I hid while the sun rose.
Scarlett called me crazy.
I know I'm crazy. Just not in the way she means.
Pain inflicted by others isn't enough. That a reason why I must be crazy. The scars on my wrists remind me.
But I don't care. I'm not ugly, stupid, a twit, or anything they call me. I'll just not be good enough.
When He came back, and Scarlett finally left, I felt like giving up. But of course I couldn't. Sometimes I wonder if giving up would have been the better thing to do because of every event ahead.
"Angel.", He calmly said while I was in the same room. "I hope you won't let me down."
I walked over and looked at him questioningly.
He took a deep breath and collected himself before leading me down the hall and down a set of stairs I've never noticed before.
The scent of blood became stronger with every step towards a black door. At the bottom, it was absolutely frigid. The smell of blood made me want to faint.
He opened the door and I was horrified.
Knives of all sizes lined the wall. Straitjackets were piled on the other side. There was all sort of devices that did not look too kind.
"So.", He said simply. "You must wonder why you are here."
I wondered. But I feared.
"I won't keep you hanging, so I will get to the point."
I waited for his response anxiously.
"You. Must. Kill. You must follow in my footsteps."
I was taken aback by this completely.
"What do you mean, I must kill?", I said stubbornly.
He picked up a knife and held it to my throat.
Tears formed in my eyes but I would not let them spill.
He traced my neck with knife, but it did not make a mark.
He then placed it in my hand and said, "Kill."
"But who, wh-"
"Shh.", he said, placing a hand over my mouth.
He led me back up the stairs and prepared me for my "adventure".
He slipped the knife into a small bag and hung it around my neck.
"I'll lead you to the spot. The rest is up to you."
The whole time we were walking along the road my heart was jumping frantically.
Soon, we arrived to a small lot. The house was old. The grass was yellow and dry.
"And who lives here...?"
"Rolanda Harris. That bitch..."
So some Rolanda person I've never heard of would be dead by sunset. I felt horrible.
"Go on. Sneak in the back and don't let anyone see you.", He said.
I swallowed hard and walked across the yard. The back door opened without a sound, and I stepped in.
The silence surrounded me eerily.
I walked through the kitchen. Around the corner I could hear sounds; the TV. I walked towards the living room. A woman who was probably 35 or so slept in an armchair. I pulled the knife out and felt the tears prickle the back of my eyes.
I carefully stepped over to her in the dark room.
I didn't know what I was doing.
Knife raised, I prayed that I would be okay.
The knife came down and blood ran across the floor. I opened my eyes and saw the woman awake.
My knife was thrust into her chest so quickly she couldn't plead.
I watched her in her bloodstained nightgown for a second. But she was still breathing shallowly.
I shoved her off the armchair and pinned her to the ground. Her blood was seeping into the carpet along with my tears.
It didn't stop when my knife struck her back. I pulled out the bloody knife and tried not to fall over in the scent.
I ran outside and met up with Him. He pulled the knife from my hand and buried it in the dirt.
When I got home, He was quite proud.
"You didn't let me down. I hope you can do that again."
I smirked, but my mind was screaming.
I guess I would be doing the dirty work.
I felt regretful. Wait, no. No word relating to regret or remorse could describe how awful I felt.
He at least rewarded me by letting me eat whatever.
You know I described why I don't cry in front of others. But I cry a lot.
Before I went to bed, I slipped out the thin knife I hid in my closet. I sat on my bed and thought.
I ran the knife across my wrist and felt instant relief.
The blood dripped off my arm, and onto the floor. I would have stopped if "twit" wasn't there to remind me how much I deserved it.
Twit I might be. Killer I was.
