1 Act 1: Chapter 1: Camilla- Eternal Hate

    I wake up.

    Breathing rapid and quick; my body drenched in sweat and a pungent funk; my burnt umber hair sticking to my forehead as if it were glued to it. The covers weren't over me, and the fan was on its highest setting. It was torrid and the air conditioning was humming, inefficient and ineffective.

    The couch cushions stuck to my body as I sat upright. Soiled in my own blood and sweat. I cringe at the mess I had created while asleep.

    I mutter a curse, not wanting to clean up the mess, but I force myself to because I hated the scent. I felt the cramping begin again. It felt like a stomach ache, but was just below where that began. I felt like I was tightening and aching. Dear Christ, I hate being a girl. Now my whole schedule was ruined because I was two days earlier than anticipated.

    The couch could wait. I grab a change of clothes from my bedroom and take a shower. I don't bother washing my hair, I was feeling lazy, today. I'd still get complimented with it messy or neat, anyways.

    I head for the hallway closet and pull out the yellow rubber gloves. I grab a solvent, fill a bowl with water, and get a sponge and white rag. The mess on the couch was minimal, and I didn't even need as much water as I had prepped. It was all on my blanket, which was new to me. I don't know if I should wash it or clean it as I would if it were the couch then let it air dry.

    I take the easy route and throw it in the washer. If it stained, I had another one.

    I head back to my couch where the flat screen television still streamed all of Law & Order. I don't sit down to watch it, instead, I grab my bat. A silver metal one I had carved my name into. I used to use it for softball season until they got banned. Now, I just use it to patrol and protect my house. I have never been robbed, I was just paranoid. A close friend of mine was robbed while she was inside of it and she only lives a block down the street from me. I figured if it happened to her it can definitely happen to me. I'm going to try and prevent it, though.

    My home didn't have much to steal, though, but the flat-screen. My Dad had been working hard to get more furniture in here, especially in my room. The only reason he hasn't was because I insisted he get his room together first.

    He had worked hard to get us off the streets and homeless, so he should have been the one rewarded for his efforts. Not me. I mean, sure, I gave him whatever money I acquired through asking past boyfriends and the current one. Even my best friend gave him money directly. I saw the hurt in his eyes that day she handed him fifty bucks and some change. It was her weekly allowance. She could care less as to where it went. She had a piggy bank full of fifty dollar bills.

    After that, she never gave him the money. She gave it to me to give to him. I, of course, went to local shops to break it into smaller bills so he wouldn't recall the shame he felt in that moment. He probably felt bad when I handed bills to him, too, but we were going through the humiliation together. We both had to deal with it.

    I check the kitchen. In the process, I grab an apple. Through the blinds, the sun was starting to rise and the dark was floating away. It was about 4 o'clock. I grab the doorknob to the back door and shake it.

    Good. It's locked.

    I check every window. Look in every closet. Check the basement, though I knew it was empty, but you can never be too sure. I inspect every bedroom. To my surprise, Dad is awake, counting the cash in his leather brown wallet. Before I get his attention, I watch his money slip past his fingers. Each number on the corner of the bills I calculate.

    Seventy-five dollars. We still haven't paid the light or gas bill. My bed is still on layaway. I usually slip a bill or two in his wallet if I have the extra change, but now, even I have a hard time getting money. I milked my boyfriend dry. My exes won't give me cash unless I do something strange for it. Samantha, my friend, was grounded for getting suspended. She told off a teacher. She already gave me her entire piggy bank of fifty dollar bills.

    Dad doesn't get his next paycheck until two weeks from now. Looks like I had to put a pause on my entertainment. The television.

    I tap the door, bat over my shoulder. Dad knew I did this every morning. He didn't care.

    "Morning, Cammy," he grins at me as if he weren't just stressing over his next move.

    "'Sup, Pops. Doing good? No criminals in sight?"

    "Not this morning," he says, then he scratches his stubble. He was supposed to get his shave today, but that's cancelled if he can't pay the bills. "Look, uh, I'll have your bed out of layaway tomorrow. It'll be shipped here, and I'll fix it up for you."

    Tomorrow? How? We're broke.

    Dad did usually bring in spontaneous amounts of cash at random, rough times. I used to think he was a male stripper on the side of being a cashier that did odd things. I thought he gave blowjobs at one point. Now, I really don't care.

    "Did you pay the gas bill, yet?" I interrogate.

    "Don't worry about it, Cam," he insists. "I have everything under control."

    I only blow my breath and look down the hall where my bedroom would be. He had everything under control, huh? "Okay," is all I say. I knew he didn't have it under control, but what can I do about it?

    "Did you talk to your brothers and sister, yesterday?"

    "Yeah," I shrugged. "No one can seem to get into contact with Morgan, though. After she got married she just left all of us."

    "Yeah, well, I'm sure she'll pop up eventually." Dad looks at the wall painted gray. After a big heave and a few seconds, he turns to me again. "How's your mom doing?"

    I roll my shoulders again. "I don't know and I don't care. She's a complete bitch and--"

    "Watch your mouth!"

    "--she can rot in Hell! Her and her asshole-for-a-husband!"

    "Camilla!" Dad's stern, military voice raises along with his body. He was a beefy man built of nothing but muscle. Six feet tall, and sculpted like a god. Back in the day, he must have been a prize to all the younger ladies, but now he's just rugged and old looking. The stress is wearing him down so much that not even his muscles can deal with it and have been getting slimmer. He has stress wrinkles all over his face. He smells like he hasn't showered in a month, has bathed in liquor, and never once washed his clothes.

    Now, he was a sad sight to see.

    "What!?" I shout back at him. I was infuriated and I don't know how I can be cooled down. I'm usually never this upset, but now, I can't control how I am feeling. It's too early.

    Dad looks from side to side and holds his own hips. He rubs his jaw, "Look, I understand how you feel, but she's your mother. She loves you."

    "Don't you dare use that fucking cliche on me!" I stomp my foot so hard my ankle hurts. I wish I could smash something with my bat. "You know just as well as I do that she hates me! She hates me and you!"

    Dad shakes his head but I was right. He knew it. That's why he couldn't think of the right words to say. That's why he couldn't scold me.

    "I'm going to get ready for school." I start past the door frame. "You better get ready for work. And take a shower… you stink." I strut down the hall to my room.

***

    While behind cover, I hear a car explode. It's mechanical body flies past me and into another vehicle. The blood on my hands was dry and a variety of colors; red, blue, orange, green, yellow. I fill my triple-barrelled sawed-off with new shells. I take a big breath. I round the corner and feel a bullet pierce my chest. I raise my own gun at the eccentric and monstrous, deformed being. I pull the trigger and its head explodes. I kick back its body and allow the weapon to bark its last two times before letting it vanish in thin air.

    I create a scythe from thin air and run for a car on the road. I jump on the hood of a rusted vehicle and begin slaying all of the creatures charging my direction. I hack one head off. I hack off two. I scar three and watch them heal. I backflip to the roof and outstretch my open white palm. Light bends and folds into my hand, I feel the power building up in my arm, yearning to be released. I let it all go.

    An invisible wave of power knocks everything back. Even the horde topples over and are trampled by their allies. I throw my scythe.