𝟏𝟎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐎, 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟗, 𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐂, 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐒

Dahlia (14)

The feeling of the worn-out rifle in her hands made adrenaline pump through her veins. Her lips twitched into a hesitant smile. She knew her parents would be furious if they knew what she and her grand-dad were up to.

But a part of her felt like this was it. That this was what she was meant to do.

The moment she laid eyes on her grandfather's old journals and textbooks, she just felt... so engulfed in it. Every day after school... that's all she could think about. In school, it was all she could think about.

She knew she was different-maybe an outcast or a freak. And for a while, she couldn't live with it. But once she realized how intrigued hunting made her, she realized she could be a hero in disguise, like in the comics or the movies.

Kids picked on her anyway for who she was. For the color of her skin or the texture of her hair... so she knew she was different anyway. Why not embrace hunting?

Why did her grandfather make her swear not to tell a soul? About anything. Like what he was telling her was sacred. While she was curious, she was certainly cool, like a double agent or something. So, she swore she wouldn't.

And for a while, she didn't.

Until she met a guy she wanted to impress... and thought she had nothing about her interesting enough but the fact that almost every weekend her parents took her to her grandfather's house and he brought her out to the backyard where they practiced target shooting sometimes.

Guys like guns and stuff, right?

It was the perfect plan.

All she had to do was prove that she was really into hunting. All she had to do was prove it to Gray and he'd fall for her.

So, she had it mapped out. Just like every Saturday after lunch, one of her parents drove her to his house while the other stayed home with her 2-year-old sister. She played it cool, acted normal, ... acted like her mind wasn't racing 20 million miles a minute.

She sat in the passenger seat of her dad's car, gazing outside of the window silently, watching her house fade behind them.

"You're quiet," The sound of her dad's voice shocked her out of her thoughts and she turned to look at him. He was still looking at the road. "Something on your mind, Angel?"

"No," She said after a moment. "Just excited to see Grandpa."

Her dad huffs through his nose, smiling slightly. "The person you see nearly every weekend? Is he planning something fun or what?"

"...We always do something fun. And it's always exciting," Dahlia smiles softly, hiding the anxious butterflies bubbling up her throat.

"I'm glad you enjoy being there," Her dad says quietly and then a seemingly comfortable silence falls between them both, but the truth is, their minds are both plagued with anxious thoughts.

The rest of the ride remains that way until finally, they pull up to the front of her Grandpa's old home. Not as nice as her own house, yet still so, so cozy. Honestly, it's more comforting here in that way.

"Bye, Dad," She says, opening the car door and stepping out. She bends down to peer into the car, waving with a purse of her lips. Her dad never comes in to say hi. And when she asked him why... he did that thing grown-ups do when they don't want to actually tell a kid the truth, so they give them a stupid vague answer.

She didn't press, though. She respected his feelings enough to not question him further about it.

"Be good, Angel," He said, smiling at her. "I'll pick you up at the usual time."

She nodded and shut the door with a thud. As she walks up to the door of the house, it swings open before she can knock.

"Ah, if it isn't Little Lia," Her grandpa smiled and said in his usual husky tone. "Come in, I've got our board games and things set up."

"No one calls me that anymore, Gramps," She says, rolling her eyes and grinning.

"All the more reason for me to. It's our thing."

She smiles, walking in. She loves it here.

-

It's dark outside by the time she's in the middle of getting her ass whooped in a game of Candy Land. So, Dahlia takes her chance, "Okay, Grandpa, I gotta use the bathroom."

"Haha, seems to me you're just tryna get out of losing. It's not gonna work, you'll only prolong your demise," He lets out a dry chuckle, laughing at his own weird joke.

"Ha-ha, Gramps, I'll be back," She gets up from her seat on the couch and waltzes around the coffee table, making her way to the hallway where the bathroom is. She glances back to make sure he's not paying too much attention.

He's not.

She slips down the opposite way of the hall, down to his bedroom. She quickly slides open the closet and pushes his old man clothes out of the way to walk deeper inside.

Her eyes fleet around until, buried in the corner of the closet, she spots an old locked crest. She smiles and squats, glancing over her shoulder and reaching to slide it closer to her. She pulls the hairpin from between her brown strands and lifts the box to an angle where she can see the lock.

She sticks it in and jiggles it around, her brows furrowed in concentration. Finally, she hears a soft click. She smirks and then quickly opens it. The funny thing is, she wouldn't know how to do that if it wasn't for her grandpa. It made her feel bad, but her teenage mind was too plagued with the thought of impressing this dumb boy she liked.

