A Fool with Hands

“Get over yourself!”

My ears ring when she smacks me across the face. My nose is sore and congested with blood, and it soils my white collar with a musty tang. My knees hit the ground, and my hands tremble in front of my face, but she still yanks my ear and throws me down with no mercy. I lose every breath when she kicks me in the stomach and repeats what she can’t seem to get off her chest.

“Stop bothering me, Karma!”

I swallow blood as I hold the ache in my stomach. She’s with a group of her friends, the ones who hate me just as much as she does. My hands burn against gravel while I lie on my side. Strands of blonde cover my stinging face, and I catch red on their straight tips. I brace for another punch when she charges at me, but instead, she tears at my scalp, removing the only thing she despises I wear.

“No!” I scream.

My hair lies on the ground at my feet, and her cold hand grips my bare head with shame. She crouches at my level, staring at me as if I’m the most abhorrent beast in the wild. Tears grace my cheeks as I look at my monster. My bully. My sister.

“You’re pathetic, and you know it.”

She hauls my head, and the force of her push leaves me weak against the fence behind us. As she peels away with her friends, I bawl with bottled rage. I’m tired of her constant torture. Her dirty hands and nagging voice enervate me. I don’t rise from here. I only weep until I can’t anymore, and I’m aware that hours pass when the sky darkens and echoes with the laughter of oblivious students. My hands bury my face, but the evening blues peek through my fingers. I sit in silence, thinking about my sister’s brimming anger. This isn’t the first time she’s done this to me, and I’m scared she's working towards the day it’s my last. I shake off the thought and uncover my face as warm air descends like smoke from a fire. I fill my hands with strength so I could stand, but—

“You alright?”

I flinch at the voice. Sitting next to me is a girl whom I don't recognize. Her legs are crossed before her, and her hands are peacefully clasped together at her skirt. A smile rises in her cheeks, “I wasn’t here for long, don’t worry.”

My eyes remain wide, “Who are you?”

“I’m a senior. What’s your name?”

“Karma.”

“Interesting name. You got any friends?”

I shake my head. She lifts my wig and examines it, turning it about its hidden hem. I snatch it when she attempts to fit it on her head.

“It’s mine,” I snap. “You have hair, I don’t.” Her black hair curls in healthy, loose waves down her chest. It complements her tan skin, a mix between brown sugar and maple syrup.

“Sorry.” Her smile temporarily ceases, but it returns the instant she speaks again. “I’ve got a remedy for you. We’re more similar than you think.”

“How so?”

“I’ve got enemies, and so do you.”

I finally stand up, though my legs slightly buckle. I’m convinced she’s here to ridicule me, so I start walking.

“Wait!” She gets up, and I turn to her. Her eyes soften, “I used to have bullies of my own, and they always got their way. It sucks to be beaten without a valid reason, you know?”

“Yeah, and it hurts even more when the person hurting you is someone who once cared for you.” I hold back tears, “I just want it to end.”

“And it will sooner or later, but you have a choice to make.”

I sigh as exhaustion threatens to overwhelm me. “What choice?”

“All you have to say is ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” She smiles, but it has a sinister edge. Something dark lies between her lips. “Would you like to get revenge?”

I peer away, instantly calculating what's there to lose. Probably my head if my sister finds me hiding under a table when I'm finished. But, at least I’ll have tried. Revenge is known to be sweet, but I’ve by no means pictured myself carrying out the act. It’s a shot I should shoot—a shot she’ll never see coming.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Perfect,” she says, but she seems surprised at my answer. “If you’re completely sure, knock on my dorm in an hour.” She hands me a piece of paper with her dorm and floor number. “I’ll be waiting, but you can always say no. I don’t want any regrets on your hands,” she grins.

I stare between the paper and her as she stalks around the corner. There’s a lot to question, but I’ll leave it for tonight. What type of revenge is she talking about?

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Three knocks and the girl opens promptly. She’s cheerful, motioning me to enter, and I feign confidence. I catch a whiff of a flowery fragrance that dances through my nostrils in delight. It’s beckoning enough to lure me in, but I blankly stare at the two other girls in her room. They’re jovial as they wave and stand to greet me. I suppose they were waiting for me by the way they called my name as I saw them. The shorter one is Maya, and the taller one is Kirsten. And the girl who invited me is Donna. Each of their beds has black sheets, and their curtains are immensely astrological in design. Stars align amongst planets, and symbols I’m unfamiliar with decorate each cloth. Maya and Kirsten’s arms are bejeweled with colored crystals, pearls, and small rocks, and they’ve got piercings on their eyebrows and noses. I gulp at the sight and wonder if I’ve made the right decision to come here.

“So, who’s the unlucky one?” asks Maya.

“Uh, it’s my sister.” I whisper, “Miranda Larson.”

The three collectively laugh, but I find it hard to.

