The Moths

By , Dix Hills, NY
May it be learned as my final lesson is taught, that I am in plain well mental health, contrary to popular belief. Twas not the paranormal nor my mental instability that “made” me kill her. It was my sheer genius and guilt - yes, guilt. Guilt not for this incident, but for my very existence.

I was an accident, as was the little girl. My parents had not expected me to come along, nor did they want me. I spent my whole life up till this point being a burden on them, and from this I felt a sense of guilt. I was sorry for my being - my utter pestilence upon their being. I have longed to disappear, to rid my parents of the great burden thrust upon them by me. All this I saw in the little girl. She lived next door and I had seen her with her parents many times. They were rough with her just as mine are with me. Her behavior drew me to her like a fluttery moth to flame. She was quiet but had a shade of black that I could see as if it were colored on her forehead. I forced my young gullible sister over to their home many a time, and told her to bring the girl back for my keeping.

In my chambers, we discussed her relationship with the two who bore her. She explained that she wished they could lead happier lives in her innocent ignorance. She didn’t know how this could effect the rest of her short lived life. We devised a plan to get us both out of our misery. Me, being older, would kill her during one of our rendezvous. Preceding, I would dig two graves. One for the girl and one for myself - for after her life had been ended, my journey should have terminated too. We waited months and many rendezvous’ before we could carry out our genius plan.

The beautiful midnight finally came. My sister had brought the girl over for a slumber party. The girl ran up to my room sat in my closet silently as rehearsed. My sister took leave and said goodbye to me as she left which she never did before. How odd? I briskly took my wire coat hanger and thrust it upon her throat. I then grabbed a kitchen knife I had been storing in my drawer and swiftly glided it across her throat. For added effect, I jabbed her in the stomach a few times. The first deed had been done. I was overjoyed at myself, for the little girl was now free of the guilt. I remarked at my marksmanship for each wound was beautifully carved and her body carefully painted red.

I gently lifted her up to carry her to her resting spot of eternal relief. As we danced down the hallowed halls, my sister came crying up the stairs. I had to think of another way out. I leaped out the window with my young friend in my arms to find a wall of policemen lining her grave, as well as mine. In shock, I dropped her down and uttered “I wanted to know what it felt like--” they had cut me off. I wanted say: “I wanted to know what it felt like to be free of guilt and the utter punishment of that my parents had thrust upon me, and the same for Her.” All they got out of me was “I wanted to know what it felt like”, it makes me seem quite shallow right? Damn them.

As I conclude my lesson, let it be known that the girl is now free, and so am I. There is no more guilt - and not the slightest remorse for what I have done. My sentence will tear me from my home until I am released of my life. My parents are now free of the burden I have thrust upon them. My prison is now my freedom.





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