“Happy birthday to you!”

The melody wrapped up everything as the light from the candles entered my vision. Happy Eighteenth Birthday. That was what the icing on the cake formed. Akira and both of my parents were sitting there, around the dining table. A small celebration with just the four of us inside that home in the Eighth Sector. Dad managed to score some time off so the both of them came back from Amsterdam State.

“What is wrong with this childish cake?” I scratched my head.

“Come on, Sota. Cut the cake,” my mom distributed all the plates around.

The house was really warm that day despite being smack in the middle of December. We all decided to do this under the advice from Doctor Burke. My mom was also on her ‘baking cake all the time’ phase at that time. I didn’t exactly feel like it but it wasn’t at all bad.

I took the plastic knife on the table. It matched all of the other plastic utensils, specifically made not to be that sharp. I felt sorry when I saw them but the whole celebration clouded it.

“The first cut slice goes to?”

The other three had the look of anticipation on me when I lifted that first slice. The thick pure white cream spilled a little bit as I held that strawberry shortcake slice. I looked at all three of them with a mischievous grin, enjoying the thirty seconds of anticipation.

“Here, Aki.”

“Ha- ha! On your face!” Akira stood up, pointing at both of my parents, laughing. “I told you, he loves me the most.”

“I beg to differ. That particular slice didn’t have any piece of strawberry on it.” Said my father—head down, finger on his glasses, all detective-like.

“That’s true. The failed slice goes to Akira.” I shrugged, showing a smug smile.

“Seriously?”

I didn’t know what happiness really meant but at least I could still feel joy. That was what I felt that day. My stomach was in pain. Masking it was also a pain but, in the end, there was no point in dwelling on it as long as I could feel the joy around me. Enjoy the little things. That was what Doctor Burke told me before.

I took a slice of the cake myself. Sweet. Knowing my mother, it would definitely taste too sweet with the sugar and cream overpowering the strawberries on it. The smell of vanilla was also filling the air. My eyes were focused on that favorite cake of mine. I had a smile when the voices around me slowly blurred into a comforting background noise.

Huh?

A fly landed on my plate. I waved my right hand to chase it away but it wouldn’t move. One more, then, landed on the other side.

Annoying little flies.

The background noise of my family’s voices turned to a droning hum right beside my ear. Persistent. It gradually grew louder along with other flies that swarmed everywhere. All eyes were staring at me.

I grew restless. My legs wouldn’t stop moving. A frown was formed on my face, trying to suppress the pain in my chest. My heart raced like there’s no tomorrow. I lifted my head and looked around.

“Is everything ok, Sota?”

That voice was supposed to be my mom’s but it sounded deeper than it normally was. Hoarse. I jumped back the moment I saw the source of that voice. The three of them were glaring at me with eyes that were lifeless. Blood dripped down from their faces, creating a puddle on the dining table.

“What’s wrong, Sota?” Akira stood up. His neck could barely support the head that was locked onto me. “You can’t stand what you see?”

“Even though it’s all your fault?”

I stepped back, pushing the chair down behind me. I couldn’t take my eyes off them who were standing still, staring at me with their bloodshot eyes. Blood rushed everywhere. Fear started to take over. My quivering legs lost any sense of orientation.

“Sota,” I could feel a pair of hands grabbing my shoulders from behind. I didn’t even need to turn around and see who was there. That voice, no matter how hoarse and deep it was. I could hear her under that whisper. “Why did you do this to us?”

Trembling, I fell to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry.”

The next thing I found was myself sitting on the bed, panting, gasping for air. Sweat drenched everything from the bed sheet to the pillow covers. Clock’s ticking showed that it was barely six in the morning. I was still wearing the shirt and pants I got from the police station. 

I looked around and realized that the room had been cleaned. I left this place alone for more than one month since the incident but mom probably regularly came here to clean things up. My workstation was left alone in the corner while a bag of things could be found beside my bed, on the nightstand—a few bottles of electrolytes and a power bar. My phone was neatly resting on the wireless charger there. The only one responsible for that was definitely the source of noise from outside of my room.

My apartment was one with a single bedroom and a living room that’s connected to the kitchen. It was a small one but definitely too big for someone like me. Hearing the sound of the chopping board repeatedly bumping a knife put me at ease as I changed to a more comfortable getup. 

Why is she still here anyway?