“It’s not just her,” I speak up. “It’s a couple of her friends, too. They support everything she does.”

Now they look at each other, thoughts streaming in exchange before me.

“We’ve got the perfect solution,” Maya smiles as she strolls to her bed. She flips her blanket up and pulls out a wooden drawer filled with little bottles.

“What are those?”

She bends down and picks one up. Her proud grin assures me. “Read it.”

Extreme pruritis

I shrug and swirl the liquid that’s inside the bottle. It appears to be some sort of serum. “I don’t know what this is.”

Maya grabs it from my hand. “It causes severe itching. It’s extremely uncomfortable for those affected by it. If you look in here, we’ve got various remedies.” The drawer is fully loaded with more of these mysterious bottles.

Kirsten’s stare pierces my soul when she says, “Choose whichever one you would like, and we can deliver symptoms in no time. That is, unless you want to do it yourself.”

“That sounds kind of dangerous.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Couldn’t we get in trouble for this?”

Donna lays a pressing hand on my shoulder, “Your sister and her friends haven’t gotten in trouble for what they do to you. So, why ask the obvious? Turner’s Academy doesn’t care about any of us.”

“Touché.” I play with the bloody tips of my wig and smile for the first time in months. “Show me all you’ve got.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------

I'm sitting by myself at lunch when an unwavering cloud hangs over me. It’s not visible, but I can feel the heaviness of it. The air around me thickens when the girls sit at my table with trays of food.

“Did you do it?” I ask while stuffing a spoonful of mashed potatoes in my mouth. I stomach the unease pestering my consciousness.

They answer with nods and lean in.

“Our remedies work like a charm,” says Donna. “Once they’re consumed, or absorbed into the skin, all hell breaks loose.”

My nervousness grows as Donna encourages me to look down the table. It’s my sister and her friends. I observe the calm before the storm, though I’m unsure of what’s to come.

“The girl eating is our target,” Kirsten smiles. She’s talking about Ingrid. I’ve always despised her straight brown hair.

“But, what did you—”

Ingrid smacks her head. Once, twice, ten times. Red paints her face, and bumpy rashes grow along her hands and neck. She scratches so hard that I fear her skin will scrape off. Miranda jumps up as if she saw a roach on her tray.

“Get away!” She screams at her friend. “Go scratch somewhere else, you idiot!”

Miranda shoos her away, and Ingrid immediately runs out of the cafeteria. Curiosity guides me as I follow her out, but I try not to appear so obvious. Ingrid weeps louder than a baby. I almost feel bad until she shoves other girls out of her way, yelling curses past their shoulders. Her face cracks and bleeds, and so do her arms when she rides up the sleeve of her white blouse. She disappears into the restroom. I could only imagine how much havoc she wreaks in there. I don’t know how to feel when I head back to the cafeteria, but Donna and the others are gone. I can’t figure out how they managed to spike Ingrid, but the mystery makes me smile. Whoever these girls are, they’re no one to mess with.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

The next day, they target the next two on my list: Lauren and Michelle. They stick together like wax and honey, they’re blondes, and both of their eyes are blue like glaciers.

I’m leaning against a wall during PE, and I don’t question that my three new friends have arrived when I feel them. They stand beside me, watching the twins with dark intent, and I wonder how they’ll carry out the next remedy. I try to act cool when Lauren and Michelle run near us to grab their water. I clear my throat and wait for them to leave while my smile slowly returns.

Maya nudges my arm, “In three, two, and...”

I gasp. Lauren and Michelle vomit on the basketball court, one after another. They continuously alternate, and everyone around stares in utter revulsion at the olive green substance flowing out of their mouths. I look away and close my eyes, gagging from the sounds they make as their entire lunch floods out of them. Getting them back for the way they hurt me truly fills a void in my heart. Revenge does taste sweeter than candy.

I laugh, “You guys are seriously awesome.”

But when I look around, they’ve gone missing. I call their names, but they don't answer.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

We fire through four more of my sister’s friends with hysterical remedies: boils, maggots, extreme thirst, and temporary blindness. Today, I grabbed a remedy myself, and strangely, I looked more ecstatic than my new friends. I felt empowered by the drug in my hand, a cure no one innocent should have to suffer from. Now I walk the hallways, searching for Miranda. I never thought I would get this far, but I swirl the strawberry moon remedy, relieved that I’ll finally be able to overpower my sister for once. I play with the bloody tips of my hair as I hunt, but I soon catch her in the distance. She’s focused on her phone, alone for the first time. All of her friends have been sent away, and I can tell she’s been bested by the frown on her face. I’ve longed to see her miserable for everything she’s done to me. Though I tread carefully, I’m still aware that I have the upper hand. I’ve got the remedy. I stuff it down the rim of my skirt and stand in her way.

