The Madness of Love and Sanity

My World Is Gone

WARNING: THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SEXUALITY AND VIOLENCE!

'Kyllana, do this. Kyllana, do that. That's all I ever hear!' My frustrated thoughts ran rampant as I stared at my father. His thoughts are directed at me. No one ever really has to speak to me because I hear them anyway. Sure, telepathy has its advantages, but it has more disadvantages. "We need to talk," my father tells me,"Now." I close my dark bronze colored eyes and stand up. He reaches toward me and I move away from him. "Don't." Quickly turning on my heel, I walk away from the bastard with a purpose. I walk past my mother and to my room, isolated from the rest of the house. I glance at my exhausted appearance and grimace. I had blood matting my hair and splattered across my clothes. My mind races back to the vivid images of the man's murder. His pained cries, begging for help, my eyes wild as I dig the knife deeper into his chest. I stare at my reflection with disgust and let out a shriek of animalistic rage, snapping my fist forward and shattering the dusty mirror. Pain courses up my arm, but I don't scream. Collapsing, I curl my body into a ball and bite down on my tongue. Gagging as the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, I spit the red liquid onto the glass shards underneath me. Hot, silver tears streak my face, flowing steadily in a heavy stream of grief. The realization sets in and I sit up to stare at the mirror shards. My reflection is tinged with red, but it's still me. I've always been told that I look remarkably like my mother, and now I see it. I have her features. Her black hair, blue streaks laced through it. Her bronze eyes, the faint flecks of red brighter with the tears. Her dark honey complexion. Her high cheekbones and prominent Cupid's Bow.