MISS
ALM 92, August 2026
SHORT STORIES
“I never thought I’d say this, but I miss my real family.”
Kayla Larose looked down at the floor in her foyer. An expensive kind of marble, one that chipped easily and scuffed constantly. It was installed when she was a child. She’d marvel at how shiny it was, tracing her delicate fingers across the lines and waiting for the pattern to end.
Cold prickled her skin as she placed a palm down. She traced again, feeling the grittiness on her index finger. The floor was dirtier than it had ever been. Mother would scold her if she could see it.
“She’d scold everything I’m doing now,” Kayla said. “My mother, that is. She always needed something out of me. She always wanted perfection.”
That got her to an early grave. Right where Kayla’s body would be buried beside her.
She dragged her finger farther away and didn’t stop until she touched the maroon liquid that soiled the white marble. It was warm.
“But no one’s perfect.” She tilted her head. “You weren’t, were you?”
The corpse slumped on the wall across from her didn’t respond. Kayla swirled her finger around the blood puddle, taking in the crimson splattered above his body and speckled on his face. Nothing was behind his eyes, but she imagined his last moments were either in fear or sadness. She hadn’t seen anyone angry yet at their fate. That was smart of them. Anger led to defense, and fighting never ended well for the corpses in her house.
Kayla retracted her finger from the puddle, staring at the red under her perfectly manicured nails. If it were a month ago, she would’ve been sobbing—not only about the dead person but about the ruined nail set out of her expenses. Stuff like that didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered much.
She shakily hauled herself from the floor and wiped her finger on the cream-colored wall.
Kayla wasn’t surprised when she came back from the party and found a body waiting for her. It was a regular occurrence.
The first time it happened, she promised to do everything they told her to do. She’d eat and drink only when allowed to; she’d never stop talking to people, and she’d always be smiling. That was, until she came home with another person dead, this time lying on her couch. Apparently, she looked at someone funny.
Whatever she did, she’d always be at fault, and they’d never stop killing or sending her threats about being the next lifeless person. But Kayla knew they needed her too much to end her life. So the next best thing was ending others around her.
The victim appeared to be in his early 20s, just like her. A bullet in the chest, most likely hitting a lung and making him heave as blood rushed out of his gaping wound.
Her high heels clacked and splashed in the sticky puddle, sweeping his sandy hair away to reveal his complexion.
His eyes were a rich brown but turned dull with more time spent dead. He had a few freckles littering his face, and his jawline was pronounced.
Kayla squeezed his slightly muscled arms and trailed her hand over the tattoo on his collarbone.
Similar height and weight. The brown in his eyes was more like anything she’d seen yet. The hairstyle wasn’t bad either.
Congratulations, number eight. He got to stay here a little bit longer.
Kayla kneeled and carried him. Her feet wobbled, almost knocking her off balance, until she leaned against the wall with the man in her arms, taking a deep sigh of relief.
She didn’t need a repeat of what happened to number six.
Once she caught her breath, she walked out of the foyer and gripped him tighter in her arms. His facial features remained soft. It was as though she carried a baby of her own.
What made the higher-ups choose to kill him? Was he a drug dealer? Did he get too close to the truth?
If it were the latter, he was a better candidate than she thought.
Kayla turned the corner into the dining room, where three people sat, waiting for her to come home. She cringed as she made eye contact with Brother. She hated this part.
Kayla laid the fresher man on the table while keeping eye contact with the corpse that sat in Brother’s seat, recoiling at the wafting stench. Expensive perfumes were bad enough, but she didn’t realize how awful rotting flesh smelled until she arrived back home. After all, she’d been living with this brother for two weeks. It was time to let him go. He didn’t look much like the real thing anyway.
She carefully untied the knots on Brother’s bony wrists, which were a ghostly pale with green undertones beneath. What Kayla used for restraints were Mother’s dainty hand towels, which were only for special occasions. It wasn’t like the dead people were going to fight against their respective roles, so she made them comfortable as they stayed in place. She remembered the first time Father couldn’t sit straight any longer, and his head banged on the table, waking her up in a fright. Even though she hated the towels when everyone was alive, her family had to stay upright.
Once Brother was no longer restrained, she stared at him one last time. When he was there to welcome her at the beginning, his glossy eyes were a dashing blue, and tears had dried on his cheeks. That was what drew Kayla to him. She wondered how he’d react to being discarded by this family.
She held his frigid hand and grabbed his hip, hauling him up. Kayla supported his body as she limped to the window, while his legs dragged behind him. She rested him on the wall before sliding the glass open and felt the warm summer air. Grabbing Brother once again, she smiled and ruffled his hair before pushing him out of the house. She was still on the first story, so the fall wasn’t huge, but the impact cracked his brittle skull and bones. Kayla didn’t waste a moment more when she walked back into the dining room and tied the new Brother to his chair.
Exhausted, she collapsed in her seat and admired the people around her.
Father, on the left across from her, was too stubborn to tell her he was dying. They always butted heads in the past, but he was proud of her. He didn’t show it often, yet she knew he was. He was strict because he cared. Because he knew she’d end up like this. His corpse in the chair looked the most accurate of all the bodies. A guy in his mid-40s, with darker brown hair, the same type of businessman's glasses, and lines of stress across his face. She missed him.
Mother, next to Father, was complicated. She didn’t realize how Mother was another victimized woman in a tight dress that no one really listened to until Kayla was in her place. She thought Mother picked out her gowns, but the higher-ups picked them—just like they’re picking everything else for Kayla. What a trapped way to live and what a sad way to die. The only thing she envied about Mother was her undying love for Father, so much so that she sacrificed everything for Brother, who, near the end, resembled the one man she loved. The corpse in Mother’s chair had the same-colored hair, but nothing else about her resembled Mother. Not that it mattered. Mother kept her head down. God, did Kayla hate her sometimes. She hated how well she understood. And now more than ever, she hated how much she missed being in her arms.
Brother, beside Kayla, was a traitorous coward who ran away. He wasn’t truly dead, but he was in her eyes. There was no other way to see it. All those times they smiled and joked, all those times they spent their childhood together, were ripped away in seconds when he left and never came back. She still couldn’t stomach his betrayal, even half a year later, especially because she loved him the most. And she thought he loved her the same way. But damn it, after everything, she missed him, too.
Kayla looked away from the man and gazed at the burgundy stain under her nail.
And Sister. Sister was her. Sister was her past self when she used to grit her teeth at the notion of a Sunday family dinner, when she enjoyed being brash and getting her way.
A sob escaped her mouth before she could register her crying. Kayla hid her face so her family couldn’t see how weak she was. Did they miss her as much as she missed them? Or was she just as pathetic as when they were all alive?
Kayla cried until she couldn’t breathe. She cried until the water in her system was drained because of the flood from her eyes. She cried until she drifted off to sleep, wishing she would never wake up. She missed them.
She missed everything.
Kayla Larose also missed how Brother twitched his fingers to reach out, daring to miss her, too.
Anna Fletcher is a Full Sail University student, pursuing her Bachelor's in Creative Writing. She resides in Delaware with her family and two cats. When not writing, she always searches for new things to read and watch. She is excited to accomplish her dreams and gain more experience in the industry.
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