The Whispering Legacy

Scars

I want to smash every mirror I see. I don't want it to reflect me. I don't want to see my ugly face, the face that used to be so beautiful.

The girl with the clear, white skin.

I wanted to be her again.

But the clear skin has now turned into scars.

On my face, my arms, my back, everywhere. Scars and scars.

Every time I look in a mirror the only thing I see is that woman who gave me this ugliness.

My mother.

Who used to be so gentle, so kind. Who used to love life and every creature in it.

But after dad died, she lost control. She started drinking, drugging, and started loving the feel of a knife. She used to only cut herself, but under her clothes where her boss couldn't see. But we all knew they were there.

She got tired of herself. She wanted new skin to cut, to bleed.

So she went after my younger sister.

Alice was only seven. Perfect, tan skin, brown curls that reached her waist, and big blue eyes that always showed what she was feeling. She was the perfect person to go to when you were troubled. Mother used to love her with all her soul, as she did me. But she hated her now, she hated perfect people who could always find happiness in depressing conditions.

She wanted to hurt her.

So she did. Every single night when she got home from work. I used to hide Alice in the closet, under the bed, in the cabinet, hoping she wouldn't be found.

But she always was.

My mother would drag her out of the hiding place, usually by her hair. In her dark, cold bedroom she would slice at her skin. They would be deep wounds or shallow, long or small. Anything to make my sister feel miserable.

When Alice started crying, she would slap her. If she fought it, she would cut harder. My mother would eventually get bored and leave her there to bleed. I would come in a few minutes later and patch up her wounds but we hardly had any band aides big enough, so I'd have to use a rag.

One night when I was patching up Alice's wounds, she looked dead to the world. She said to me,

“I want to be with daddy.”

And one night, when my mother came home, she gave up and let Mother cut her to death.

The next night she started cutting me.

But she made mine more visible, going on my face and neck mostly.

The teachers at school would get suspicious but I would just tell them I got a new cat that hates me.

It would do for a little while, until they figured it out.

Although, my mother didn't want them to find out. So she locked me up in the basement and called me out on vacation for the next month.

I should have told the teachers when I had the chance. I knew by the tone of her voice that I'd be dead at the end of that month, or sooner.

So every night, I planned how to get the knife away from her and kill her just right. I wanted it to be a slow death, so she could feel the pain I felt.

The pain Alice felt.

I thought of the perfect way.

I smiled as I heard the front door close, heard my mother walk down the hallway to the kitchen for the knife. I bit my lip in excitement, making the copper taste of blood fill my mouth.

I was finally going to be free.

She opened the basement door and smiled down at me, huddling in the corner like a weak dog.

Mother didn't say anything as she walked over and grabbed my hair, dragging me over to where she'd chain me up.

That's when I attacked.

I punched her square in the face, making her let me go and grab her nose in pain. I then pushed her with all my might which made her hit her head against the wall. As she was unconscious, I chained her up so she couldn't move.

Then I waited until she was awake again to set the basement on fire.

You should have heard how she screamed. It was beautiful.