Her eyes widen in delight when she finds a journal on hunting. She picks it up but then decides she doesn't have time to look through it and puts it back. Her eyes catch a glint of the light reflecting off of the weapon nearly buried beneath books.

She digs her way through and smiles in triumph when she grabs it. As she marvels at it, she hears the familiar sound of a tire on gravel and she jumps, deciding to slip her hoodie off and fold the gun inside, adjusting it so it doesn't look so conspicuous.

Thank God for my love of oversized clothes, she thinks.

She rushes out, peeking around the corner and into the living area to make sure her grandpa isn't looking and when it's clear, she walks out. "Is that Dad?" She asks, despite knowing the answer, making her presence known, and gesturing toward the window, hoodie tucked in her arms.

"Yep, your mom called a couple of minutes ago letting me know he was on his way," He sighs, setting his newspaper down and grunting as he stands up, "Too bad we couldn't finish our game. I'll get ya next time," He chuckles.

As he moves closer, probably for a hug and to walk her out, she says, "Oh, no, Grandpa, I've got it, you sit."

"Don't make me feel old now," He reaches out.

She panics and swerves out of his hold to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Too slow, gramps," She gives him a big smile. "See you next time." And with that, she's out the door before he can respond.

She jogs over to the car and opens the door, sitting down with a huff. She sits her hoodie on the opposite side of her, away from her dad's sight.

"Have a good day, Angel?" He greets her, smiling and waiting for her to buckle up to begin driving again.

"It was fun, we watched old movies and Grandpa had candy. After that we played games and talked until it was time for me to leave," Dahlia sighed, smiling to herself happily.

She was having a great weekend, ... now she'd have a great rest of the school year too. She'll impress one of the most popular guys and everyone will respect her. She couldn't wait.

"Sounds fun," Her dad agreed. "Ready to eat a meal? If you're not too stocked up on candy."

She laughs lightly. "Yeah, sounds good."

-

Dahlia waited 'til Wednesday, whether it was nerves... or whatever, she didn't do it right away. But finally, on a day she knew her dad would have a late night at work, she convinced her mom to let her bring a friend over.

The friend in question, is her crush, Gray.

Her mom stayed in a separate part of the house with her baby sister and she and Gray went out back.

"So?" He asks, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. "Do you have it?"

She clenches her hands out of nervousness. "Yeah," She smiles, but it doesn't quite meet her eyes. She pulls the handgun out of her pants from behind and she shows it to him. "Cool, right? Grandfather gave it to me."

"Woah, I can't believe you actually have one. I know what I'm asking for Christmas this year," He says, smirking. "Let me see." He holds his hand out.

"Okay, just don't shoot it," Dahlia says, handing it over.

He grabs it, admiring it. "Cool..." He says. "You know, I bet I could shoot it from right here and hit that tree." He points at one specifically.

"You totally could," She says, gassing him up despite not actually believing he could. Not on his first try. It takes practice to aim properly.

He grins at her and she smiles back. "I'm going to do it."

Dahlia's smile falters. "What?"

"I'm gonna do it. I'm going to shoot the tree," Gray shrugs, facing the tree and holding it up.

"Wait!" She shouts.

He looks at her over his shoulder with furrowed brows. "What's the problem? There's no way I'm gonna miss."

"...My sister's trying to nap. Gunshots are loud, Gray. Just don't, alright?"

He looks at her for a second and then faces her, a knowing smirk plastered over his face. "Wait, I know what this is about."

"...Huh?"

"Your parents don't know you have a gun, do they?" He says, walking closer to her. She swallows and he continues. "In fact, this probably wasn't given to you. Why would your grandfather give a 14-year-old girl a gun, anyway? And even if he would, how likely is it that your parents agreed?"

Dahlia purses her lips.

"You just don't want to get caught. Huh," He huffs, letting out a small laugh. "But there's nothing to worry about. We'll just take it further into the trees." He shrugs again.

"No, you don't understand, it'll still be too loud," Dahlia's urgency was overwhelming her.

"No, it won't, relax. Plus, I doubt you even know how to shoot. You probably made everything up. So, you probably don't know how loud these actually are. I've seen the movies, ... they're not that loud."

Dahlia huffs in exasperation. "Gray, please, it wasn't a l-"

"I'm going down into that forest over there," He cuts her off, pointing way down behind her house. "Either you're staying here and I'll keep the gun... or you come with and after I'm done I'll give it back."

Before she can respond he begins walking away and she panics. She's still for a while but eventually, the adrenaline gets the best of her. She just knows she can't let him leave with the gun.

