Lori Born Evil

Three: Kill, Kill, Kill

Age nine:

I still long for the taste of blood; I want to try human blood.

The warm salty liquid is all I dream about.

I cannot take it anymore. I take the sharpest kitchen knife we own and slice into the pad of my finger. It’s beautiful how the white skin is pressed with a knife and suddenly dark red beads of blood form. As I slide the knife down, dark red blood seeps out.

I drink it; I suck on my finger. I can feel my heart beat in my finger. Like my body want me to consume more. I feel reborn.

Mama and Papa are very in love. It’s sickening and boring. I want them to suffer and cry. I’m thinking up a plan in my head. I want them depressed and upset.

Last week I put a tack on a little girl’s chair. It was so funny. She screamed in pain. And I hid the box of tacks in a boy’s desk. He got suspended. I congratulate myself.

Mom loves how independent I am. She says I’m so adult. I like being alone; daydreaming of murder. I imagine smothering my baby sister with a pillow and cutting her open. Examining her: a true human body. Soaking my hands in her blood and decorating my room with red hand prints. The most beautiful red: blood red.

I spy on Pops in the shower. I watch him. The male body fascinates me. I wish to kill him too. Watch his eyes widen in terror that his little girl, his little princess, is going to kill him.

Mom breast feeds Grace. I see her suckle mom’s soft breast. If I were Grace I would take the chance to bite mom’s flesh off. Make her scream.

My dreams are becoming more real. I’m dreaming that I torture the children in my class. I love the sound of their screams. It’s so pleasuring to hear them beg for their lives.

But then I wake.

Dreams seem to be my only gateway into happiness.