All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Part of Me Wants To Kill You Part one
I rubbed the sore bruises that constantly covered my arms and legs, my dirty uncut nails dug deep into my wrists drawing crimson beads of blood. I brushed my thick blonde hair slowly in the cracked mirror, getting rid of all the ugly tangles.
“I won’t do it, I won’t, I won’t.” I said through clenched teeth as a single tear ran down my cheek.
“Do it, things will be better for both of us.” Amy cooed in her soft hypnotic voice. It was very near impossible to argue with her. I had always done what she had told me; because what she told me to do never sounded like a bad idea, and doing what she told me always made me feel better. When I was six, she advised me in her sweet little angelic whispers to murder the neighbors’ dog, who had chased me down the street the day before. I did it and never regretted it my whole life. I even enjoyed doing it. Of course the things that Amy told me to do have never stretched as far as killing a person, or two people. This was the first time I have ever been unsure of something she told me to do.
I curled my hand into a fist, I knew she was right. Amy was always right. I pulled my fist back and swung it at the mirror. It shattered, the pieces dropping to the floor at my feet. I paid no attention to the pain in my right hand or the blood that ran in streams from my shaking fingers. I sat on the cold floor, listening for movement from Judy’s room. I heard nothing. I looked at the broken shards on the floor, my reflection looked jumbled up and frightening. I could feel Amy’s growing anger and frustration with me. It made me whimper a little, she had become more open with her resentment of me, as I became more easily controlled by her. I knew she would never badly hurt me though, she needed me.
I picked up a small shard of glass and held it tightly in my fingers; it would be so easy just to make it all end right now. Amy saw the thought flicker across my face in the mirror piece, and made me drop it. I bit down hard on my lip; the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth.
I stood up and proceeded down the stairs to the kitchen leaving a trail of red behind me. I let Amy take over at this point. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to kill my parents, me and Amy both had no problem with it, the part that worried me was hiding the bodies and getting caught. But that’s why Amy was in charge right now, she was the smart one. I was just along for the ride.
I grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and slipped them on. The first thing I did was opened the first aid kit that we kept under the sink and wrapped my bleeding hand. While I did this I reminded myself to get rid of the bloody mirror shard that had cut Ally’s hand. It was all crucial to the plan. I opened one of the drawers in the pristine kitchen and spent a moment debating on witch knife was the sharpest. I didn’t like mess.
I finally chose a small, sharp knife that we hardly ever used and held it tight in my hands. I smiled, something that I hardly ever did, and I seldom meant it. Without making a sound, I tiptoed up the stairs, following the blood-spattered trail that Ally had left. Silly Ally, I sighed, it was so easy to control you. I entered Judy and Andrew’s room, my shadow loomed over them.
I lifted Judy up, she wouldn’t wake, I had slipped at least five extra sleeping pills into her water before she went to bed. Even if she had been poisoned by them, it wouldn’t make a difference. I moved aside a couple empty wine bottles, all from today, and all gone.
I moved over to the other side of the bed, and stood over Andrew. I raised my blade above my head, over his stomach. I hovered there, not from hesitation; I wanted to savor the moment. For so many years I had wanted to do this. I brought the knife down. Warm blood spattered my hands, staining the clean blankets. His eyes opened, he barely let out a small strangled yelp. I memorized every moment, preserving it in my mind. I would be replaying this in my head for many years to come. Our eyes locked for a moment, shock, fear, and pain, were written all over his face,
I smiled, truly smiled, almost even laughed. Neither of us looked away, I didn’t blink until I could see the life leave his eyes. I took the knife out, blood continued to gush from the hole in his gut, dripping onto the rug. I walked over to Judy’s side of the bed and lifted her hand with my gloved one. I pressed her fingers to the handle, leaving her finger prints. I wrapped her hand around the handle and slit her throat. When the police investigated it would look like she killed him then herself. And I was just a helpless little innocent. Her eyes fluttered open; she made a small gurgling noise then went limp in my arms.
I smiled, and got up from the blood soaked bed. I carefully set the knife in her limp bloody hands. My clothes were wet and sticky, and my hair was tangled again. After about two hours when I had finally finished scrubbing the floors, trying to get Ally’s blood off of it, the sun had begun to rise. I dropped the bloody rags into the bucket of chemicals and went upstairs to have a shower. I brushed my hair, and put on clean pajamas. I put my bloody ones into the bucket and put the whole bucket into a garbage bag. I slipped on my shoes, and ran out to the back yard. There was a shovel in the shed. When I had finished digging, I dropped the evidence into the hole. With that buried, I went back into the house, and fell asleep.
I was awake, but I didn’t dare open my eyes. I was waiting, listening for the drunken shouts of my mother Judy or the yells of my abusive father Andrew. I heard nothing; I sighed and opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was me, well my reflection. Sitting in the palm of my hand was a piece of mirror. What the hell? I sat up straight in my bed. My hand throbbed with pain. I looked at my hand; it was wrapped up in gauze. I slowly turned it over in my hands, until I noticed that the side was covered in dried blood. I got out of bed and went down stairs, the mirror tucked into a pocket in the pajamas I didn’t remember putting on.
The house was always perfectly cozy and clean. When Judy wasn’t drinking she was cleaning or working in the garden. We lived in a cookie cutter neighborhood. All the lawns were mowed and the gardens flawlessly trimmed.
I peered into the living room, there was no one here. “
“Hello?” I shouted. My voice echoed in the fairy tale, house. I trotted up the stairs, acting oddly cheerful. I paused; Amy had something to do with this. I wasn’t worried; all that she did was for the best, for both of us. I peered into the hallway again; the floor creaked beneath my feet.
I suddenly stopped, and looked at the ground, the formerly white carpet and a slight pink trail on it, leading down the stairs. Odd, I had never noticed that before.