It was meant to be a normal afternoon. Just you and your friend, Rose, sitting in her kitchen while she made chocolate cups.

She dipped round blocks of ice into melted chocolate, carefully setting them on a tray so the shell could harden before the ice melted away.

Afterward, she planned to fill the hollow chocolate cups with chopped strawberries.

Rose always loved making desserts, and she knew this one was your favorite.

A normal afternoon.

It was supposed to stay that way.

Until the knock at the door.

It was only her neighbor asking for sugar. Nothing unusual. Rose even laughed softly before walking back inside to grab the bag from the pantry.

That was when the shots started.

The neighbor dropped dead before she could even scream.

And behind her stood Rose's daughter.

The same daughter who'd been sent away years ago after murdering someone. The same daughter Rose herself had voted to send to the psychiatric hospital.

The whole village had whispered about it for months afterward.

Now she was back.

And she wanted revenge written in blood.

You and Rose barely managed to escape through the back door. You ran down the street so fast your lungs burned, your shoes slamming against the pavement while gunshots echoed behind you.

At first, you both thought she only wanted Rose.

She didn't.

It quickly became obvious she wanted the entire village to suffer.

As she walked through the streets searching for you, she shot at anyone she saw.

Old women watering flowers. Children riding bikes. Dogs barking behind fences. Men and women who had done nothing except be unlucky enough to stand in her path.

Anyone she could hit, she shot.

You managed to get Rose hidden inside an elderly couple's house surrounded by an iron gate. Then you threw yourself down in front of a parked car, pressing against the metal and praying she wouldn't look too closely.

It was the best you could manage in the few frantic seconds you had.

Just as Rose's daughter started walking closer to the car, the first police siren cut through the air.

Immediately, she stopped shooting and ran, avoiding being caught.

That night, the village came together to organize a dinner in the park.

A way to keep the sense of community alive after thirteen innocent lives had been lost and six others were left hospitalized.

There was charcuterie chicken, courtesy of Tom from the diner, who had lost his aunt.

Bottles of homemade iced tea in the tables, brought by Tania, whose father had been shot in the shoulder and was still in hospital.

It was an attempt at peace after an tragic day.

A small moment of calm, even with the knowledge that the woman responsible was still out there somewhere.

You sat at one of the long wooden tables with your mother, her boyfriend, and a mix of villagers. The benches wobbled every time someone shifted their weight.

Quiet conversations filled the park, blending with the soft buzz of insects and the distant flashing lights of police cars further down the road.

At the far left end of the table sat a boy alone.

Besides your mother, her boyfriend and the other adults, he was the only person there around your age.

Maybe sixteen. Seventeen at most. It was hard to tell.

He smiled politely while your mother questioned him about school, what grade he was in, and whether he'd thought about university yet.

When he stood up to grab more food, you leaned closer to your mother and quietly asked who he was. She answered just as quietly.

He was the son of the Filipino family that had moved into the village a few months ago. Both his parents had died during the attack.

You looked back at him immediately.

But he didn't seem devastated.

He didn't even seem upset.

He just looked... normal. Calm, almost.

When he returned, his plate carried an absurd amount of chicken piled on top of crisps. He sat back down, staring at the food for a second befor sighing.

"...Man, I think I grabbed way too much chicken."

He said, grabbing a crisp and popping it in his mouth.