-Content Warning-

This book contains graphic and intense scenes that may not be suitable for all readers. Reader discretion is advised.

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Everyone has their own life, and their own story. Mine is one of those stories you don't hear about in polite company. My parents had their own plans, their own way of handling things—handling us. My sister got lucky; my aunt whisked her away, two years younger, and spared me from the horror that became my daily existence. Why didn't she take me too? I don't want to be stuck in this place anymore. Please, someone, save me. If not now, then hurry—time is running out. This nightmare never ends.

The echoes of their voices haunt me.

"Damn brat!"

"I wish you were never born."

"Don't you dare talk back"

"The only thing you're good for is being my footrest."

"You worthless piece of shit"

Their words cut deeper than any knife ever could. Each insult, each threat, and each blow carved scars into my soul that may never heal. It's a relentless torrent of abuse, an unending cycle of torment that I've learned to endure, but never accept.

When screaming only invites more pain, I discovered another way. Laughter became my armor, my only defense against their madness.

"So every time they burned me, slashed me, punched me, slapped me—I laughed. It's the only thing that makes them stop. 'Stop looking at me like that! Why the hell are you laughing? That creepy smile... it's fucking creepy.' And then, they leave me alone. I laugh, and for a fleeting moment, the agony subsides."

But beneath the facade of laughter lies a darkness—a deep, festering rage and despair. Their cruelty binds me like chains, suffocating any hope of escape. In this house of horrors, sanity is a fragile thread I cling to amidst the chaos.

Each day relentlessly chipped away at that fragile thread—the last vestige of sanity I clung to. The weight of their cruelty and my own torment wore it down, thinning it until it was on the verge of snapping. But I couldn't let them take my sister, not after what I endured. She may have escaped to a better life, but I swore she would never be dragged back into this hell.

They talked of bringing her back, and in that moment, something inside me shattered. A smile, twisted and macabre, crept across my face as a plan formed in my mind.

"Hey, mama," I called out.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Her voice thundered through the suffocating air.

"The toilet's clogged, and it's overflowing," I lied smoothly.

"WHA—!" She cursed, exasperated. "DAMN IT, MOVE!"

My distorted smile remained fixed, a mask hiding the storm raging within me. I grabbed a kitchen knife, its weight reassuringly solid in my hand. My father lay sprawled on the couch, oblivious to the world around him. Quietly, I slipped behind the couch, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

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Raising the knife high above my head.

He seemed to know someone was behind him, responding with: "Hey, can you stop breathing on me? It's creepy."

Without hesitation, I plunged the knife into the soft flesh at the back of his neck. The blade slid in effortlessly, a sickening squelch accompanying its entry. His body jerked with a futile attempt to scream, but I silenced him swiftly with a deep slash across his throat. Blood gushed from the wound as he thrashed, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

But I wasn't finished. Not nearly.

I stabbed him again and again, each thrust driven by a twisted glee that surged through me like a drug. His struggles weakened with each strike, until his movements ceased altogether. Laughter bubbled up from within me—a raw, manic sound that echoed off the walls.

In that chaotic moment, my mother returned, her voice tinged with panic and fury. "YOU LITTLE LIAR—"

Her words dissolved into terror as she beheld the grisly scene before her. I turned to her with blood-stained hands, the knife still poised, ready for more. Her eyes widened in horror as I continued my frenzied assault, each stab punctuated by a sickening crunch of bone and flesh.

"SOMEONE, PLEASE, HELP ME, ANYONE!" Her desperate cries filled the air, pleading for salvation that would never come.

I laughed—a cruel, joyless sound—as I stabbed and stabbed, my actions fueled by a primal need to inflict pain. Their faces contorted in agony, their blood staining the floor around us. I reveled in their fear, their helplessness, savoring the power I wielded over them now.

"Go away," I taunted, my voice a venomous whisper. "How does it feel? Are you sad, mad, scared? You can't do anything now, can you?"

Their once-recognizable faces were now masks of death, their bodies mere vessels drained of life. I stood amidst the carnage, breathless yet exhilarated, a madman in the throes of his darkest fantasies.

This was my world now—a realm of darkness and blood, where the roles had finally reversed.

Staring at my blood-stained hands, the metallic scent of iron filled the air, mingling with the palpable silence of the house. A smile, devoid of joy or remorse, crept onto my face.

"I gotta get out of here, huh," I muttered to myself, my voice hollow against the weight of what I had done.

I glanced down at my clothes, now darkened with crimson streaks. They were a damning testament to the violence I had unleashed, evidence that could lead to my downfall if discovered. With a grim resolve, I knew I had to change—cleanse myself of this nightmarish tableau before slipping away into the shadows.

Moving swiftly, I found a spare set of clothes in a closet nearby. They were plain, nondescript—a far cry from the blood-soaked garments I discarded without hesitation. The cold air chilled my skin as I hastily dressed, each movement deliberate yet tinged with urgency.

Once changed, I took one last look around the house, committing its layout to memory. The scene was surreal—the remnants of my past life fading into obscurity as I prepared to step into an uncertain future.

With a steady hand, I turned the doorknob and stepped outside. The cool night air embraced me, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within. I closed the door behind me, leaving the house and its horrors behind.

The streets were quiet, shrouded in darkness and ignorance of the horrors that had transpired just moments ago. I moved with purpose, blending into the shadows as I navigated unfamiliar alleys and quiet streets. Each step took me farther from the scene of my descent into madness, toward a future fraught with uncertainty.

As dawn approached on the horizon, I found myself at the edge of town, a lone figure bathed in the soft light of early morning. The road stretched out before me, beckoning me toward an uncertain destination.

"I gotta get out of here," I whispered once more, the words a solemn vow to leave behind the darkness that had consumed me. With determination burning in my veins, I set off into the unknown, leaving behind the stained remnants of my former life and embracing the uncertain path ahead.