I was always described by adults as calm, quiet, and withdrawn... but they never understood that I felt unfulfilled. Even as a child, I lived differently. While other kids played, I would just watch. Even when they invited me to join them, I never did. I loved to hide somewhere and just observe. I thought that if I followed their games, listened to their jokes and arguments, maybe I'd get interested in socializing. But that never happened. Nothing interested me. No one interested me. Not my family, not my peers, not even myself.

I was living like an empty shell, without emotions, interests, or friends. However, there was one thing that lifted my mood. I loved seeing others suffer. Suffer because of me. Watching them in pain gave me joy.

But when I turned ten, something unimaginable happened. One person actually caught my interest.

A blond boy, who didn’t speak much of my language, sat down next to me by a tree and watched the world with me.

From then on, everything changed.

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I was sitting alone behind a tree, watching what was happening in the distance. The children were playing, chasing each other, arguing, laughing...

In my mind, I imagined what their parents' reaction would be if they found them lying in a pool of blood. Would they be angry, or would they cry, or maybe even be happy... And what if the children found their parents in the same state?

These were the thoughts of a ten-year-old girl. I loved blood. I loved hurting others. It gave me partial satisfaction because I could never be fully pleased with what I did.

My cousin, Damjan, used to visit us often. I never liked him. And he didn’t like me either. He was a cunning little brat who always tried to make me miserable. One time, he broke an expensive vase that belonged to my grandmother – a keepsake from her sister. He blamed me for it. I believed no one would accuse me since it was a lie. At that time, I thought that the truth would always come out, and there was no need to fear lies. I was wrong.

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My parents yelled at me and expected me to apologize. I didn’t. I wasn’t guilty. I told the truth, but they didn’t believe me. I even got slapped for "defaming" my cousin.

They placed the broken vase in my room and locked me in. They said they’d let me out once I fixed it.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t do anything. I just sat on the floor, calming my rage. I imagined killing Damjan. I was ready for anything. I started laughing suddenly, louder and louder. My parents heard me and thought I was finally crying. I heard their footsteps approaching the room, so I quickly grabbed a shard of the broken vase.

They came in and asked what was going on. I replied that I wanted to apologize to Damjan for what I had done and asked if he could help me fix the vase.

They smiled, relieved, thinking I had realized my mistake.

They called Damjan, but he didn’t want to come. So I asked if they could take me to him so I could apologize and offer him a gift if he helped me. My mom, pleasantly surprised, handed Damjan a chocolate to encourage him to help.

Of course, he agreed when there was something in it for him, the little weasel.

I thought they would take me to him, but instead, they brought him to me. Everything worked out perfectly. I hugged him in front of both our mothers, kissed him on the cheek, and promised I would never do such a thing again. He was confused and sat on the floor. Once they left the room, everything got better. Damjan grabbed the glue and the vase pieces and started questioning me with, “Why did you do that when you knew what happened…” I stayed silent, slowly moving closer to the drawer by the bed. I grabbed a shirt and quickly gagged him. I did all sorts of things to make sure he couldn’t scream. Then I started cutting his hands with the shard I had been holding. I cut both him and myself.

I removed everything that was binding him, and he started screaming. Our mothers rushed into the room and saw the blood. They were terrified and called a doctor. In the hospital, Damjan told everything.

I said to him, “It’s not nice to lie about your cousin. I even apologized to you, and this is how you repay me. We both got cut on the vase, and now you’re blaming me.”

Damjan got angry, started crying, and screamed, “Mom, she did it on purpose to get revenge for the vase!”

I smiled.

From that moment, Damjan was never left alone with me again. The kids stopped inviting me to play. He spread the story, adding his own twists. The children started to fear me. But I wasn’t sad about it. Finally, no one would bother me, and no one would force me to do anything... No one...