So, without thinking she runs after him. He turns around at the sound of her fast footsteps at the last second. She grabs his arm and yanks him back as hard as she can. She reaches for the gun but he holds it up quickly. "What are you doing?!" He snaps.

"Give it back, Gray!" She yells back, still reaching for it. He's not much taller than her, so all he can do is wave it around out of her reach. But she knows he can't hold up for long.

"No, either my conditions or I'm keeping the gun for myself! Wait 'til your parents find out you probably stole it!" He says back and the struggle continues.

He tries to push her back but while her experience in combat might be little to none, she's been knocked on her back too many times by a surprisingly froggy old man to let a little boy get the best of her. Even if it is her crush.

She's probably lost all chance with him anyway. If she even had any to begin with.

She leans to the side just in time for his hand to slip past her torso and for her to regain balance. "Just give it back!"

He ends up grabbing her with his free hand but that happens to give her an opening and she hooks her hand around his elbow and yanks with all her might. He grunts and she jolts violently, backing up and falling on her ass with a thud.

Both of them stare at each other with wide eyes for what feels like forever before he drops the gun in the grass and mutters, "Oh, shit."

She glances down with trembling lips and she's shocked to find her hands covering her wound. It seemed to be on the lower side of her stomach... but all she felt was that she was going to die. Her limbs shook and trembled in horror at the sight of a deep, red blood coating the tips of her fingers.

She begins to breathe heavily, shallowly, but she can't even hear it over the ringing in her ears. When her eyes fleet upward in hopes of finding help, ... Gray was gone and the only thing in front of her,... a few feet away, was the gun.

-

When she awoke she was met with bright white lights that blinded the freak out of her.

She shot up in her hospital bed and glanced around, immediately gasping and wincing at the pain in her left side.

"Easy," Her father called out, jolting up out of his seat and standing at her side. "Take it easy, Angel."

When she looked at her dad, she saw relief on his face but something else too, ... something she probably didn't want to find out. "Dahlia, ... what... what happened?" He huffs, exhaustion showing in the crease lines on his forehead.

After a second, Dahlia looked away and broke down in tears. It was at that moment she told him everything.

The hunting journals... the mythology textbooks... the combat skills... the gun. The lying, the stealing,... her crush. And how it all led up to her being shot.

"...How am I alive?" She asks, staring with wide, blank eyes at the door.

"...I'll get the Doctor," He says. He was pretty quiet during her rant. It was killing her. Did he hate her now? She hoped to God, he didn't.

-

"No, you're never allowed to see her again. You messed up once,... with me,... now with her? We never want to see you again. You're dead to us, don't call again," With that, the telephone was slammed down with a clang! and that was the end of the call.

She sits, glaring down at her hands, envisioning the blood that was on her hands mere weeks ago, her mom next to her and her baby sister propped up next to her mom.

Her dad brought a hand to his face and sighed heavily, "I should've never let you see him."

"... I love Grandpa. He's-"

"Look at the things he's put in your head, Dahlia! What, that these creatures,... monsters exist?? No! He's never- you're never allowed to see him again, so get used to it!"

Silence followed and it was awkward and tense. Lia looked at her mom to see if she had anything to say. Anything that would benefit her. But she said nothing. A silent way to say she agreed.

Dahlia shook her head, anger and frustration filling her. She got up and stomped her way to the stairs. She couldn't move as well as she wished but she made her point known. She was incredibly angry.

"Dahlia! Dahlia, don't you walk away-"

But she was down the hall and slamming the door to her room before he could finish his sentence. She sat on her bed and just cried.

She was so, so... mad.

Mad at her grandpa for even introducing this stuff to her... mad at the people at school for bullying her... mad at Gray for frigging shooting her... mad at her dad for taking away the only thing that truly made her happy... and more than anything...

She was mad at herself for being so frigging stupid.

This was all her fault.

Why couldn't she just be normal? Why was it the only thing she wanted but the only thing she couldn't have?

Because of it, she's lost more than ever. The only thought that stood out from the rest was,

I hate myself.

-

She's never stopped being angry from that incident.

She practically shut everyone out. Her grandpa's house was her escape from everything. From the stress at school, from the need to be normal, from her sometimes overwhelming religion... and it was taken from her.

Whether she fully believed in the stories her grandpa told her, with scars and marks to match, or not, ... it didn't matter. At his house, there was no need to be perfect or to impress. She didn't need to seek approval to be approved.

Clearly, there was strain in his and her dad's relationship,... but all she could think was, what does that have to do with her? It wasn't her grandpa's fault she went and screwed everything up. Why couldn't her dad see that? She didn't get it, she felt he just used her as an excuse to finally cut him off because of their own problems with each other.

