{"id":2690,"date":"2026-08-13T06:47:36","date_gmt":"2026-08-13T10:47:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/?p=2690"},"modified":"2026-08-13T06:47:36","modified_gmt":"2026-08-13T10:47:36","slug":"happy-family","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/happy-family\/","title":{"rendered":"Happy Family"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u00a0<\/span>In a dark, swampy forest that sunlight never reached, past gnarled cypress trees and\u00a0 the hoarse croaking of bullfrogs, there was once a lonely mansion. The home of the\u00a0 happy Arcni family. Salem, the eldest. Vaughn, the middle. Lebetsa, the youngest. Three\u00a0 happy sisters.
\n\u00a0<\/span>Salem was strict and firm. The matriarch of the family, having taken the role upon\u00a0 herself following the death of their parents ten years prior. She oversaw most of the\u00a0 mansion\u2019s affairs, and made sure her sisters were well-fed. Vaughn was flighty, a bit\u00a0 scatterbrained, but always sharp when the time came to focus on an important task at\u00a0 hand. The eldest sisters were painters, who believed to paint was to live, and to suggest\u00a0 otherwise was an insult to their family. Lebetsa, timid and shy, did not share their ardent\u00a0 passion. Mastering the piano, playing melodies that would move and inspire awe in the\u00a0 masses. She believed that was her calling, and wished to one day write and perform her\u00a0 own music. This was to the great displeasure of her sisters.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>\u201cDo you understand? Painting is our purpose. Our reason to be.\u201d Salem would crow\u00a0 again and again. \u201cIf you cannot capture the essence of life on a canvas, what good is your\u00a0 life, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>Painting was the family\u2019s tradition, and had been so since time immemorial. It was\u00a0 not uncommon for the work of an Arcni to receive the highest accolades imaginable, with\u00a0 the expectation that they would inspire countless artists for generations to come. Salem\u2019s\u00a0 most recently finished abstract piece, \u201cWhat The Fire Sees,\u201d had been sold for a lavish\u00a0 price at a high-end auction, and Vaughn was set to have her \u201cMelancholia\u201d collection\u00a0 soon displayed in worldwide exhibitions. They believed that Lebetsa was meant for a\u00a0 similar life of greatness, and so every day for five hours at a time, they sat her down in\u00a0 front of a blank canvas and stuck a brush between her fingers. And every day for five\u00a0 hours at a time, Lebetsa mourned all the time she could have spent practicing songs,\u00a0 humming sweetly along to the tunes the keys would sing out each time she pressed them.\u00a0 But even so, she painted. She hoped to make her sisters proud.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>In moments of instruction and demonstration, Lebetsa would watch the way her\u00a0 sisters held their brushes. Their motions were graceful, effortless. The colors blended\u00a0 magnificently, and they brought any matter of subjects to life with ease. Even young\u00a0 Lebetsa could understand she was watching masters of their craft at work. But she, on the\u00a0other hand, was clumsy. Her hand, unsteady, her compositions, lacking. There was always\u00a0 something missing, a fact her sisters never failed to remind her of. Again and again,\u00a0 Vaughn would ask if she was truly paying attention, if painting was truly that important to\u00a0 her. Lebetsa answered with honesty every time.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>\u201cYes, sister. I wish to make you and Salem proud.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>And every time, Vaughn would frown disapprovingly before resuming the lesson.\u00a0 Such unconcealed disappointment felt like a knife to an open wound in Lebetsa\u2019s heart.\u00a0 The look in Vaughn\u2019s eyes never left her mind.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>\u201cWhy do they look at me like that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>Lebetsa wanted to prove herself more than anything. She soon began a personal\u00a0 project, one she kept hidden from her sisters. She took notes during lessons, studied color\u00a0 theory, tone, and rhythm, and closely analyzed the works of famous painters. She\u00a0 continued to practice more and more, hoping to at least keep a steady hand throughout\u00a0 her efforts. Her lessons were already taxing enough, and she knew she was losing more\u00a0 and more precious time that could be spent on piano. But she believed such sacrifices\u00a0 would be worth it in the end, if only she could please her sisters with her work, if only\u00a0 she could be looked at as if she were more than a mere insect, if only just this once.
\n\u00a0<\/span>At last, the painting was complete. The title, \u201cHappy Family.\u201d It was a portrait of\u00a0 Lebetsa and her sisters, done primarily from memory and photographs, as to use her\u00a0 sisters as live subjects would ruin the surprise. She eagerly guided them to the studio,\u00a0 confident they would finally recognize her efforts. Upon viewing the finished work,\u00a0 Salem pursed her lip, and furrowed her brow. Vaughn\u2019s arms were crossed, and she\u00a0 looked bemused. The silence in the air was suffocating. Lebetsa was grateful when Salem\u00a0 finally broke it, but her gratitude quickly vanished once she heard Salem\u2019s words.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>\u201cHm\u2026 I find it a bit pedestrian. As per usual, your colors are rubbish. And your\u00a0 choice not to use us as live subjects was a foolish one. You utterly failed to capture our\u00a0 likeness. I would suggest a do-over, Lebetsa.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>That selfsame look from before. Eyes full of discontent. The wound in Lebetsa\u2019s\u00a0 heart grew in freshness and size. Yet still did she love her sisters. She truly did. A tiny part of her envied them, also. And an even tinier, so easily unnoticed part of her\u00a0 absolutely despised them.
