Chapter Text
TULSA OKLAHOMA, 1953.
The Randle family. 2 breadwinners and their currently 5 year old daughter.
Gabriela Randle, the mother.
Antonio Randle, the father.
And Santina Randle, the daughter.
A picture perfect family, a good house, good living. They were Socs.
—
“Mommy..?” A small voice calls up the steps, the little Randle trying to find her mother. Her father was yelling about something in the kitchen. He wasn't drunk, he didn't used to like alcohol.
Santina was quite spooked honestly, she didn't like when her father yelled. He was a loud, easily angered man. Although he never used to take it out on her.
He just had anger issues. But he still loved Santina more than anything.
When she doesn't get a response, she begins ascending the steps. Slowly, one at a time. They usually creak and groan, although she's much too light to put enough pressure on them for that.
It took a moment, the steps were a bit long. Well.. They were long for a little 5 year old girl, spooked out of her mind and trying to make as little noise as possible.
She pads down the hall, feet barely making a sound against the hardwood floor. First she checks her mom's room. Mom and Dad didn't sleep in the same room. So it really was just Mom's room. But she's not in there.
Santina freezes when she hears her dad shout again.
“GABRIELA!! WHERE THE FUCK IS THE KNIFE?!”
Santina doesn't know why he's yelling about that. It's just a knife? She probably needed it to cut something.
She did.
Santina whimpers quietly, and sneaks out of her mom's room, before continuing on her search. One room after the next, until it's just the bathroom.
Ah!
She's just using the restroom, of course. Santina should've realized that.
So she waits outside the door for a moment. But she's quickly confused. Why is mom crying?
Santina doesn't move. She's only 5, she can't comfort people. She'll just have to wait a bit longer.
And so she does.
1 minute goes by.
Then 2.
Then 3.
Then it's been 10, and the crying had stopped by the 8 minute mark.
Finally Santina just pushes open the door, and is confused to see her mom's head sticking out of the bathtub. She looks oddly pale, still. Eyes wide and her jaw slack.
She gets closer. And her confusion morphs into something else. Worry.
Her mom.. Her arms are sliced open and bleeding. She's not breathing. And the knife is in one of her hands.
“...mommy..?”
Santina shakes her. Once, twice. She's dead, of course. She had been since the 8 minute mark.
And Santina just breaks down sobbing.
Her mom is dead.
And Santina's life? It's all downhill from here.