The Walking Dead Imagines

Monster

Pity; the feeling of sorrow and compassion caused by the suffering and misfortunes of others. I hate pity. All my life, I've gotten nothing but pity from others. When my parents died, people looked at me with pity. When my house burned down, pity. What people don't know though, is that I did all of it. I killed my parents. I burned down the house. It was the only way for me to escape. Some people shouldn't have children, my parents were those people. They neglected me whenever I started school. My mother was never home and my father would have other women over while she was gone.

One night, she found out about the other women. They yelled at each other and it started becoming physical. She hit him and he hit her back, but harder. Then he started beating her. Afterward, she had a bloody nose, busted lip, a black eye and bruises all over her stomach. She started working more hours and even got a second job, anything to keep her from him. One night, the woman he had over was leaving and he was drinking. "Come 'ere." I went over to him and stood next to him, I didn't want to get in his way of the TV. He grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of him.

"Don' be like yer mother. Ya respec' men, ya 'ear me?" I nodded, trying not to vomit at the smell of the alcohol on his breath. "Yer mother. She don' respec' me." I try to pull my arm away from him but he grips me tightly. "Ya look jus' like 'er." His eyes darken and suddenly, I'm thrown across the room. I hit the wall and then fall to the floor. I close my eyes as he gets up and comes towards me. *Little Skip* I don't remember what happened after that, but I remember waking up to my mother screaming at my father.

I remember being really sore and couldn't hardly move. I slowly lifted myself up and went to my room. For two months after that night, I had waited for the right moment. I had just turned ten and stole a sword from the karate school two towns over. It was an early christmas present to myself. I waited until late the night before christmas. Then, I quietly left my bedroom, my sword in hand. I went to my parents' bedroom and slowly opened the door. My mother was asleep on her stomach and my father was asleep on his back.

I quietly set my sword on the dresser and pull out the kitchen knife that I happened to grab. I go over to my mother and look at her for a few minutes. Then, I stab the knife into her skull. I twist the knife and then pull it out, letting blood ooze out of her head. I set the knife down and grab my sword, going over to my father. I get on top of him and lift my sword, before plunging it deep into his stomach. His eyes shoot open and he looks up at me, terrified and shocked. I twist the sword and he grits his teeth, grunting every now and then. "Look at me, father. Look at my eyes. See how cold they are?"

He grits his teeth so hard that his teeth bust out of his mouth. I twist the sword more while pushing it down. "Look at the monster you have created, father. Did it make you feel good when you'd beat me?" He opens his mouth as if he's going to say something but he can't. "Now father, look into my eyes. I want you to watch as the monster you've created murders you." His eyes widen as our gazes lock onto each other. I smirk and pull my sword out, blood pouring out of him. It goes everywhere, on the walls, on the bed, and on me. He finally stops breathing and I lean my head back, inhaling and then exhaling slowly.

I get off of him and go into the kitchen, pouring bleach onto my sword. Once my sword is clean, I go into my bedroom and put in my duffel bag with my clothes. I go into the bathroom and take a shower, cleaning all of the blood off of me. Then I change into clean clothes and bring my duffel outside with me. I set it down on the grass and go into the shed, grabbing the gasoline and going back inside. I pour gasoline all over the house, making sure to pour extra on the bodys. Then I set the gasoline can on the kitchen table. I leave the front door open and go outside. I light a match and then flick it inside the house. I watch as the house starts lighting up.

I grab my bag and put the matches in my pocket. I walk to the road and turn back around, watching as the windows burst open, the fire beginning to get worse. I smile and look up at the sky, seeing a shooting star. "Merry Christmas to me." Then I walk down the road. It'll take a while before anybody sees the flames and smoke. It'll take even longer before the firefighters come to put it all out. By the time anybody gets there, the house will already be nothing but ashes.