Running On The Line

Chapter 8

Chapter 8 (bold is a flashback)

Emy

I was born around sick people. The minute I came into the world, I looked into my mother's eyes. That's what every child does. Except her's weren't milky white. They were red. That being said, I was used to the look of pain or despair marked on someone's features like a tattoo. I was used to them asking me to kill them or maybe save them. It depends on the person. The last time I saw Meg, she was a healthy girl looking for trouble. I didn't even realize Mason had a sister until she smiled and it reminded me of him. She was not the person that was crumpled in front of me, telling her brother that guards tried to kill her. Or at least, she shouldn't be. Out of everyone, Meg deserved this least. But she always got what she didn't deserve. Some sick twist of the universe. Again.

The door of the living room cracked open with a slight push of my finger. I prayed my breath wasn't making any sounds. My mom and dad would kill me if I made any sound. They were fighting again. I heard the sound of a hit being made but I couldn't tell who had made it. Who was hit? That didn't matter though. Maybe this time they would fight to the death. I know that was sadistic for a five year old but it was true. It was better with one less demon to scare me and hurt me. I winced as a glass hit the floor. The knife in my small hand felt heavy but I knew I had to do this. There wasn't another option. My daddy always said: kill or be killed. Last month he threatened to throw me into the lake with rocks chained to my feet like the Salem Trials. My mother threatened to give me RED if I made another sound. Because I was a burden. But they didn't realize I was strong. They forced me to be. And other kids may be screaming for help but I've decided I don't want help. I'm so done. And no matter what they tell me, they don't love me. It's impossible to love me. I'm broken now. So are you happy mom and dad? Broken doesn't mean dead. I'm still alive. I can cut people with the broken shards they left behind like garbage. I sucked in a breath, scared to make it too loud but scared not to make it loud enough. It was like shouting in a sound proof room. Useless and, quite frankly, maddening. I was done screaming for no reason. I was done fighting to survive in my own home. I slipped out the door and padded towards the kitchen. Glasses smashed onto the ground and hits were passed in shadows on the walls. I shut my eyes. Maybe if I opened them, I wouldn't have to do this. But when I opened them again to the sound of someone calling out my name I knew I had to. Kill or be killed. Hunt or be hunted. They would see. I was not weak. My mother came running out, blood covering her face and clothes. My father probably looked similar. "Emy, you little bitch, get back in your room. When I'm done with him, the glass is going into you! You worthless piece of shit!" I glared at her. When she took another step forward I jumped her. She was so surprised she didn't have time to move before I had slit her throat. She fell to the ground but didn't say anything. It was her turn not to be able to scream. She reached out a hand and gripped my shoulder. "Mom, I¾" She cut me off. "Never mind that, kid. Kill him too. I underestimated you, don't apologize. Kill or be killed." I swallowed, my hand tightening around the knife's hilt. She looked me in the eyes and I watched as her eyes glazed over and she went limp. My father ran in, his eyes mad from anger. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

I bit my cheek for half a second before answering. "I killed her, daddy. Kill or be killed, right? Guess who is next." He laughed that awful, booming laugh that made me want to run away. Before he could finish, I killed him just like I killed mom. When both bodies were lying there, I thought I shouldn't be able to cope with myself. But I could. I was fine. Or as fine as I ever could be. There was no happiness here, and even if I was five I could see that. I knelt beside them. "I hope you fly to hell." I declared and quickly ran off, dusting off my jeans as I left the house and never came back.

The street was empty now. It was late and only looters and guys with certain issues littered the streets like poison. I walked slowly but with my chin held high. I was done. And I was going to find people. Allies. I'm going to lead a rebellion and I don't care if I die doing it.