SKIP THE NOISE

Annie was already halfway dressed when she heard Tommie's bathroom door swing open.

"Morning, Sleeping Ugly," he called towel over his shoulder, hair damp and messy. "Thought you were gonna sleep through breakfast."

"Hardly," she said, brushing past him into the hallway. "I'd rather sleep through school than miss breakfast."

Tommie laughed, hopping into the kitchen ahead of her. "You have your priorities straight."

She smirked. "Someone's gotta keep the family brain cells balanced."

He plopped into a kitchen chair and grabbed a spoon, already eyeing the cereal.

"Y'know," he said between crunches, "I've been thinking."

Annie raised an eyebrow. "Miracles do happen."

"I'm serious," Tommie said, undeterred. "Like, what we wanna be. In life. When we grow up and stuff."

Annie blinked, surprised by his sudden introspection. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"I'm evolving," he declared, dramatically touching his heart. "Maybe I'll go to college. Maybe I'll eat cake for breakfast and become a CEO."

Annie laughed, and for a moment, the world felt simple. The normal that never really lasts.

Thalia hummed softly from the kitchen as she stirred the sauce. A song played from her phone, soft pop in the background until it wasn't.

The music cut off suddenly, replaced by a monotone voice:

"This is a national update. You may be entitled to survival assistance if your region-"

Thalia reached for the phone and skipped the ad too fast.

"Ugh. Ads are getting weird," she muttered.

Ethan looked up from his coffee and the newspaper. "End-of-the-world marketing. Can't sell peace anymore, so they sell panic."

They both chuckled.

But Annie just watched them, quietly chewing her toast. The message had been robotic like it wasn't meant for public ears-like someone had slipped it in by mistake.

She didn't say anything, but it stuck with her.

The bus smelled faintly of diesel and boredom. Annie leaned her forehead against the window, watching the town drift by in a blur of beige and leafless trees.

At school, the day unfolded like it always half-awake teachers, buzzing announcements, lockers slamming like percussion. But something about it all felt... thinner. Like the day itself had less gravity.

During math, her hand stopped mid-scribble.

A flash.

Not a thought. Not a dream.

Greenish lights. Metal walls. A scream-not hers, but near. A woman's voice chanting in a language she didn't know but somehow understood. A strap tightened across her chest.

She blinked hard. Her hand was trembling.

"Annie?" the teacher's voice cut in.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Migraine."

She stared at her paper. But the numbers didn't look like numbers anymore. For a moment, they looked like code.

That night, the air at home was warm and thick with garlic and tomato. Thalia had gone all out with dinner. Spaghetti. Garlic bread. The good parmesan.

Tommie slouched in his chair, poking at a meatball. Annie sat across from him, posture stiff, the journal still open on her lap.

"Can I stay home tomorrow?" Tommie asked mid-bite.

"No," Thalia and Ethan answered in unison.

Tommie grinned. "Worth a shot."

Ethan stood, grabbed a spoon like a microphone, and broke into song.

"We go on and onnnnn-

We are the champions, my frieeeends!"

Tommie doubled over laughing.

"You're insane," Annie said, smiling despite herself.

"Only for my A+ rockstar," Ethan said, ruffling her hair before sitting down.

After dinner, Thalia tucked Tommie into bed, and Annie helped Ethan clean the kitchen.

"Wow," he said, drying dishes. "We got stuck with cleanup again."

"You lost the coin toss," she replied, handing him a dripping plate.

He paused. "It's been a while since I've seen you smile."

She didn't respond right away. "Maybe I'm just tired."

He studied her a moment, then nodded. "We're leaving early tomorrow. Your mom and I have a work trip. About a week."

Annie stopped wiping the counter. "I figured. You've both been... busy."

"I need you to look after your brother. Be the strong one."

Annie gave him a mock salute. "Yes, Sergeant."

He laughed but there was something underneath. A weight in his eyes.

That night, the house dimmed.

Annie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting lightly on her journal. Her fingers had been twitching all evening. Writing didn't feel like enough. Not when the visions had returned. Closer.

Not when her father had smiled at her like he knew something she didn't.

Then another flash.

Not a memory. Not quite.

Metal walls. Bright white overhead light. A child's cry. Her name whispered through the static. A shadow near her was speaking in a familiar tone, but the voice was off. Delayed.

