Pauline was 15 years old the day she decided to kill her father.

Nothing special happened that day. She woke up about the same time she usually did. She ate the same breakfast of oatmeal and bananas she liked, packed her suitcase and set out on a road trip with her father.

They were driving from Missouri to Illinois for her grandmother’s funeral. It was her first ever road trip. It was supposed to be a fun drive. A time to explore all the states in-between their home and their destination. It was just the two of them by what she considered some carefully orchestrated happenstance. Her mother couldn't get the time off for the road trip. She would fly in and meet them in Illinois. She wondered if it was deliberate on her parents' part, having her spend time alone with her father. An attempt to repair their fractured relationship.

He had decided to take a more scenic route instead of the highway which meant the trip was taking almost twice as long. He gushed endlessly over things Pauline considered uninteresting and mundane.

She felt like a background actor in a movie or TV show. She was just there to fill the screen, make it look true to life, without any real purpose.

She was not irritated by his chirpiness like she usually was when he droned on endlessly about something he liked. What she felt was worse.

It was anhedonia.

The day was beautiful. Clear skies with fluffy clouds and endless verdant countrysides assaulted her eyes. But she felt cold and dead inside. The beauty of the day failed to capture her interest or fascination like her father. Suddenly, something he said made her realize the significance of this otherwise unimpressive day.

“There’s a fire truck on that lawn," he rattled on as he pointed to Pauline’s right, the long hairs on his arm brushing her cheeks lightly. Pauline felt a mix of Deja vu, nausea and dread hit her. She immediately rolled down the window to let the cool breeze hit her face, to help settle her stomach.

Red fire truck.

She had caught a glimpse of a red fire truck on that night. Her curtain was closed but a slight parting between gave her a peak of the street. A fire truck had raced by, horns blaring. She had distracted herself by focusing her thoughts on where the firefighters were possibly headed. Her mind took her back to the present, back to the car with her father, her heart raced violently and her palms felt sweaty.

She asked her father, “What's today’s date?” as she turned towards him.

“Why?” came his response as he took his eyes briefly off the road to glance at her.

“Never mind,” she said and turned towards her window to stare outside in silence again.

She knew what day it was. It was the anniversary of the incident. Something her parents decided to swipe under the carpet. The incident she couldn't stop thinking about.

It made her want to take off her skin like it was a dress made of fabric that was too itchy and uncomfortable.

She thought to herself, "favorite color? No idea. But his darkest secrets? Those I know well.”

For the last four months, she had been formulating a plan in her mind but now, she knew for sure she would go ahead with it.

She felt a sense of peace come over her, knowing that this would soon come to an end.