My mum is African American, and my dad is Irish. They both joke that we’re the 21st-century version of the Brady Bunch.

There’s 7 of us, including my parents and I. I’m right between my brothers and sisters and perhaps the most normal, but that doesn’t say much. My eldest brother is John (20), the oldest. He’s mixed like the rest of us; he’s cisgender male and gay. Then comes my eldest sister, Moira (19), who’s non-binary and pansexual. There’s me next (16), and I’m cisgender female, asexual, and aromantic. After me came my trans (female-male) brother (12), Mikey, and he’s heterosexual. Lastly came my sister, Brittany (9), who’s showing signs of being demiromantic. 

We’re the only people who aren’t white in the entire town, and we only came here to help Dad’s parents in retirement. The city is highly ignorant, and it doesn’t help that we went from a big city, either. I’m an outcast in school, though I suppose it’s better than being constantly bullied. They’ve stopped all contact with me completely, deeming my lack of wanting any sexual activities at my age strange. The teachers even think I’m weird too, and as such, have either called on me excessively or just stuck to grading my perfect papers and not making any conversation with me if unnecessary. I tend to get perfect grades, having absolutely no platonic ties to anyone outside my family. 

That brings me to where we are currently. In math class, staring out of a window, I’m somehow always seated. The teacher, whatever her name is, is droning on about a group project worth half of our final grade for the year. Three people groaned loudly, meaning I was in a group this time. This project must actually be necessary. I look up about 4 minutes later when someone sits beside me and clears their throat. Looking up, it’s the very person that continues to poke fun at me, Jessica Kaileia. Well, Jessica, 1 of her most loyal cronies, and another nerd. Sam, I think his name is, and I recall he always eats a slice or two of pie every day at lunch. 

“Do you need something?” I ask Jessica coldly, averting my eyes quickly from her makeup-caked face.

“We’re project partners, McKinlay. Otherwise, I wouldn’t risk my well-being talking to you, trust me,” she smirks slightly and her crony snickers, but I just roll my eyes.

“So we’re using last names? Didn’t think you liked your last name anymore, what with your father being a serial killer, Kaileia,” Sam says, making me hold in my giggles as Jessica shrieks.

“You forgot the part where her mum left her for a woman,” her crony says in disgust, clearly trying and failing to conceal her own laughter.

“MACKENZIE!!” Jessica yells in a shriek that would rival that of Petunia Dursley. 

“Watch your volume, Ms. Kaileia,” the teacher says in her monotone voice, barely glancing up from her issue of People Magazine.

“Yes, Ms. Binns. Sorry, Ms. Binns,” Jessica says, rolling her eyes before returning her gaze to glare at Sam and me respectfully.

“What was the assignment?” I ask, wanting to rid myself of these potentially cruel people as quickly as possible.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it done by tomorrow and put your names on it. I am second in our year,” Sam states, staring at the packet of instructions and not looking up at us once.

“Yes, well I’m first so I’d actually like to do the work, if you don’t mind. Not that Regina George and her bestie Helen here would appreciate getting a fair share of the project,” I say, snatching the packet gently and looking it over.

“Who are they?” the crony asks, making both Sam and I snort.

“Homewreckers one and two,” Sam says as I divide the instructions in half and give the easy half to Sam.

“Language, Mr. Avery,” the teacher’s voice rings throughout the classroom again and Sam apologizes half-heartedly.

“Wait, why do I get the easy part of the assignment?” he asks me, affronted.

“Because I’m the first in our class,” I answer easily in a ‘duh’ tone, to which he nods with a slight frown.

The assignment was straightforward and easy, although, to Jessica and her minion, it would be like rocket science to a 3-year-old. I set to work, knowing that if I start now, my half would be done by the end of lunch hour. I didn’t pay much attention to my bullies, though their being in my peripheral vision didn’t support the cause at all. They were seemingly doing their nails (more like the minion doing Jessica’s nails) and talking about stereotypical popular girl things. The tiny bits that I actually heard made me roll my eyes so hard, and so often, I was worried they might actually get stuck.

“What’s your name? I need to know for the project,” I ask the she-devil’s minion, but she looks to Jessica for confirmation before speaking.

“Mackenzie Maythers,” she mutters, as though the mere thought of speaking to someone as ‘abnormal’ as I scared her very being.

I nod half-heartedly before adding her name to the list and continuing the project, trying once again to ignore the ignorant bastards behind me. I turn slightly when I see Jessica forcing Mackenzie to hold up a magazine for her to read while she blows her wet nails dry, making sure I couldn’t see them at all. When I was looking over what I had, the intercom came on and the principal spoke. Her voice shook with laughter and I’m sure her face was turned up in a smirk; it was probably another prank. This is Cookie Cutter, after all. We’re a very stereotypical high school, and I’m a very… let’s just say, mold-breaking student.