She lifts her head with a death stare that makes my heart sink. “What?” Flames rip through her voice. “Just because my friends aren’t here doesn’t mean I want to talk to you.”

“Do you hate me that much?”

She shakes her head, “You don’t get it.”

“Please, tell me, because I don’t.”

She crosses her arms, closing me off like she’s always done since we were little. There’s contempt in her glare when she says, “You’re a brat.”

“Why?” My face burns in embarrassment. “Is it because I wear a wig and wish it were real? Do you think I wish to be like this?”

“Are you forgetting what you’ve always done to me?”

I stumble at the question. What the heck is she talking about? “What have I done?”

“Don’t play dumb. You used to cut my hair for the sake of looking like you.”

I grimace at the memories that she speaks of. Fresh in my mind, but old. “I was younger, and…and I couldn’t place my anger anywhere else.”

“So, you had to sneak into my room at night and cut it without my consent? You did this anytime my hair reached past my shoulders. And not once did you apologize without Mom having to intervene.” She laughs in a scoffing manner, “Hair means nothing if you act like a jealous brat with or without it.”

She’s so insensitive that I ache to hit her. “You don’t know what it feels like to wear wigs. I feel like an impostor every day.” I grit my teeth, “So, don’t tell me I’m a jealous brat when you haven’t even touched my shoes.”

She laughs, “You sound ridiculous. Do you even regret it?”

I glance aside, unsure how to answer. Truthfully, I don’t regret it. I’m searching for the right words when she shoves me back. Usually, I let her get the hits, but I’m tired of showing her I’m weak. I hesitate, but I shove her back, pressing her into the wall behind her. I don’t see her hand until it’s thrust to the side of my head, forcing me to break away.

“I’m not going to stop until you apologize and say you regret it.” She doesn’t hit me, but I can tell she wants to again.

She’s condescending. I know she enjoys throwing me around like a toy, so I don’t give in to her promise.

“I won’t.”

There’s loathing under her tongue when she says, “I don’t know why I bother to talk to you.” She mocks me with a sly smile, “You’re weak.”

“Take that back.”

“I won’t.”

“Take it back!” I scream, and I don’t care if anyone’s watching. Irritation sparks in pulses, and I’m growing weary of its presence.

“Say you regret it, Karma!”

“I don’t!” Wrath consumes me when I charge at her, pinning her down. She struggles against me, but she has no time to shove me off when I grab the remedy and dash it over her head. It spills in a satisfying rush.

“What are you doing?” She shouts and finally pushes me away.

I sit anxiously, monitoring her as she stands. Though I prepare for another hit, it doesn’t come. My hands weigh with fear as they tremble over my face, but my heart skips a beat at the sound of a high shriek. I peel away from my shuddering hands and cover my mouth when I notice what’s at her feet. My head snaps up as panting and squealing deafen my ears. My sister is bald. Every strand of her black hair lies at her feet. My breathing deepens as I hear my sister’s cries for the first time in ages. Tears drop into puddles on the ground, and instead of saying sorry, I glow with a grin. If my worst enemy hated me before, she damns me now.

My smile turns into laughter as Miranda runs away, and I suppose she’ll stay in her dorm forever. That’s just what I need, but why do my hands feel heavy? They wear me down so much that I remain on the ground. I abhor everyone who passes by and doesn’t ask whether I’m fine. I consider remedying all of them. I reach to grab a lock of my sister’s hair, but I flinch back as Donna and the others kneel before me.

“I didn’t think you would do it,” says Donna. “Not many are so submissive to their resentment that they act so rashly.” She delicately pats down my hair. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“Yes,” I smile.

“No regrets?” Maya asks. Her eyes are softer, almost sorrowful, as she holds my hands in hers.

“Not at all.”

They stand and cross their arms, gazing down at me as though I’m a stain on the ground. This is their presence. A darkness I can thrive in, but not bear forever. Their shadows beat down on my weak body, lingering through my hands. My smile fades as a burn fills my palms, commencing the fall of ash on my thighs. Everything in me lurches to scream as my fingers disintegrate—one by one. Blood doesn’t drip, but a knife I cannot see blades my hands away.

“What’s happening?” My throat is dry when I peer up at Donna. An unbearable pain sizzles my bones. I scream, “Stop hurting me!”

“No regrets, huh?” The sinister smile Donna gave me when we first met returns.

Terror eats me alive when my hands have finally vanished. The tools I used for revenge are gone, and there’s no mercy in Donna's eyes. It’s too late for redemption when I’ve wasted it avenging myself against my only sister. She hurt me, but I started it. Our scars are sealed.

I groan when Donna lifts my chin. “Revenge is bitter, never sweet. It bites back when you least expect it.”

She lets go, and I’m too resentful and frightened to yell when they saunter away. I only weep when I sense my hands, but don’t see them.

I curse myself, “Karma, you fool.”