Etched In Blood

When most people look back at their childhood, they remember sweet little memories that they want to hold onto forever and their faces light up with fond smiles as they remember how foolish they were as young kids. More often than not people want to leave behind who they are in the present, even if only for a minutes, and relive a special moment of their childhood, when they hadn't a care in the world and perhaps the worst pain they felt was a scraped knee.

My childhood was not so different until a certain day, the day that I will remember forever, but certainly not something that will light up my face in the form of a smile. If I were asked to describe my earliest childhood memories, I'm afraid to say that I'd lie. The memories of my first day of school and my first best friend have cruelly been tainted and overshadowed by that one day, and that one day shall remain in my memory forever.

It was a day unlike any other. I was seven and knew little about the world. My worst worry was having an angry mother shout at me for being late home from my best friend's house.

"Goodbye George!" I exclaimed as I bid goodbye to him for the day. Brightly smiling at George's mother, I opened the door to the house and stepped outside into the dark, rainy evening. Glancing over at my house that was only three doors away, I decided it was best if I made a run for it. Upon reaching my house I didn't pay attention to the fact that the lights were off and no sound could be hear from inside, instead I barged inside the place I had called home for my whole life. That was the biggest mistake I ever made.

They say I'm insane. They say that I'll never get out of this place with the white walls, locked doors and white-coated doctors.

They're wrong though. I'm not the crazy one. Ever after seeing my mother dead on the kitchen floor with scars on her body and knives in her stomach, I'm not the insane one.

Ever after watching the man I called my father crying after committing a heinous crime, I'm not the insane one.

He's to blame for all of this. He's a coward though. He ran away that evening, even before I had opened the door to my house. He was gone before I bid farewell to George.

Blake destroyed my life. They say that I'm insane because Blake isn't real.

They're the insane ones because Blake is as real as can be.

They don't believe me because I was stupid. I deserved to come to this place. I was weak then; I was a small girl of seven who had just found her mother dead. I was angry and I didn't understand how my father could have done such a thing. I didn't suspect Blake for a second. I fell right into his trap like the foolish girl I was.

When the police found me sobbing beside my dead parents with blood on my hands they immediately assumed that I was the murderer and that I was crazy. They're wrong, of course, but if there's on thing that I've learned in life it is that I will always be considered the crazy girl who killed her parents. If I ever get out of here, I will be an outcast and I'll be feared by all.

So this will be the last breath I take. I can only hope that someday Blake will be punished for all that he has done to me. I can only hope that one day, someone, somewhere, will hear my story and believe that I was never the crazy one.

A/N: A short story I wrote for my English homework. I feel really weird about it...so yeah. Reviews appreciated.