And now, as she grew older, she couldn't help but constantly wonder if her grandpa was even still alive. She vowed to herself that once she hit 18, she'd visit him again but she's worried... what if she's too late?

Now, it's 2002 and she sits, picking at her food, earphones in as she's forced to sit at the dinner table instead of eating in her messy room like she prefers.

It's a crappy substitute, but that became her safe haven after she could no longer visit her grandpa.

The only sounds at the table were the cutlery clanging and glasses hitting the table with soft thuds. That and her baby sister playing pretend with her dolls and feeding them instead of eating herself.

Not that Dahlia was doing much better.

Her angsty music played lowly in her ears,... she knew better than to have them above a certain volume... her parents were more likely to say something about it if they were.

"Lia take those things out of your ears already and eat your dinner, it's getting cold," Her mother spoke softly. "Now? Please, thank you."

As mentioned before, ...more likely, yet it was still very likely they'd say something. Dahlia scoffed softly and took one out of her ear, leaving the other in.

"Dahlia, listen to your mother," Her dad cut in.

"I can hear you fine with one ear out. It's not like there's much conversation at this table," She mutters.

"But what did your mother-"

She clenches her fist before sitting her fork down, "She's not my mother."

"Dahlia-" Her dad nearly raises his voice, but she stands.

"In fact, dinners have been quiet for a long ass time now," She cuts him off. "Like suddenly no one has anything to say."

"Do not speak like that in this house," Her mother says sternly. "Dahlia, I don't know what's gotten into you-"

"What's gotten into me?" Lia laughs, shaking her head. "How about the fact that you look at me differently? And you have for a while now. Or the fact that I haven't been called 'Angel' in years? What, am I not good enough to be an Angel to you now? Not Christian enough?"

"Now, you know that's not-"

"No, it is. You don't have to lie. I bet you regret adopting me. And you must certainly regret naming me after Grandma. I don't belong in this family and I never have."

"Listen to me, Lia, what happened with Grandpa- we talked about that. I thought we came to an understanding," Her dad says.

She scoffs. "An understanding? Really?? We didn't talk about it, if I recall correctly, you yelled and I ran off to my room! I never agreed with you. In fact, I hate you and this frigging house. I can't stand it here," Tears well in her eyes and she starts to close off again. She walks toward the stairs.

"Lia, apologize to your father. And to me. You don't mean any of that."

Tears fall at her mother's words and her chest clenches in anger. They'll never understand her. That much is clear. She puts her earphones back in and stomps up the stairs, heading off to her room.

Her father tries to go after her but her mother stops him.

Dahlia sinks to the floor when she shuts and locks her bedroom door, holding her head in her hands.

She'll never belong. She never really has. In school, ... as soon as people saw her parents it was a wrap. Her skin color was already too abnormal for people... but when people saw her white adoptive parents and her dark skin, they talked.

They wondered if somehow she was forced on them and they had to take her in against their will. They could hardly fathom the thought of someone actually wanting her.

So that's why it only makes sense for her to hold out until she's 18. What's another year?

-

In the year, 2003, Dahlia found herself standing in front of an old, abandoned-looking house. If it wasn't for the old car that she distinctly remembers always being there,... she would've lost hope.

She walks up to it, walking up the rickety steps slowly like she's afraid one wrong movement and the whole house will fall apart. Her hands slowly trail along the wooden railing and it traces over something familiar.

She examines it and a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips. Dahlia. Her name is carved in it. This house would never forget her as long as her name stayed carved into the wood.

She walks up to the door and lifts her hand as if about to knock, but she instinctively pauses as if just waiting for the door to open.

One thing that's not familiar is the fact that it didn't. Now is the time her grandpa would open the door and greet her with that toothy, side-smile of his and tell her he had everything set up for them.

She knocks and she waits with bated breath, praying that the door opens.

Please.

She waits another moment but it doesn't.

She takes out an old hairpin and does what she's good at. Picking locks. She waits for that familiar click and when she hears it, she slowly opens the door.

Cold air drifts past her and she shivers. She shakes it off and hesitantly steps inside. It was dim due to the flickering lights but she looked around, re-living some of her happiest memories, despite the clutter.

The books on the coffee table snagged her attention and she picked one up and noticed it was a mythology textbook on dragons. "Hm," She hums, pursing her lips. She sits it back down and looks around again.

It's too quiet. But she couldn't bring herself to call out, too afraid that if anything was hiding and waiting for her they'd seek her out immediately. She still took what her grandpa taught seriously to an extent.

