AN: This story actually won an award. I won the 10th grade fiction catagory in a county wide contest (and no, I do not live in a small county. 'Tis quite large, thankyouverymuch!). So, give it a chance. And at the very least, if it stinks, think of it as somewhere to practice flaming or constructive criticism.

Emily

I Wonder Why

A cold wind swiftly blows the trees around her. The landscape seems so baron, despite the many graves that decorate the place. The girl is young, no older than fifteen, maybe even younger. A coat is wrapped around her body, concealing her figure. Her eyes are gray. Perhaps once they shined, but pain has hardened them. The blustery wind whips her messy chestnut hair. She stares at the grave, her face devoid of all emotion. Suddenly, a bitter laugh comes from her lips. A laugh that seems inhuman, that seems to be something from a monster, not a young girl. She smirks at the grave.

“I wonder why I ever trusted you.” She whispers, her voice hard. She spits on the grave, to prove a point. Suddenly, she kicks the gravestone hard. Her face has changed, her emotions now showing. Horror can be seen in her features as she looks back. But just as quickly as the outburst comes, it recedes. She turns her head, looking around, checking if she is still alone.

“I wonder why I was such a fool. I wonder why I ever let you near me.” She whispers again. Her breath has become quicker, more erratic as anger flows through her body. Here lies the man who tainted her young body, who showed her more pain than someone of her age should ever have known. She shudders involuntarily. She is not sure if it is the cold, or the horror of that night. Once more she looks down at the grave.

“I wonder why you hurt me.” She says in a hoarse voice. “I wonder why you stole my innocence.” Her mind flashes back to that night. She can see the lust in his eyes; feel his hands on her, violating her. She remembers praying that he wasn’t going to kill her, that he would let her live. She remembers being relieved when he finished, and left her there, alone and sobbing. “I wonder why you didn’t kill me.” She finishes. But in her mind, she knows why he didn’t kill her. That would have been too easy, putting her out of her misery. She wishes now that she had died, but then she wouldn’t have been able to get her revenge.

She knows that he can’t hear her, but that is okay. For the night he died, he had heard everything. A gleam shows in her eyes as she remembers the feel of the knife in her hand, the sound of his pleading screams, the feel of his warm blood all over her. The grave marker reads that he was a loving man, a loving father. But above him stands the stepdaughter whom he had taken advantage of, whom he had killed inside. And above him stands the girl, who in turn, took his life.

“I wonder why for a lot of things.” She says finally. “But I don’t wonder why I killed you.” And with that, she turns to leave. She turns to go back and play the role of distraught daughter. For they are the only two who will ever know the truth, and she plans to keep it this way.

“Goodbye.” She says. “May you rot in hell."

Emily