“Could Ms. Alessia McKinlay come to the front desk to be collected? There has been a family emergency,” she says ‘family’ as if she doesn’t believe my strange family is one, and I’m sure she doesn’t. There are incoherent words being said to the principal, and she grudgingly continues. “Please,” and after that, the intercom cuts off and all heads turn my way.

I make my way to the front office, as asked, and am hit with sneers, sympathetic looks, and pretty much everything between hate and loathing. I’m not even able to fully make my way to the front office before my parents steer me away from looking in the lobby. I look at them with a mix of skepticism and worry. Principal Maera did say there was a family emergency, after all.

“What happened?” I ask, trying to look over my parents’ shoulders and failing, due to them forming a wall in front of whatever they were hiding.

“Your sister… There was an accident and…” Mum cuts herself off there with a choked sob, making me look to my father for the remaining explanation.

“They…” My father then stops himself, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, either searching for the right words or not wanting to say them aloud (although in retrospect, it’s probably a mix of both).

At this point, I’m worried for both of my sisters, frustrated with my parents for not telling me what’s wrong, and attempting to stay positive and force all the negative thoughts from my head. I manage to shove through the human wall before me and my body freezes at the sight. Laying in front of my eyes is my little sister, Brittany, battered, bruised, broken, and lifeless. Her pants are down to her ankles, her rainbow underwear just past her knees, and blood is drying and caking around her…

I tear my eyes away, but they somehow end up right back at her. This time, though, I’m studying her face. It’s frozen in pain, but there’s also an air of peacefulness present. There are bruises forming around her neck and littering her face, but I try not to focus on that. I try to focus on all her happy memories. I try to focus on her laughing as Mum caught her cheating in Monopoly. I try to focus on Dad, hiding a grin as she stole a bit of the cake batter for my birthday last year. I try to focus on Brit. But it’s so hard. I try to focus on her happy times. But I always end up looking into her wide, horrified eyes.

My body’s seemingly on autopilot now, because I somehow made it over to my 9 year old sibling to shut her eyes properly, but I didn’t think about it. I thought about how someone could do this to a child. I thought about who could do this to a child. I thought about why someone would do this to a child.

But soon enough, a camera flashes, and then 2, then 5, and then I’m surrounded not only by my baby sister’s blood but light from what seems like millions of phones. Soon enough, I feel like I’m under a microscope, and viscous scientists are picking apart my every move. Soon enough, I’m back in the main lobby of Cookie-Cutter High School in Greentown, Tennessee. And soon enough, the laughing, mocking, sneering, jeering students return full force. 

I hear my mum crying in the background and muttering something about this being an accident. About it had to be an accident. That just makes me mad. Does she not see the freshman taking pictures of her youngest child’s corpse? Does she not see the sophomores laughing mercilessly at her and my tears alike? Does she not hear the juniors yelling at us that our whole family is a disgrace to humankind? Does she not hear the seniors telling us that we all deserve the same fate? Does she not see my principal’s smug smirk as she watches the whole event and does absolutely nothing?

“This wasn’t an accident. How can you beat someone up on accident? How can you rape someone on accident? How can you murder an innocent child ON ACCIDENT? I get that you’re in shock or whatever, I really do. BUT HOW THE HELL COULD YOU POSSIBLY THINK THIS WAS AN ACCIDENT? PEOPLE HAVE BULLIED US EVER SINCE WE MOVED HERE! THEY MOCK, TEASE, PUNCH, BUT NOW THEY’VE GONE TOO FAR!” My father is telling me to stop yelling, but I don’t hear him. All I know is that I see red, whether that be from the blood pooling at my feet or rage, I have no clue. “DON’T YOU SEE THEM LAUGHING, RECORDING, YELLING AT US?! DON’T YOU SEE HOW THIS COULD NOT HAVE POSSIBLY BEEN AN ACCIDENT?!” by now, I’m crying, but she has to know. She has to become aware. She has to stop this. She has to. “Please,” I say to no one in particular, taking my sister’s dead body in my arms and sinking down to sit on the floor.

I can’t do anything but hug my now limp sister and pray that this is just another practical joke. Hope that she’s not really gone. Wish that I could have been a good big sister and protected her. 

She had so much life left to live. She was only NINE, for god’s sake! She was going to grow up! She was going to make it past the fourth grade! She was going to do well in school and get into the college she wanted to go to! She was going to be successful in her career and her life! She was going to die when she was old and senile and only after beating a terminal disease like cancer because that’s the stubborn kid she is. Was.

This was NOT an accident.