Why me...why did this occur every day. The ones who I thought loved me...my father who would read me bedtime stories as a child was now standing above me with his fist clenched as blood dripped from his aching knuckles as I had my back to the hardwood floor, praying for him to stop. My brother, who would protect me from kids that picked on me around my neighborhood, was normally waiting for me in my room when my father finished beating me, ready to rape me at my most vulnerable moment. I stormed upstairs with my bloody, and beaten face straight to my bedroom. Thankfully my brother wasn’t there. I didn’t even bother cleaning up in the bathroom because what I was going to do next would just make more of a mess. My face became a fiery, golden red shade that blended in with the blood as I continued to think about how big of a prick my father and brother were. How can someone change that much and not feel any remorse for what they were doing? It didn’t even matter... I slipped on my favorite knee-length black dress, my basic combat boots and I put my light blonde hair into a ponytail. Before I went downstairs, I realized I needed to hide my identity if anyone else were to see me. I had an old plastic mask that was un-decorated and had been sitting in my closet for years. I brushed off the dust, ‘perfect’. I reached for my feather paint brush and black ink and began designing. A curved line here with a gentle hand motion can do so much to a design. When I was finished, the mask looked almost doll-like. It had big, pudgy black lips; long, dark eyelashes; a dark, rosy cheek on one side with a black swirl on the other; and highly arched eyebrows. I wrapped the band around my head and looked at myself in the mirror. My outfit flowed together, almost as if I was meant to do this and it was just waiting for me. But it was missing something...you could see my eyes too well. I open my contact case that held my black contacts. Once I put them in, there wasn’t a single part of my eye that wasn’t black. I was happy with my look, so I sneak downstairs where my father is passed out watching the news with a beer in his hand, and I couldn’t see my brother anywhere in sight. As I sneak into the kitchen and open the drawer, my brother comes up from behind me and grabs my waist to pull me closer.

“Amy...did you get all dressed up for me?” He said sarcastically with an eerie tone to his voice. I didn’t answer him as he jerked me to face him. “What’s up with the mask...” I sneak my fingers into the knife drawer one by one without answering my brother. “Listen here you little brat, don’t play the quiet game with me or I’ll take you to your room and do what I do best...” At that moment, my fingers gripped the handle of the blade and yanked it out of the drawer, almost immediately drawing itself to my brothers stomach. He released me as blood poured from his mouth and he collapsed, gasping for air on the ground in his own pool of blood. Every moment his heartbeat slowed, the wider my smile was. I felt no guilt for my actions...he deserved it. As I was about to walk to my father, he was in the doorway. Mouth gaping at my figure, my knife was covered with blood from his son. I tilt my head and begin walking towards him slowly as he tries to run. He, being as fat as he was, trips on the hallway carpeting as he begs for his life.

“Please Amy, please! I love you honey, you don’t need to do this!” This made me even more angry. I chuckled and he gave me a confused look.

“Don’t even give me that crap...you just got done beating the living hell out me and you have the nerve to say you love me?! You must be joking...I know I sure as hell don’t love you.” At that moment, I sprinted towards his quivering body and pounced on top of him, impaling my knife into his body multiple times, even after he had stopped breathing. I released myself from him and stared at his and my brother’s bodies. I felt no guilt...no remorse, no sadness. I felt free.

I dragged their bodies into the basement and hid them inside our wine barrels. It felt like I was dragging an elephant behind me, but adrenaline can do that to you. I shut and locked the basement door as I was coming upstairs and flushed the keys down the toilet. As they swirled around and around, relief flooded me and I knew there was no way anyone was getting down there without breaking down the door. Next step was cleaning this mess...I grab an old mop that’s been sitting in the closet since my mom died (My dad didn’t clean) and a bucket of soapy water mixed with bleach. As I mopped up the floor, the blood was just being pushed around the surface of the floor. ‘Dam’ I thought, what else could clean up a blood stain. I grabbed a bunch of towels from the upstairs closet and wiped up the blood that way. I then took them and put them in a fire pit outside, where I was to burn them afterwards. I throw the murder weapon in the kitchen sink and scrub off the dried and fresh blood. This part was easy because it was just like doing the dishes. I scrub the carpet to finish with the basic blood evidence, but this was a pain. I had to soak it up with a towel, scrub it with water and laundry detergent and vacuum anything left. I had to repeat this process until the stain was gone. By the time it was done, I was exhausted, but I needed to take a shower. I let my clothes plummet to the floor and my hair drop back down to my waist. I stepped into the little droplets of warmth and I watch the water turn red around me from the blood running off of my legs, face and arms. My blonde hair showed every spot of blood I got on it, that ran out as well. But I had to use shampoo to get rid of the stains. I turn the water dial off and step out of the shower. I look into the mirror...clean body, long blonde hair, deep brown eyes; I didn’t seem like the type of person that massacred her whole family 10 minutes ago. I wasn’t ashamed of it either...something about killing them made me feel relaxed. It gave me a rush, not only because I don’t have to deal with the abuse anymore, but when the knife injected itself into their already limp bodies, I was calm. It released every anger inside of me that I ever had. I pick up my mask and hold it in my hands. My left hand reaches for kleenex and dabs a little water on it to wipe the blood off the mask. I grab my stuff and the mask and pace to my room where I change into pajama pants and a t-shirt. My mask was sitting on my desk, leaning up against the mirror connected to it. This is who I was now...I was a killer. I grabbed the mask and stored it away in a box in my closet for the time being. I ran back downstairs and searched the entire kitchen for a box of matches, they were in the knife drawer...’that’s ironic’ I thought. I then went into the garage and grabbed the little bit of gasoline left in my dads jerrycan. I walk around to the backyard where the bloody towels were sitting in the firepit and dump the gasoline on them. It smelled so gross, but I had to deal with it. I strike a match on the side of its container and drop the mini flame into the towel pile, where it bursts into heavy flames almost immediately. I wasn’t going to sit out here all night, waiting for the fire to dim down, so I went back inside and into my room. I leave my shades open, letting the golden light from the fire seep into my window, helping me fall asleep. My eyes slowly close as I take my last breath for the night and go to sleep.

