Every Year, Our Mom Tries to Kill Us.

So far, our neighborhood’s Fourth of July celebration was a disaster.

There were flies buzzing around the funnel cake again.

Joshua, my brother, thought he was slick.

I could see his fingerprints in the patriot cake, frosting covering his sheepish smile.

Still, it was a good turnout.

Half of the neighborhood.

“Josh!” I hissed, startling my brother, who immediately twisted around and pretended he wasn't raw-dawging half the dessert section. I grabbed a patriot cupcake already melting through my fingers.

I stuffed the sticky mess into his mouth.

“If you're so damn hungry, eat these. Nobody else is eating them.”

Joshua shot me a sickly grin, spitting out the cupcake into a bright red napkin.

“Yeah.” He pulled a face, swiping his lips. Because they're filled with raisins,” he rolled his eyes, “whoever made these monstrosities hates America.”

His gaze briefly found my outfit. “What are you wearing?”

I stared down at my star-spangled dress. So patriotic, so fucking loud, I almost felt nauseous wearing it. It was a little big on me, pooling at my feet, sticking to my clammy skin. Instead of responding, I choked down guilt creeping up my throat. “Joshua—”

“Mom's dress.” Joshua’s smile bled away. “Jesus, Camrie.” He twisted back to the dessert table, still smiling, still performing.

His hands shook, curling into fists. “Maybe you forgot, since you apparently have the memory of a goldfish,” he snatched up a fruit slice and stuffed it into his mouth.

I noticed a fly creeping across cream cheese.

“Mom tried to kill us, Camrie,” he said through a mouthful.

“In fact!” He laughed. “It's the fifth anniversary of her trying to plunge a knife in my skull!”

“Keep it down.” I smiled through my teeth.

Joshua’s eyes were unusually dark. He was still chewing, swallowing painfully slowly, bright red frosting coating his lips.

“You’re wearing Mom’s dress.”

His mouth quirked. I could see him splintering. “You've invited her.”

“Who's invited Mom?” Jasper, our older brother joined us, out of breath, snatching up a cupcake.

A lone fly sat atop a fresh strawberry.

Jasper didn't notice, of course, demolishing it in one bite.

“Yo.” He grinned through a particularly mushy bite. “You two look like you're having fun,” he teased, cramming another cupcake. “Damn. These are good!”

Joshua folded his arms, always the judgmental brother. He was still eating. I didn't even notice him continuing his assault on the funnel cakes. My brothers were acting like they hadn't eaten in a fucking decade. “Camrie.” He announced, “tell our dear brother that you've RUINED July fourth.”

“That's an exaggeration,” I said, “can you two STOP stuffing yourselves for five seconds?”

Both of them frowned at me with frosting-covered mouths.

Joshua spluttered. “You're too forgiving. Mom tried to kill us multiple times.”

Jasper nodded, his gaze lazily creeping towards another cupcake.

“I agree,” he muttered. “You two probably don't remember.”

I did remember.

Darkness.

Screaming.

And being so hungry that I felt hollow, cavernous, like my belly was swallowing me up. “Mommy,” I remembered my own wail rattling my skull, my agonizing thoughts. Why was she doing this?

What did I do wrong?

Were we bad children?

Did she hate us?

All those nights sitting against the door, my knees pulled to my chest.

Every thought became denial, and then acceptance, then denial again.

Acceptance tasted like rot.

Jasper swallowed down another bite of cupcake, mulling it around in his mouth.

“She locked us in the garage for months.” My brother’s eyes grew dark, like he could remember every moment. Every pitch-dark night, throwing ourselves against the door. We begged her to let us out.

Cried.

Screamed.

Sobbed.

Jasper’s voice softened. “You two only survived because I managed to find us scraps to eat.”

“Nothing fresh,” Joshua mumbled, turning a cupcake around his hand.

He took an uncertain bite. “My point is, Camrie is wearing the exact dress our mother wore when she tried to jam a knife through my skull five years ago.”

I tasted some fruity pizza.

The taste of melted sugar slammed into me, filling me with relief. Pride.

Stupid, naive performative patriotism.

Joshua was right.

I didn't care about July 4th.

I was just performing for the neighbors, wearing the facade of a perfectly normal American family. “I'm going to talk to her.” I announced through a mouthful. I pulled Jasper into a hug, wincing at the stink of him.

“Ew.” I retracted. “Have you been stewing in a dumpster?”

A horde of festivalgoers swarmed behind us.

Jasper grinned. “With some friends.”

I left my brother's to tear apart the desserts, catapulting my legs into a sprint.

Mommy was waiting for me at her door. Her gun directly between my eyes.

Mom's clothes were filthy, stained, hollow eyes widening when she saw me.

Mom didn't even hesitate. “Leave me alone,” she told me, tears filling her eyes.

“Please, Camrie,” she reloaded with shaking hands I so desperately wanted to hold. “Leave Mommy alone.”

“Mom.” I held up my hands, slowly walking toward her.

“Where are your brothers, Camrie?”

“Why do you… hate me?” I demanded.

“Baby.” Mom’s voice rose into a cry. “Baby, I WILL shoot you.”

“For FUCK sake, Angela.” A voice came from behind her.

Ian.

He’d been living with Mom for a while now.

“Jesus fucking Christ, give me the gun.”

“Just her, not my boys,” Mom whimpered, her head between her knees. “I can't look at my baby anymore.”

“All right.” Ian pointed the gun at my face, lips curling. “Why not just take the whole street of zombies out?”

"They always come back," Mom whispered. "Every July 4th."

Ian strode over to me, sticking his gun into my forehead, and something inside me snapped. He didn't smell good, like Mom.

Ian smelled different.

“Look at the pretty flowers, kid,” he grumbled, jerking my head with the barrel.

“But… mom…” my jaw moved slowly, cupcake mush dripping down my chin. “Mommy—”

Ian stabbed harder. “Look at the flowers.”