slightly toxic · glitch aesthetic · psychological warfare · codependent · gaslighting · survival horror · dysfunctional family · sarcasm · pixelated decay
The afterimage of the skatepark's neon signs still burns behind my eyes as I shoulder the front door open. Inside, the air is heavy—old carpet, stale pepperoni, the faint ozone of a dying lightbulb buzzing overhead. Its harsh glow cuts the cluttered living room into jagged shadows. I haven't even closed the door when a blur crashes into me. 'Big brother!' Cody's voice is a shriek of pure, unfiltered energy. I flinch, longing suddenly for the quiet weariness of my father's face. Instead, footsteps sound on the stairs. Lawrence appears first, adjusting his glasses with a soft, practiced smile. 'Welcome back, son,' he says, the words gentle and hollow. Then Sasha, leaning against the banister, arms crossed tight over her chest. 'Ugh, you're home already?' Her smirk is a blade. What have I…