\n\u00a0<\/span>That was why, when Lebetsa learned one fateful night that both of her elder sisters\u00a0 had passed away in an accident while on a business trip abroad, a thought crossed her\u00a0 mind. Only for a moment, and it left as quickly as it arrived.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>\u201cAh, what a relief.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>Sickness with herself soon consumed her entire being. She wanted to vomit. How\u00a0 could she be so cruel? They were her sisters, who had looked after and cared for her since\u00a0 their parents had passed all those years ago. She was sure they loved her. They must have\u00a0 cherished her. But then, Lebetsa felt eyes boring into her skull, and thought of how they\u00a0 looked at her. That look. That look in their eyes, always so disapproving and full of\u00a0 disdain, always singing her inadequacies to the high heavens. Always, always, always\u00a0 disappointed. Even in their absence, Lebetsa could see it. Watching her every move.
\n\u00a0<\/span>Lebetsa held her head in her hands, pressed fingers deep into her temple, and felt\u00a0 something within her break. And thus did she make the decision to continue what was\u00a0 expected of her. She painted.
\n\u00a0<\/span>She painted, and painted, and painted. She painted until her nails cracked. She\u00a0 painted until her fingers bled. She painted until oil coated her hair and skin. The studio\u00a0 had become her new living quarters; to reside anywhere else was unthinkable. Every\u00a0 moment was one that was wasted if not spent on painting. Yet none of it was anywhere\u00a0 near enough. There was always a spot that needed touching up, always some tiny little\u00a0 error that ruined the composition. It was never, ever enough.
\n\u00a0<\/span>Eventually, the mansion itself had become her canvas. She grabbed every bucket or\u00a0 tube of paint she could find, and began to spread them out in every inch of the mansion.\u00a0 Anything within her sight was an opportunity to paint, to capture the essence of life, to\u00a0 express herself and her emotions. She forsook her brushes, and began painting with her\u00a0 hands. Paint had begun to seep into her dry, cracked fingers, but it was of no concern to\u00a0 her. A splash of mahogany on the dining table. Jade, for Salem\u2019s study. Maybe a bit of\u00a0 lilac for the library? It mattered not. Indiscriminate, wild creativity was all she had left.\u00a0 Had she ever had anything else to begin with?
\n\u00a0<\/span>When she finished coating the parlor, she grabbed a poker from the fireplace, and\u00a0 dragged it against the fur carpet she had slathered in various shades of maroon, shuffling\u00a0 towards the piano her sisters had forbidden her from playing. She had once adored that\u00a0 piano, and remembered all the nights she snuck into the parlor to quietly play it. How sweet every press of a key felt, how joyous it was to initiate understanding and\u00a0 conversation between her and the music she played. And then she remembered Salem\u2019s\u00a0 words when she was eventually caught, the scolding that haunted her like a ghost that\u00a0 clung to her heart.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>\u201cEnough with this foolishness. It isn\u2019t meant for you. It never will be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it had always been nothing more than a decoration. A\u00a0 mere distraction, a reminder of what could never be. Lebetsa raised the poker into the air\u00a0 before swinging it down into the keys. The sound was horrid. Out of tune, out of key,\u00a0 never good enough. Lebetsa had heard it countless times before; she knew it well. She\u00a0 laughed, or possibly screamed, until her voice was hoarse, swinging the poker up and\u00a0 down again and again, transfiguring a mess of wood, strings and scattered keys. As the\u00a0 piano began to fall apart, Lebetsa made a wish deep within her heart. A wish that if only\u00a0 then, upon the destruction of the worthless thing, they would finally, finally stop looking\u00a0 at her like that.
\n\u00a0<\/span>She collapsed once it was over, heaving as she stared at the ruins of what was once\u00a0 her beloved piano. Scattered pieces of it had been splashed with color from the carpet. It\u00a0 could be likened to an abstract painting, the kind her sisters had painted in front of her\u00a0 again and again. Tears streamed down her face, and she smiled.
\n\u00a0<\/span>Lebetsa was sure her sisters would be proud.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0In a dark, swampy forest that sunlight never reached, past gnarled cypress trees and\u00a0 the hoarse croaking of bullfrogs, there was once a lonely mansion. The home of the\u00a0 happy Arcni family. Salem, the eldest. Vaughn, the middle. Lebetsa, the youngest. Three\u00a0 happy sisters. \u00a0Salem was strict and firm. The matriarch of the family, having … Continue reading Happy Family<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4227,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[6854],"tags":[],"issue":[6885],"class_list":["post-2690","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","issue-6885"],"publishpress_future_action":{"enabled":false,"date":"2026-08-22 15:15:02","action":"change-status","newStatus":"draft","terms":[],"taxonomy":"category","extraData":[]},"publishpress_future_workflow_manual_trigger":{"enabledWorkflows":[]},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2690","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4227"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2690"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2690\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2693,"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2690\/revisions\/2693"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2690"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2690"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2690"},{"taxonomy":"issue","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gcc.mass.edu\/plum\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/issue?post=2690"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}