My Daddy Kills People (My 3rd Original Creepypasta)

My name is Martha.

Please! Wait! Don't leave! Please! I beg you! I want you to listen to me! I've done horrible things to people! And...a-and...it isn't even my fault! Please! Stay here with me and listen! Ok. Now that you're sitting down, I want to tell you a story. I am 14 now, but the story goes all the way back to when I was first born.......

             Hello. My name is Martha: Martha Cynthia Lancia. I was born in St. Joseph's Hospital in Michigan. I was born as a healthy child and born right on time. When I was born, my parents were happy to see me and found out I was a girl. My mom's name was Elaine and my dad's name was Fred. My mom told dad that mom's sister's name was Margret and she had passed away in October just the month before. My dad said that in honor of her sister, they were going to name me Martha: Martha Cynthia Lancia. And then, that's how I came about. Oh, I almost forgot! I was born November 17th 2001. When I was 2, my grandmother passed away, even though she had only known me for 2 years. The saddest part is I don't know what happened to her. My grandmother wasn't even that old when she died. But, I digress. Moving on, when I was 4, I knew how to talk and I enjoyed life. My mom would have picnics with me in our front yard and sometimes our backyard. My dad was normally at work, but whenever he wasn't he'd spend time with me, almost all day. As a 4 year old, I spent my time outdoors. Like most kids, I was a very curious kid. I spent time in my room drawing pictures. I drew things like ponies, rainbows, parks and fairies. I then drew a picture to give to my dad for his birthday. I drew a picture of daddy hugging me with a text bubble above my head saying, I LUV YOU DADY! (I was four so I didn't know how to spell.) I remember my dad picked my up and gave me a huge hug. When I was 6, dad was away at work a lot. I remember I had to go to school. I think when I was 6 I was in 1st grade. My teacher, Mrs. Arkansas, was the best teacher ever. I gave her drawings and she always hugged me for them. Mrs. Arkansas was pretty too. She had the prettiest golden eyes and brown hair. She was skinny and, in my eyes, had the perfect face. Even though my parents weren't religious, I knew what angels were and Mrs. Arkansas had the face of one. Mrs. Arkansas told me that I was pretty too. Oh, I forgot to mention what I looked like. Growing up, I had brown hair, blue eyes and pink lips. I had white skin and I took good care of myself, so my teeth were white. My mom would sometimes cry and say I was growing up too fast. I told her that I had to grow up or I wouldn't get any taller or smarter. She laughed at the height remark. Speaking of which, I forgot....now we're getting into the darker part of this story. It was a cold winter's night and I was upstairs in bed sleeping. I stirred awake from a nightmare. I went downstairs to get a drink of milk to help me sleep and then I went back upstairs. My parents' room was right next to mine so I shut my door and hopped back into bed. But, then I heard something. My daddy was yelling at mommy and I could hear them through the wall. Terrified yet curious, I walked towards the wall and placed my ear against it. I could hear daddy using grown-up words. He was even using words mommy told me never to say. Mommy was hysterical and Daddy was very angry. I began to tear up, hearing the argument boil. I began to weep, but I tried staying quiet so that Daddy and Mommy wouldn't hear me. But, I jumped after hearing a thump against the wall. I bounced back and fell to the floor. I heard someone scream and I ran into bed, throwing the blanket over my head. I remember.....I was quivering and sobbing almost hysterically......I never saw mommy again....