the weight of what is ours (clinging to my bones)

by versaobrasileira

Summary:

Vicky was young once, but never Vicki Donovan.
She was a sister once, but never the eldest.

When she wakes, she is both.

Chapter 1: scaphoid

 

Vicky wakes up in a pool of blood.

 

My blood, she thinks. But then she realizes no, it can’t be, it doesn’t make sense.

 

Because it’s a child’s blood. Fingers chubby, pink, soft, and arms so thin and pale they would almost seem translucent in the sunlight.

 

This isn’t her.

 

She has long, pale hands, wide fingers covered in tattoos over every scar. She’s 24, brown-haired, an adult.

 

This isn’t her.

 

She just graduated, she’s far from home, and she’s happy. She has a good, comfortable job and a sweet kitty waiting at the door every day, like her, always seeking a home. She crosses the same streets, sees the same people, hums along to her headphones, and dances when no one is watching.

 

Vicky is happy.

 

But the asphalt is wet and the car doesn’t see.

 

The car doesn’t see and Vicky dies.

 

Blood drips from her head. Hot, sticky, and too much, too much.

 

She looks down, at the small, dirty bed. Ignoring the cracked walls and the sound of a crying child.

 

She sees small legs. Red. Red everywhere.

 

Vicky wakes up and screams.

 

She screams.