To ring in the New Year, Sarah decided she didn’t want fireworks or a frantic countdown of grapes. She wanted something she could feel on her skin, something that would be etched in Dad’s memory as a delicious madness. Something unusual. Something that would express everything she’d bottled up inside all day.

The night was warm, conspiratorial. The bathroom was dimly lit by candles and stifled laughter. Sarah appeared barefoot, with that look that always foreshadowed trouble… the good kind. In her hands, she carried a hose, unexpected. Dad raised an eyebrow, intrigued, unsure whether to laugh or brace himself.

“Trust me,” she said with a mischievous grin.

I couldn’t hold back, and first I let out the pile of shit. Then she shoved the hose down my throat to flush out all the vomit, playing with the surprise.

Dad had never seen her like this: free, daring, brazen. She held nothing back. Everything she’d been holding inside burst forth in impulsive movements and a wild energy that completely captivated him. She emptied it all from her stomach and swallowed it again and again; that was the intention. It was Sarah’s way of surrendering to the moment without any shame.

When she’d emptied it all, she placed it on her body, and silence returned. They both knew she would be forgotten. Because it wasn’t just a moment of madness… it was a declaration.

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