Chapter Text
I stared at my hands, bloodied, and wondered, not for the first time, if what I did was worth it. If killing my parents was worth it, but then I remembered.
I was free. I got away from that manipulative, neglectful and outright abusive household, and I had my sister with me. It was worth it, even if I knew I didn’t get away unscathed. Even if I knew the events that occurred would leave me scarred forever.
I was reassured even more when I heard little Acedele squeal and clap her chubby hands, I was never going to regret killing our parents when I knew I had kept my little sister from being in an abusive household with wretched horrible parents.
I knew that she would have to grow up one day, that one day she would go through pain, through shame and fear. That one day she would not love the world, that one day she would hate it because of what humans made it.
But that didn’t stop me from enjoying our time together while she was still innocent, still oblivious to the injustices of the world. I hoped that there would always be that one spark of innocence in her heart.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and gazed at the sky, baby blue with fluffy clouds. The sun beamed down on the world, illuminating everything it reached, light green grass flourishing under its gaze.
I closed my eyes and listened to Acedele’s squeals of delight and her adorable babbling, using her happiness to keep myself grounded.
Breathe in. Hold for four. Breathe out. Repeat. I continued with my morning ritual, except I decided to switch it up a little. I imagined myself at my parents' dining room at the family manor with the twinkling chandelier and the formal dining table with plush chairs around it. Two taller plush chairs at each head of the table. No windows, soundproof room, perfect for a murder. It helped that the servants weren’t allowed in apart from the beginning of the meetings to serve the food.
My mind flashed back to last night. Blood, on the walls, the table, the food, on me. Screams of “how could you!?” And cries of pain coming from my parents. I didn’t stop. I plunged the knife into my mother’s throat, pale ivory skin broken and bloodied. She fell to the floor. Dead.
I moved onto my father, he had no weapons on him, never having been one to get his hands dirty. Always let my mother do the punishing while he expressed his displeasure verbally, abusing me with words. Those always hurt more. I still felt echoes of his words in my head. Of him degrading me. Mother’s punches and hair pulls always healed. Father’s didn’t.
I observed him with a sneer as he cowered at my feet. Disgust and satisfaction simmering inside me. I stabbed him in the head. Ripped one of his eyes out. He fell too. Dead.
Blood poured out of his eye and head as lay there. On the ground. Unmoving. Dead.
I was young, barely 10 with my little sister being 1 and I was already tainted by the blood and pain that came with killing someone yourself. A personal death. Two.
I leaned forward, and vomited. That was too much, I thought distantly. Too much too soon. I vomited again, gagging, once my bloodied hands, red dripping on the floor flashed in my mind. I swiped the vomit off my mouth and stood.
I looked at where my little sister lay and smiled, though it probably looked more like a grimace. I looked at her ripping grass out from the ground and chattering to herself happily and knew. we were out.
Free.