Ideas and drabbles

Idea? P.2

When I was nine, I began to see the world for what it is.

A stray dog, whining for scraps before the store owner kicks it, eliciting a strangled yelp from the poor animal.

A young girl, not too far from my age, staring emptily into the air as she leans against the wall. Dried blood is crusted on her chapped lips, flies landing on and off her paled skin. The smell of something dead and rotting having set in hours ago.

I'm sure she knew the true nature of the world long before I did.

Had our neighborhood always been so...Irreparable? Was the whole town--whole city reeking of hurt and pain like here?

...Was the whole world like this?

It's a couple months later when I learn just how cruel our world is.

It is also then that I realize the nature of humans.

My mother's eyes are dark, her jaw slack as blood rolls down her forehead. Her once light brown hair now turned dark, shine of liquid red reflecting off the light of the lantern.

I do not understand. When I had seen her earlier, she was laughing. Smiling. Her skin had been clear of any marks. She was alive.

The adult standing above her limp form is breathing heavily. His hands are clenched, blood dripping down them. A knife clatter to the floor, the cool metal coloring red.

I think this is when most people would run. They would have let out a sob of horror and grief. Their eyes would have welled up with tears as the lantern in their hands tumbled to the ground. A step backwards, trying to muffle themselves. Tears would pathetically roll down their cheeks. When the adult would glance at them, they would turn around, tripping over their feet as they fled.

That's what m̶y̶ ̶s̶i̶s̶t̶e̶r̶ the girl next to me did.

The boy o̶l̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶   to my left was paralyzed, eyes dilated in terror as he tried to breathe. I could see it through the corner of my eyes, the way his body trembled and tears welled up in his brown eyes.

Three children that night.

One ran.

One froze.

The other?

Red hot rage seeps into my bones. My hold on the lantern grows tighter, knuckles turn white, practically shaking form the force. The older boy beside me is too terrified to move while I'm trying to keep myself from lunging at the man and swinging my lantern over his face.

This feeling of raw anger is unlike anything I've felt before. I want to rip into him, tear his body apart and let his blood paint my skin. It swells within me, pulling away any sense of control as he glances up at us from where he is.

f̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶

The restraint snaps.

I snap.

The rest was and still is a blur. I just remember the inhuman strength that flowed through me and the rage that possessed my mind. It was like something else was in control of me.

One of the worst things about that?

I didn't want it to stop.

Blood on my own fists now. I'm heavily, body quivering. He wasn't dead. Just incapacitated.

The lantern had rolled to the ground, leaving a small trail of oil and sparks.

I wasn't clear of my own injuries, either. That didn't matter.

I was nine when I learned the harsh reality of the world.

I was nine when I stared blankly at my bloodied hands, bruised and injured. 

I was nine when I glanced at the two fallen forms of the people that raised me. One limp, the other's chest barely moving up in down in ragged motions. Blood pooling under them both.

I was nine when I promised I would never let that rage take control of me again.

I was nine when I promised I would never be like them.

I wrote this a while ago on a calculator lol, just never typed it on my computer--