As I awake, the sun is rising above the horizon with a pink and orange blend of color. I pull my limp body out from my covers and walk downstairs where I smell this rotten scent. Like a skunk threw up. I start to look around to see what it was but I couldn’t figure it out. The fruit and vegetables were fine. The meat in the garage was still fresh. I walk around the house looking for my dad to tell him to find the smell. As I looked everywhere and couldn’t find him...it hit me and I giggled about how silly I was. I forgot that I completely massacred my family last night and hid their body’s in the basement. I break down the door to downstairs and open the wine barrels to see their flesh rotting away. You could see the muscle and flies buzzing around them. Their faces were frozen with terrified reactions before I killed them. It made me feel good inside...they got what they deserved. I walk upstairs when I hear the phone ringing. I hesitantly answer it,

“Um...Hello?”
“Amy? Where’s your father, he didn’t show up for work...” I panic...looks like I didn’t think this through very well. I hang up the phone hastily and run back downstairs when the phone rings again. I didn’t answer it knowing it’d either be my dads work or my brothers college wondering where they are. The voicemail machine rings,

“Hello, this is Glendale Campus. We noticed that Jason did not show up for class today and we were just calling to hear why he didn’t show up. If we do not hear from you in the next 3 hours, he will be marked absent and charged with a tardy ticket of 50 dollars. Thank you.” When the voicemail was done playing I had to think fast. I ran to the garage and checked my dads jerrycan for gas...’Dam’...it was empty. I must have used it all last night to burn the bloody towels. I took my dads keys and my license and got in the car. While I was driving around, I felt like everyone was watching me. Like they knew what I did, but I was probably just paranoid. I arrived at the gas station and filled up the can with a gallon of gasoline. Glendale was a pretty small town, so everyone kind of knew each other. Like the clerk at the gas station, Jerry, was good friends with my dad, but he was kind of a prick. No wonder why him and my dad got along so well. I go to pay for the gas when Jerry strikes up a conversation with me about how my dad isn’t answering any of his phone calls. I try to ignore him but it was unbearable to hear.

“Jerry! Can you ring me up, please. I’m kind of in a hurry.” I said...he gave me a stunned look because I never talk to people like that.

“Amy...is everything ok?” Jerry says with a concerned tone in his voice...I nod my head and walk out of their as quick as possible before anyone else talks to me. I get in the car and drive home quickly, but not too quickly. I didn’t need to get pulled over when I already have a murder written on my back. By the time I arrive home, I run upstairs and grab some clothes and basic supplies I’d need to live. I go in my dads room and grab some hundred dollar bills from his nightstand drawer. I throw my stuff into the car and close the door, looking at our old, rusted house. It was bound to fall down someday...just so happens today was that day. I take the jerrycan and open the top, pouring out the contents throughout the house. Mostly focusing on my dead father and brother. I needed this house to go down without a trace of evidence of what happened. I throw the jerrycan on the grass and pull my matches out of my pocket. I pull one out and strike it against the side and it bursts into a blue-orange flame, blowing back and forth, almost eager to meet its friend...gasoline. I drop the match and watch my house go up in flames. I hop in the front seat of the car and start it. Before I drive off, I take in the scene...no more abuse, no more evidence....I was free. I pull out of my driveway and leave my house behind. As I was driving along the road, I could see the smoke from my house miles away. Firetrucks and police cars were racing toward my house, completely ignoring the fact that the murderer was driving the opposite way. I sped up and drove to the county line, where I was to never return back to Glendale...well...without a good reason that is.