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Sunday, 3rd May 2015
CASEY SITS IN THE CENTRE OF THE TRAINING ROOM, propped up on her knees to give her four-year-old body a little more height over the small, white rabbit in front of her. It isn't trying to leave, too focused on the piece of food it has been working its way through for the past five minutes. Tears pour from her eyes as she thinks of what she has to do, they blur her vision so the rabbit almost blends in with the tiles surrounding it.
The blade in the child's hands feels heavy, like it wants to go down, down, down, and it's taking Casey with it. She clutches it with two small fists, they shake uncontrollably, jutting in different directions every time her shoulders shake with the weight of her sobs.
She doesn't want to kill the rabbit.
It's an innocent thing; it hasn't done her any wrong, it's just eating. She raises her arms in the air, blade pointing down as she adjusts the placement of her hands in the air to position the switchblade over the rabbit's heart.
With one swift motion, Casey throws her hands down, blade tearing through flesh. She winces at the sound it makes, ignoring the squeals of the rabbit as it sits in pain. Though, she doesn't have time to cry anymore.
Casey pulls out the blade and throws it away, blood pooling at her knees and staining the white fabric of her leggings she's started to grow out of. She places her hands over the wound in the rabbit's flesh. She presses down with all her energy.
"Heal you stupid rabbit! Please, heal! Heal!" She exclaims, voice broken by soft sobs and hiccups. "Come on, rabbit! You have to heal! Please!" She's begging by now, even though she knows it isn't up to the rabbit to heal itself. She has to heal it herself. She has to injure it and she has to heal it, but she can't seem to ever heal them. Every animal has died, and by Casey's hands.
Casey wakes with a start, gasping for breath, fear of the memory slowly seeping from her body. She takes slow, deep breaths. It's not real, it's just a dream, she tells herself, repeating it in her head as many times as she needs until she forces herself to believe it. And, slowly, her body calms.
"You're even weird in your sleep." Robin's voice breaks her out of her thoughts, head whipping around to find Robin. She narrows her eyes, glaring at Robin. Why isn't she asleep? She doesn't get to have nightmares, she's had the perfect life, so there's nothing to haunt her and to be afraid of.
