Revenge

Prolouge

I could feel myself tossing and turning in bed all through the night, I was alert of the cries I made throughout the night, up until the very moment I woke up from that same dream I'd been having nearly every night since the disaster took place...

Well, that's what most people would call it, but in my words it was much worse, beyond what words could describe. The closest word that could describe it is traumatizing, and I was stuck in that cycle, that traumatizing night, the screams and cries for help ringing in my ears, fresh tears falling down my cheeks, red from fright and sadness like the event was happening over again, and my hands would shake, and they still do sometimes when I think back just far enough to see my mothers face for the last time, as she cried out, begging me to run and hide. 

You see, most children have something that may traumatize them, usually only for a couple of months or years, probably insignificant like the death of their goldfish that their dad had won them at the carnival, but my traumatizing experience was one that would haunt me for my entire life. It did, like my example, involve death, but instead of the poor goldfish, it was my mother and father. See, most people go through the death of their parents at one point in their life, but that point in life for me was fifteen years ago when I was six years old. I'm twenty-one now, and most people would be out drinking and partying, but I occupy my time with research and trying to keep my life stable.

Most people die from Cancer or old age, but my parents were unfortunate, and to this day I'm still trying to figure out why I had to witness their horrific deaths as they took place in our small family room so many years ago, watching in pure shock and fear as Mr.Bear fell from my tiny, shaking hands. It wasn't until one of our neighbors came through the front door that I was slightly aware of anything other than the two familiar bodies laid out in front of me. I think her name was Mrs. Harris, the elderly woman who had came through the door, her face holding the same look of fear and shock as I would assume mine had. But by the time anyone could be of any help the killer was long gone, or I think he was, how long I stood staring at the lifeless bodies before I took note of any other surroundings was unknown to me. It wasn't until the sirens came that I had realized anything other than my parents' bodies. I shook myself into reality as I was rushed outside by a police officer, and he was speaking to me, trying to comfort me, but all I saw was my parents' bodies being hauled off on a gourny into an ambulance, and my small glistening shard of childish hope twinkling softly, thinking maybe mommy and daddy were just asleep, thinking maybe the doctors could fix them... and then the screams came again and I woke from my sleep.

I sat straight up, sweat dripping down my face, along with tears, and I realized that it was the sound of my own scream that had woken me. I noticed that the covers had been thrown off the bed and the sheet was in a tangle around my legs and body, and also the fact that I felt even more exhausted than I had when I drifted off to sleep, probably due to all the moving in my sleep. I also took note that he was gone. You see, throughout all the pain and sorrow, and long teenage years, I had managed to find someone who would deal with all of me, we met and we fell in love very quickly, and I slowly opened up to him about my past traumas, and it wasn't long until he had decided that he could live with my pain, and we married, but it wasn't unusual to find that he had moved to the couch during my restless slumber - most likely due to the moving and noises I made throughout the night - and this morning was no different. 

Taking notice of the bright red figures on my alarm that read three thirty AM on my alarm, I made my way out of bed and towards the bathroom, where I took a long shower, the heat scolding my bare body, hoping that it'd wash away all the memories. As if my childhood memories weren't enough, my teenage years came to mind. I was weak and unprotected, and due to lack of guidance I had made some bad decisions. I took to drinking and soft drugs, because it took my memories away for a short amount of time and made me happy, or feel happy at least, and with all the sadness that was in my life, an temporary escape from reality was just enough to keep me breathing. My foster parents didn't pay much mind to me, so I got away with coming home late and messed up just fine. I went days without eating, if not from the depression it was from the fact that the drugs had made me forget to eat. But that stopped when one reckless night I got too messed up at the wrong place and the wrong time and I paid for it. I paid for it when a guy I trusted took me in his arms and promised me that things would be okay soon, and then raped me. There was not a part of me that consented to it, but I could barely talk, and my mumbled "No" did nothing to stop him, and the screams that filled only my mind did nothing but give me a headache. 

And you see, living with depression is much worse than you may hear it is. Sometimes, I thought that I deserved what I got from that guy, and that maybe my parents wouldn't have been murdered if it wasn't for me, maybe the pain was payback for something I did wrong. I know that wasn't the case, but sometimes I would think about it. There were nights when I wished I could have died right along with them, and nights where I wished that I could end it all, and almost did, but something always stopped me from ending it... and that something is the thing I strive on, because through all the pain,depression,and issues, I managed to feel something else. Hatred. Hatred towards that guy, hatred towards the person who killed my parents, and hatred towards myself, and all that hatred could make revenge so much better, because I know that revenge will come in due time, and it will be at my hands.