The good news is there's still time to send me something for this week(and if you want to get it to me quicker, send it here: firstname.lastname@example.org with UB in the subject line). Otherwise I'll have to subject you to the rest of Chapter One...and we don't want that, now do we?
Chapter One – Peace
Everything was the same when she got back. Not that she’d expected it to be different but still…it was disappointing. She hadn’t even gotten three steps inside the door before her dad disappeared into his study. The door closed with a click behind him.
Peace sighed and went out back and down to the cellar where the washer and dryer were. She emptied out all her dirty clothes from camp and set the washer. Then she went upstairs to her room in the attic.
She was supposed to have shared it with her twin sister. Forgiveness. That was going to be her name. They were a matching pair: Peace and Forgiveness.
“You mean like a set of chairs at a dining room table,” she’d asked her dad once.
He’d looked at her for a while before answering. “No,” he said. “Not like that at all.” He disappeared into his study before she could say anything else.
Sometimes she hated him for that. His disappearing acts. His absence. His lack of anything approaching parenting skills. And even though she didn’t mind as much being overlooked now, it had hurt when she was little.
Peace took a shower in the bathroom she would’ve shared with her sister. She had asked if they were identical but her father said he didn’t know and supposedly her mother had died along with her twin. He wouldn’t say much more and as there were no other living relatives to ask, Peace made up her own answers to all the questions she had.
She decided that her sister did not look like her, but was in fact fair-haired and blue-eyed, just the opposite of her. She imagined how pretty they would be together – day and night – and all the secrets they would share. That’s what sisters did. They talked about everything.
There was a period where Peace pretended that Forgiveness hadn’t died. She would talk to her as if she were alive, tell her how awful their father was, how cold. She even told people she had a sister – something she had never done before – and the school had contacted her father.
After that, she didn’t mention Foregiveness anymore, but she still talked to her.
“How can he be so nice to all the people at Church and then treat us as if we don’t exist.”
Of course, that wasn’t strictly true. There was always food in the fridge, cash in the kitty, and a few set times each day in which she could count on being able to see him, speak with him if necessary. One was at breakfast and the other at supper. Not that they ever ate together, but he always microwaved something around six every morning and night. And of course she could always see him at Church on Sunday – if she wanted to go listen to him. Not.