(This is pretty messed up, read with caution. Also this is fictional, don’t worry)

- - -

Blood.

Blood on my hands.

Blood on my face.

Blood in my hair.

Blood staining my clothes.

Blood in splashes on the wall.

Blood covering every surface.

Blood painted on my lips.

Blood dripping down the knife.

“Darling, isn’t this wonderful?” I say sweetly. A wicked grin spreads across my face. You watch from the chair I tied you to as I trace scarlet lines on a young girls twisted body.

I narrow my eyes when you don’t respond, tipping my head to the side. “Isn’t it?” My voice is a hiss in your ear as I glide to your chair. You tremble when I approach, and I watch your eyes widen as I draw closer.

“Isn’t. This. Wonderful?” You flinch with every word. Shaking, you slowly shake your head, side to side to side. The corners of my mouth tilt up at your defiance. “Words, dear.”

_No_, you say. _No, this isn’t right._

“Since when was anything ever right?” You can’t fix me, you can’t change my mind, but I like hearing you speak. I like how, until the very end, you keep fighting. It’s one of the things I’ll miss about you.

_You can still change. We can do it together, we can make you better. Please don’t give up._

“Together?!” I screamed. “Oh, so now you want to work together? You watched me turn into this. You watched this happen, and always tucked me to the side. It took this,” I gestured to the bodies around us, “for you to even notice me.”

In a single breath, I replaced my mask. A wild grin lit my face, as I bent down to whisper in your ear. “It’s alright, darling. This is who I was meant to be.”

“You know, if you had been different, we could have risen together. This isn’t how it had to be.” Your eyes meet mine, pleading. But I’ve made up my mind. “You were just too kind, too sweet, too caring. Too _weak_.”

Before the last word leaves my bloodstained lips, I plunge the knife into your stomach. You cry out, barely more than a strangled gasp.

I stand and turn around, not wanting to play with your body. As you gasp for breath, choking on your own blood, I look around the room. Or rather, the bodies in it.

There are nine total. Each in various ages, none of which are older than me. Or the person dying behind me.

All of them have dark brown hair, and brown eyes. They’re all tall for their age, and if they weren’t broken and bloodied, they would all have the same skin tone.

I knew each of them well. We shared a mind, after all.

From the pitiful sounds coming from you, you will die soon. I close my eyes as I listen, relishing the sound, but sick that it came from you. “This is who I was meant to be,” I say again, reminding myself.

_Why?_ You choke out.

I remain still. For the first time, doubt creeps in. When I finally whisper a response, your strangled breathing has gone quiet behind me.

“I don’t know.”

- - -

A girl with brown hair and brown eyes sits at the edge of her bed. She looks down at her hands, where she holds a knife to her wrist. There is only one cut there, dripping blood. She stares at it, a wild grin twisting her face.

A few minutes ago, she had watched her father rip the life away from her mother. She had run upstairs, intending to join her mom. Her eyes had squeezed shut as she clutched the knife.

But when her eyes opened, it wasn’t pain that lurked there. It was insanity and hate. She’d die soon, but not today.

Tucking the knife behind her back, she opens her bedroom door and steps into the hallway.

“Time to play!”