Page 2 of Dove
The world outside swirled, and the pressure inside my chest grew tight. Jostled from side to side roughly, I started to cry, confused and scared, not understanding what was happening. Pain bloomed along the side of my head, and everything went dark.
When I blinked my eyes open, the world outside no longer passed in a blur, but it didn’t look right, either. The floor was up, the roof was down, and for a moment, it felt like I’d fallen straight intoAlice in Wonderland—a movie I’d once watched with daddy because he said it was his favorite.
Something was wrong.
“Daddy,” I whimpered out, my head throbbing and my body sore and achy.
My gaze went to the rearview mirror in search of the comfort of his familiar blue eyes, but it was missing. The windshield was broken and cracked, like a spiderweb. It was also stained red, and I gasped, glancing down, noticing my strawberries were gone.
Oh no. They’d somehow gotten all over Daddy’s truck.
My tears came faster. “Daddy, I spilled all my strawberries.”
He didn’t answer.
Something warm and wet slid down the side of my face. I curiously lifted my fingers to my temple and swiped across my skin, whimpering from the burning sensation it caused. The pads of my fingers came back bright red and glistening.
My tear-filled eyes flicked back to the windshield, and I noticed the same exact shade of red spread across it.
My little chest heaved, and breathing became difficult. The seatbelt was pressed tightly against me, and that—combined with the realization of what coated my fingers and what pooled along the windshield—made it even harder to breathe.
“Daddy!” I screamed between shuddering sobs, wiping my hand frantically along my dress. Why wasn’t he answering?
When he remained silent, I curled into myself, squeezing my eyes shut tightly. I tried to ignore the red that flashed behind my eyes—and whether it was the shade of strawberries or blood.
They looked the same to me, now.
1
DOVE
The early morning sky was an ominous gray color, the sun unable to shine past the thick, rain-filled clouds.
The day before had been muggy and humid, nearly unbearable to work in. The dark rainclouds had rolled in overnight but had yet to break, causing the air outside to be heavy with the scent of impending rain and making the animals act nervous and skittish.
Definitely a storm, then. I chewed at my bottom lip, worried.
Mom and Gareth had left a few hours ago to start their trip to the hospital. Living rural had its perks, such as higher air quality, no shitty neighbors for miles, and the ability to have raging bonfires whenever you wanted.
But it meant the closest hospitals were nearly an hour’s drive away.
I lounged on the porch for a few extra minutes, simmering in my worry, before I downed the rest of my lukewarm coffee and set the mug—and my distracting thoughts—aside.
They’d been going into the city for over a year now for mom’s treatment. Each time they made it back fine, even if Mom was a little worse for wear after every visit.
They said the chemo was killing the cancer inside of her, but to me it just looked like it was killingher. It zapped her of energy, health, and even her megawatt smile. The doctor reassured us this was all normal, but Mom rarely smiled these days, and it’d taken so much to get that smile back after Dad died that it killed me inside to see it locked away again.
But the doctors (and Gareth) were optimistic, so I tried to be, too.
Which meant a little rain wasn’t going to do anything but dampen the day, and I had chores that needed tending to.
So, with a push off the porch swing, and a small stretch, I got to work.
Somehow, even with my mental pep talk, the twisting dread in my stomach refused to go away.
I’d made a habit of keeping my cellphone on me since I’d been given one at fifteen. It wasn’t that I was glued to social media or needed to text my friends every five minutes. There was just something in me that wanted to be reachable—if my family needed me, I wanted to be there. I also wanted the ability to get help if I ever needed it. Working on a farm could be dangerous, and you never knew what situation you might get yourself into.
I didn’t use it often, honestly—maybe a quick call from Mom to have me pick up milk from the general store before I got home from class, or a random text from someone inviting me to something they knew I’d likely not attend. Mostly, I used it to FaceTime my best friend, Reverie, who’d moved away to California.