She sat upright, breath ragged. Her room was quiet, but the hairs on her neck stood up.

She rose and padded silently to the hallway. The study door was cracked just enough to see light seeping out.

Thalia's voice, hushed: "The activity is increasing."

Ethan: "They're just kids. They don't remember. And they don't need to."

A pause.

"They're stable. For now."

Annie's heart thundered in her ears. She backed away before they could hear her.

The next morning, a letter arrived in the mail.

Plain envelope. Government seal. No return address.

Annie watched as Thalia opened it, her expression unreadable.

Inside: a single page.

NATIONAL AWARENESS INITIATIVE

Preparedness begins with knowledge.

In the unlikely event of abnormal incidents:

- Stay calm.

- Stay indoors.

- Report all unusual activity.

- Do not attempt to confront or investigate unknown phenomena.

Thalia said nothing. She crumpled the paper and tossed it into the trash.

But Annie pulled it back out later that night, smoothing it on her desk.

The paper felt heavier than it should have. Like the words were holding something they couldn't say.

That night, she sat at her desk, fingers hovering over the page.

She didn't know what was coming.

But she knew it wasn't far.

The hallway light flickered once overhead, casting a faint glow across the pale blue carpet. Their house wasn't fancy—just a modest two-bedroom tucked into a quiet suburb with creaky floors and walls thin enough to hear when the neighbors sneezed. But to Annie, it had always felt like a halfway home—comfortable but temporary.

Later that night, a loud slap echoed from their shared bedroom.

"Hey! What are you writing?" Tommie barked, slapping Annie's knee for the third time.

"Heyyyy, are you ignoring me?" *SLAP.*

"STOP!" Annie snapped, springing up from her bed.

Tommie laughed until Annie swung a pillow and smacked him square in the arm. He retaliated fast—too fast—and hit her in the face with his hand.

The scuffle exploded from there—pillow swings, kicks, and grunts. Neither one backing down.

From the kitchen, the sounds were clear.

Ethan sighed from behind the newspaper. "Welp. They're back at it."

Thalia, halfway through basting garlic bread, slammed the oven mitt down. "Damnit."

She stormed toward the room and flung the door open—her face already tight with frustration. "HEY!"

Both Annie and Tommie froze mid-fight. Their faces told the whole story—guilt, stubbornness, and something deeper: confusion about each other.

"You two only have each other!" Thalia said, her voice sharp. "Start acting like it!"

Tommie huffed. "She doesn't even love me. She's not my real sister!"

The words hit harder than any slap.

Thalia gasped. "Tommie, you don't mean that."

"Of course he does," Annie muttered, retreating to her bed.

Thalia examined the faint scratch on Tommie's cheek. She looked between the two and let out a long breath. "Dinner's in ten."

Annie didn't respond. Her journal was already open again.

Moments later, Ethan poked his head into the room. "Hey, kiddo."

Annie glanced up, then away.

"You okay?"

"No."

He chuckled softly. "Stupid younger siblings, huh?"

Annie didn't laugh.

"He's gonna need you one day, y'know. More than either of you realize."

Annie remained quiet, the words not fully sinking in—but some part of her filed them away.

She kept writing long after he left, her pen digging deeper into the page.

Dinner that night felt quieter than usual, the kind of silence that fills a room when words hang heavy in the air. Tommie twirled his fork in his spaghetti, sneaking glances at Annie across the table, but she didn't look up. Her eyes were fixed on her plate, her face unreadable.

Ethan tried to keep things light. "So, how was school today?"

"Fine," Annie muttered, barely loud enough to hear.

"Mr. Jacobs wore his toupee backward," Tommie said, trying to get a laugh. "It looked like a baby possum died on his head."

Thalia raised an eyebrow. "Tommie…"

"What? It's true!"

Ethan chuckled under his breath, then caught Thalia's glare and cleared his throat. "Anyway. Annie, didn't you have a history project due today?"

She gave a tight nod. "Turned it in early."

"That's my girl," he said, nudging her arm gently. She didn't pull away, but she didn't smile either.

Later that night, as Annie stood brushing her teeth, she stared at her reflection longer than usual. Her eyes looked darker somehow. Tired. The flashes hadn't come back, but she felt them like pressure behind her eyes—waiting.

She glanced at the hallway behind her in the mirror.

Nothing.

Still, she shut the door before going to bed, just in case.