But if the things he's told her about are true...she needs to know more.

She walked down to the hallway and paused in front of her grandpa's bedroom door. She had a weird feeling... but she didn't know what to do with it. All she could do was slowly open the door.

"Oh, my," She covered her mouth and nose, a terribly rancid smell hitting her in the face. She willed herself to move forward but she wasn't ready and would never be for the sight before her.

Her eyes widened. "Grandpa?"

There on the bed, lay her Grandfather. She gagged, turning away and trying to calm herself down. After a moment, she turns back around, her lips frowning uncontrollably and tears fall as she looks at his limp, pale form.

He's had to be lying there for a while. How long, she doesn't know. She's not sure she wants to. In his frail hands, rests a dead dahlia. Petals dry and worn, much like the shell of a man holding them. All she can do is stare in hopelessness.

He died alone and it's all because of her.

She looks away but her eyes catch on a familiar crest, only this time it's a little smaller and it rests on the nightstand next to his bed. Now that she thinks about it, it looks like it was made by hand. She didn't catch that four years ago.

She walks over to it and sure enough, carved onto the top of it, is her name in all caps.

His name for her.

LITTLE LIA

She runs her fingers over the letters and she tries her best to keep the tears at bay. She looks around the cluttered room. It's filled with books and the walls are mostly filled with what seems to be detective work. Like he was hunting for leads on something.

She starts sifting through books, looking for his journal but she comes up short. "Where the Hell-" But then it hits her.

A while ago, her grandfather told her about a proper goodbye for hunters. Said it was the way hunters honored their memory and the service they did in their lives. He said that sometimes he wished he had any more hunter friends, so that maybe one day, someone who outlived him could send him on his way accordingly,... but he cut them off ages ago.

When he started a new life. A family.

And even if he didn't, it's not likely a hunter still hunting would outlive him anyway. Said he got lucky himself.

She picks the lock to the wooden crest and opens it, finding a journal, a set of keys, a note, and... a very familiar gun. She grabs the journal, deciding the other stuff can wait, and sifts through it quickly.

Pretty early on in the old journal she finds what she needs. When she reads exactly what she needs to do... she wonders if she can actually do it. She sighs, setting the journal back in the crest and picking up the note next.

Dear, Dahlia...

I'm sorry our time got cut short and that I never got to say goodbye properly.
I hope that you live a good, long life. A happy life. One that I couldn't have.
If you see this, tell your father I said I'm sorry. Not just for what happened to you
but for what I couldn't give him.

A happy childhood.

Listen to me, Lia, I don't know if you care or if you're reading this but do not follow in this
old man's footsteps. It doesn't do you any good and it'll only be painful.

Dahlias were your grandmother's favorite flower... but you probably knew that. Oh, she
would've been happy to meet you. She saw beauty in everyone. Even a fool like me. But
that love for me is what killed her, you understand?

This life is a lonely one. And if people get close, they get hurt. So avoid all of that and live
a good life. Go to college, find a nice career... and with every decision you make, think of the future.

Now if you're in my house, reading this, that's me on the bed. If you care to at all, if you don't hate me, I hope you won't leave me there. You don't have to give me a proper goodbye, ... just bury me. It'd be awkward for anyone else to run in on, if anyone ever does.

With all my heart, I love you, Little Lia. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry.

-Grandpa Greg.

Dahlia didn't know her grandma's favorite flower was what she was named after. And she couldn't help but break down on the spot. "I don't hate you, I don't..." She sobbed silently.

She remained like that for longer than she wished before she finally began with shaky limbs to wrap his body in the sheets beneath him. His body was like stone, in texture and in weight and it made reality sink in deeply. He was cold, not at all like the warm man she knew.

It took her a day to set up all the logs in the backyard. She was just glad for her height because if she was short it would've been even harder to get him set up properly.

Fortunately, she found some lighter fluid and a box of matches in the kitchen, and with that, she set her Grandpa's remains on fire and watched as he was getting his proper goodbye.

When everything was done, she went back inside the house and began to take everything she could. Everything she thought she would need. She found out that the set of keys he left her was in his car. Which was far nicer than his house.

His '58 Pontiac Bonneville.

He had quite a few more crests than she thought, so she used some to pack away textbooks and stuff and sat them in the car. She took the case he was working on. The one that was on the wall and put everything in the car.

She huffed as she sat in the car, looking out at the house.

"Sorry, Grandpa," She let out a shaky breath, "I have to keep going. For us."

published :: 11.19.24

total words :: 4,924

long frigging prologue smh

-Zaya