I hate walking home in the dark, especially after a day like today. I had a pop quiz in pre-calculus, a huge paper due in English, and since I was a mere five minutes late to volleyball practice, I was forced to run fifteen additional laps after everyone else left.  My whole body is sore and achy. The only thing that is keeping me moving is the thought of a nice, hot shower once I reach home.

                For me, showers are the only way to fix a bad day. No matter how horrible my problems are, the gushing water is always able to clear my mind completely. They are my escape from all reality, from everything that is difficult and negative. Though, I don’t think I have much to complain about.  

                Technically, I have the perfect life. My wonderful, beautiful family and I live in the gorgeous suburbs outside of Manhattan. Our brick house is the largest on the block since my father makes so much money as the CEO of his company. Because of this job, he is hardly ever home. I remember being a little girl, my dark, chocolate brown hair tied up in cute ponytails, sitting by the front door waiting for him to stroll through it. He would be gone all week, but every Saturday, he came home carrying one little toy or treat for my older brother and I. My mother would get something nicer, luscious roses, expensive perfume, and occasionally, even shining jewelry. She would smile and put it on immediately. The jewels only made her look lovelier.

                My mother is beautiful, there is no denying that. We have many of the same features, our long, dark hair, cute, button noses, and delicate, soft hands. She wears these things better, though. There is something in her confidence that makes her shine more than me. The way she is constantly smiling, her chin up, and eyes glittering, you can’t help but look at her. She doesn’t wear anything too flashy, but she always has on the diamond necklace my grandmother gave her when she turned eighteen. It is simple and lovely, a thin, silver chain with one perfectly round diamond hanging off the end. It matches her well. She says that when I’ve become an adult, it will be my turn to wear this jewel. I still have two more years until I am eighteen. The necklace is the thing I’m looking forward to most about adulthood. The rest seems difficult and frightening.

                I attempt to push thoughts of the future and school out of my mind as I walk up the cement steps to our house. Turning the handle of the massive, white door unleashes the loud sounds of a disagreeing family. I step inside the foyer and peer into the living room. My mother is seated at the round, dinner table with my brother, Eric. She holds a piece of paper in her hands and a worried look on her face. My father paces around them, shouting things about “The importance of hard work” and “Your school grades now decide your future later.” He must have brought his report card home. Eric never has good grades. My brother is smart enough, but he finds things like football and his latest blonde bimbo of a girlfriend to be more important than school. I can’t blame him for this. If I was as popular as him, I would do the same thing.

                It’s Friday night, so everyone should be sitting on the floor playing a board game, like usual. Family Game Night is very important to my parents. They say it helps us communicate, which is the thing that helps hold people together. My father says that, “In the end, family is all we have.” I guess this is true, and I’m okay with it. I know it’s corny, but I really do love my family more than anything.

                However, right now, I’m glad they are too distracted by Eric’s slipping grades to worry about Monopoly or Scrabble. I need a nice, long shower before I can even attempt to face people again.

                I slip by them with a quick, “Hey Mom and Dad, I’m going to shower for a bit.” My father waves his hand dismissively and continues to scorn my brother. Mom looks up and smiles, saying, “Okay sweetie, that’s fine.” I quickly race to find all the necessary ingredients to a perfectly, relaxing soak.

        Some people might think the only thing you need to take a shower is water. Those people are wrong. To create the most amazing bathing experience of your life, you need music, candles, almost painfully hot water, and finally, a soft, comfy robe to slip on when you are done. I gathered all of these and made my way upstairs, into the bathroom.

    In my house, it is important to lock the door because, without fail, every time I step into the shower, someone waltzes in the room claiming they need to wash their hands, comb their hair, or something else that could easily be done in our other bathroom. This situation is one of the greatest annoyances in my life.

      At last, I have everything set up. The stereo plays a CD of one of my favorite bands. Their music is loud, but calming, perfect for ignoring all of your problems. The candles flicker and release the wonderful scent of lavender and vanilla. I slide back the frosted glass door and step into the cold porcelain tub. I absolutely love this shower because it will never run out of hot water. My father had the plumber install some heater thing. You could shower for days and it will stay hot! I intend to test that out now. My hands eagerly find the shower knobs, turning them to release the hot water. It gushes from the spout overhead. I gasp as my tense muscles instantly relax. I lean to the side, my weary legs unable to keep me standing anymore. The strong, hot waters threaten to melt me into a puddle. Being wet, my hair turns an almost midnight black and my pale skin glows red from the heat. I stand like this, frozen in complete serenity for over twenty minutes.

