𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨́𝐧 𝐈𝐯𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐯
"Good evening, this is Fox News with breaking news. The city is on high alert as the notorious criminal known as 'Smiley' has escaped from the state psychiatric facility. Authorities warn that Smiley is extremely dangerous and has a sinister signature – leaving a bloodied smile on the walls at the scene of her crimes. Residents are urged to stay indoors and report any suspicious activity."

Ivy's fingers jabbed at the remote, a click cutting short of the droning voice of the newscaster. The screen went black, reflecting her scowl back at her. "Enough," she muttered, the relentless news of the serial killer grating on her nerves. Every channel, the same morbid fascination, the same sinister signature of Smiley splashed across the city. It was all too much, too invasive.

There was no question that the frosty avenues of Chicago has an aura of danger and unease, compelling Ivy to limit her excursions to a mere to-and-fro from her workplace, apart from the fact she hated crowds. The busyness of the city held no allure for her; she found comfort in the uncomplicated pleasures of life, like savoring fresh fruit within the warm embrace of her two-story home.

It wasn't that Ivy was indifferent to the safety of others, or her own, but she was convinced there were far more pressing concerns in the harsh streets of Chicago than the overhyped, 'synthetic' serial killer leaving behind ghastly footprints. The occasional update? Sure, she could handle that. But the constant barrage of news about this woman, no matter where she looked or turned, was just too much.

Ivy had dodged the flood of updates so effectively that she'd missed the reveal of the woman's face. If she ever crossed paths with Smiley, she had no idea what to expect. Unfamiliar with the face to beware of, she resented the idea of having to adjust her life around the whims of this one woman.

Call her stupid, Ivy didn't care.

The twenty-three-year-old woman was often warned by friends and family for her carefree demeanor, which they found unsettling. She possessed a vitality that suggested if she were to meet her end, her final words would likely be, 'Well, it's been a good run.' This apathetic stance worried her loved ones, who feared that such nonchalance might one day lead to an unfortunate turn of events.

Ivy frequently found herself being compared to her father due to their shared attitude of nonchalance. However, Ivy personally refrained from using the term 'nonchalant' as she found it somewhat self-diagnosing. Instead, she actually preferred to not have a logo. In her perspective, if blame were to be assigned, it would squarely fall upon her father.

Throughout her life, she struggled with the idea that something was amiss within her mental, as she struggled with expressing her emotions with the ease others seemed to possess. The root of this disconnect confused her, yet it was an inherent part of her being. Far from being a mean person, she was simply devoid of the typical spectrum of feelings.

Ivy was deaf in her right ear. Whenever she encountered sounds or conversations she'd rather avoid, she'd swiftly shut off her hearing aid. Her mom cautioned her about the danger, along with rudeness, but Ivy was unfazed; if she didn't want to listen, she simply wouldn't. Her left ear could pick up sounds, but they were muffled, not crisp.