I can see myself walking towards the bedroom, the door at the end of the hall. It still had that stupid sign on it then. The one with zebra stripes and both of our names, Ashley and Annabelle.
I know what’s going to happen and no matter how much I try to spot, my legs keep carrying me towards the room.
We had just returned from school for spring break and Jack and Zack were rehearsing in the livingroom with the rest of their band.
My hand is on the doorknob now and I’m screaming in my head to stop, to avoid the issue.
The worst part is how slow I seem to be moving. I know it’s going to happen, but I’m trying to prolong it, maybe I’m hoping that by the time I open the door, she will already have done it, and I won’t have to hear her say what she says everytime. I know that she will, though. She always does.
Suddenly, I’m turning the doorknob and pushing the door open, except, something’s different. It’s silent. I can always hear the guitars and drums in the background and I’m terrified now.
I open the door and see what I always see, except it’s worse. Except maybe it’s not. Everytime it seems worse than the last time, but it’s always the same.
I see her sitting on the bed, Indian style. Criss cross apple sauce, we used to say.
She’s holding the gun in her hands, and she doesn’t notice me at first. She never does.
“Ashley!” I say, because that’s what I’m supposed to do. My twin sister is sitting on her bed weighing a 9 millimeter in her hands.
She looks up at me and smiles like she always does. The same scary, hopeless smile as always.
She brings the gun up and presses it against her temple. I don’t move. I never do.
“Don’t you ever get tired of being orphan Annie?” she says, pulling the trigger and falling back against the headboard as her brains paint the walls.
I scream, and just like always, I notice the identical weapon in front of her, on the edge of her bed. There’s blood on it now. There’s blood on everything now.