     I decide to start actually washing myself; after I’m snapped back to reality by what I think is our front door opening. I can’t really hear anything, my music is far too loud and it blocks out all outside noise, but I feel the vibrations in the shower’s walls. That doesn’t make any sense though. It must be 9:00 p.m. No one would be visiting now. Strange, I think. But, I quickly forget about this as I begin lathering my thick hair in shampoo. Soon, I am humming along with the music and swaying my hips again. I crane my neck and look to the ceiling to avoid getting any soap in my eyes as the water rinses it away. A sudden high pitched scream from outside the bathroom startles me. I jerk my head to the side and it comes into contact with the glass door, causing me to groan in pain. “What was that noise?” I grumble, holding my injured head in my hands. I think about getting out of the shower to investigate, but I decide against it. Perhaps my music had a glitch in it or maybe my mother stubbed her toe. She has a very low pain tolerance. I decide the second theory makes the most sense as I begin searching for my favorite conditioner.

    Once again, I find myself in a Zen state of perfect bliss. The drip-drop of water hitting the floor coupled with the mellow sound of guitars being strummed takes my mind to a peaceful place without worries.  With my hair washed, I look for a loofa and bottle of body wash. My hands wrap around the small bottle and squeeze. Just as I am completely lathered in suds and bubbles, there is a quick, brutal pounding on the door. The sound is so loud and abrupt that I scream. This makes the knocking stop. “Eric?” I yell from the shower. “Mom? Dad? What do you want? I’m trying to bathe!” Whoever it is, they begin trying to turn the door knob. “Guys! I’ll be out in like twenty minutes, okay?”  At last, they stop prying at the door and I go back to singing and bathing.

    This could possibly be the longest shower I’ve ever taken. After the promised twenty minutes, I turn off the water and step out. I must have been in there for over an hour. My hands are pruned and I’m dizzy from the heat. I quickly put on ample amounts of lotion and oils before slipping into my fluffy, white robe. It takes a few seconds to blow out the candles and shut off the stereo. That’s when I notice how quiet it is. Without my music playing, there is no other sound in the house. Mom usually watches Food Network at around this time. Eric should be on the phone with his girlfriend, Lucy- or is it Carrie this week? Dad should be yelling about a new political scandal. Quiet is not a word used to describe our household.

    An eerie feeling suddenly spreads over me. Something is not right. I quietly open the bathroom door and peer out. Greeted only by silence, I whisper, “Mom? Dad?” Still nothing. I begin walking down the stairs. My legs are shaky. I’m scared for no reason. My steps echo through the house. Sweaty palms hold onto the railing to keep from falling. As I reach the last few steps, a foul, pungent odor fills my nostrils. I almost gag on the air itself. It tastes metallic and salty. I cling to myself as a horrible feeling of dread washes over me.

    Hands shaking, heart racing, I turn the corner into the living room. My blood runs cold. My lungs struggle to find breath to scream.  I am frozen in complete horror. My brain refuses to register what I am seeing. Mom, Dad, Eric, each tied to a chair from the table; they have black, duct tape covering their mouths, and a single, red hole in each of their foreheads. Slick, crimson blood oozes down from them. Mother’s eyes are open. The once sparkling emeralds are now flat and empty. I want to scream, to cry, and to run. I cannot. I am stuck here, staring at the lifeless corpses of my family. Why? I think. Why? Just a while ago, they were alive and talking. They were fine. What happened? I don’t understand. My eyes scan the rest of the house. I am suddenly aware things are missing and askew. The flat screen TV is gone, our china hutch has been emptied, vases are smashed, and pictures lay thrown on the floor. “Robbed.” The word escapes my lips in a hushed tone. “We were robbed.” I look again to Mother. Her head hangs loosely to the side. She seems so empty. There is one, long purple bruise around her neck. The necklace, the robbers must have viciously pulled it off her. Now the jewel is gone. So is she. All of them are gone. My family is dead. These thoughts start making sense when another word comes to my mind: Orphan.

     My heart has stopped beating. I’m no longer trying to breath. When struck with tragedy, people are supposed to cry and scream. I can’t move. I know I should react. What do I do? I should call the police. I should have tears streaming down my face. I should let out a blood curdling scream. Instead, I stand like stone and stare.

     I don’t know how long I watch the limp bodies of my family. It feels like hours. Finally, I am able to move again. First, just clenching and unclenching my fists; then I try to walk. I feel numb. There are no thoughts in my head. I begin walking. I’m barely aware of the fact I’m going up the stairs. I don’t hear the solid thump my feet make against the hardwood steps. I don’t feel anything. Empty. The single word swims around in my mind.

 Somehow, I am standing in the bathroom again. I don’t remember coming in or slipping my robe off. My feet move without order. I throw my body into the shower. Shaking hands find the water knobs.  I only turn the hot on. At last, I feel something: the white-hot pain of boiling water. The shower head spits out fire. Skin sizzling, I collapse to the hard, porcelain floor as I faint away into black nothingness.