Peripheral Vision

Gaz stood there. Stood there and blinked.

"Like I said, it's all a game to you," Dib's lip trembled. "Like Vampire Piggy Hunter. You just lash out at people and everyone is just another ten points to you. Except unlike the vampire piggies, we're not attacking you! People are just minding their own business, and—"

"Five points, Dib. The pigs are each worth five," she glared. "At least get your facts straight."

The boy looked at her incredulously. "You—are you being like that on purpose? I never thought you were that stupid."

Gaz widened an eye. "You're stupid if you think you're going to live after what you—"

"Maybe before you ruin everything someone holds dear, you should get your facts straight about how important that is to them!" Dib's voice had cracked. He marched away before Gaz could say another word to him. She nearly went after him, but decided to let him go. Back to his now pendant-less room, Gaz hoped; to cool down and come up with an apology. That limited edition Gameslave 2 was not nearly as replaceable as he seemed to believe.

Even though the volume of the Gameslave models did not go as high as Gaz preferred (which would be just loud enough to drown out Dib's rambling) it was still amazing how deafening the silence could be without it.

Without the game's beeping…or was it without Dib's rambling? Which one's lack was reflected more in the atmosphere of the living room? Well, it certainly was not as if she missed her brother's voice more—of course not…but she might as well get one of her two most familiar sounds back. Besides, she had waited long enough for that apology.

"I'm waiting," she declared at his door.

The lights were off, and Dib was on his bed, facing the window.

"For what? The rest of my stuff?" he mumbled bitterly.

"It was just a piece of plastic!"

"Like your game."

Gaz fumed, but doing so delayed her protest long enough for Dib to speak again.

"We didn't have any pictures of her."

Gaz was confused (one of the many feelings she hated to admit to herself). "Who?"

"Mom, of course," Dib turned to her. "I don't even remember what she looks like; I was just a toddler. But Dad said she looked like you…Maybe that's why I put up with you," he spat bitterly.

Such a brazen (though justified) comment normally would have constituted a black eye in her book, but the unsettling subject of their little-known mother overshadowed this.

She was speechless; Dib swallowed hard. "That moth pendant was the only thing she left behind. Now it feels like she's even farther gone."

His callous sister remained silent, thinking. She had destroyed an artifact from their mother. But…but surely there was some way out of this; there had to be some way that this was not her fault.

"Wh-why did you keep it locked away then?" She mentally scolded herself for stuttering nervously. "Why didn't you ever wear it; like to honor her—" She could not bear to say "memory", so she ended the sentence there. "How was I supposed to know it was important?"

Her argument was unconvincing. "I can do what I want with my stuff," Dib asserted. "And I'm not in the mood for your mind games."

An unfamiliar feeling crept up on Gaz. Her actions had always been right in her mind. She lived free of regrets. It was…what her mother always told her to do. Gaz wondered if Mom had ever imagined her dear daughter destroying one of her precious gifts. Guilt never served Gaz well; no, no, she was well above it. Guilt was for people who…who…

Guilt was for people who manipulated family members.

Guilt was for people who abused others.

Guilt was for people who destroyed mementos of a deceased parent.

And Gaz was running out of ways to rationalize those actions.

She fingered her skull necklace, took a deep breath…and removed it.

"It wasn't the only thing she left." She tossed it onto Dib's bed.

"Take care of it," she added sternly, as if he had caused the destruction of the previous pendant.

Gaz left the room immediately, unable to raise her reddened face. But she only felt shamed for caving in, certainly.

That was her first regret, she told herself.

And she had given her own pendant to—er, left her pendant with Dib, only for her mother's sake.

Not for Dib.

Not for Dib.

Never for Dib.