Christmas Day

It all started when I was 5 but it all ended on Christmas day.

I'm Sarah Jessica Badin and a senior in high school. I have a B average and I take choir. I go to public school because my family isn't well off. Well that is what I thought when I was growing up. I mean we had our necessities and such, but we could not go out shopping for anything else…ever. I had a few friends from school as well but because of the wealth issue; I never became as close as I wish I did.

The voices, oh god the voices. Every time they came something bad would happen. I don't like to think about them so I am not going to talk about them right now. Except that they are always two women fighting, about what, I do not know.

When the first time I told my parents about the voices, I was about five years old. They thought it was just my over active imagination. At least until they found my pet rabbit dead in the back yard and my hands covered in blood. Then when I was ten, the voices came again, and I later found that the six people on the bus I was talking home from school were in the hospital in critical condition. It was then, that they decided to send me to a therapist. We lived off Mac and Cheese for the month until my father was promoted to manager at Subway. During that same month the therapist diagnosed me a schizophrenic: meaning that I heard voices that weren't my own and did what they told me. But even as a ten year old child I knew that what the doctor said was not true, it was something else that made me do those terrible things. I had been going to that therapist for seven years after that.

Every couple of years the therapist would try to send me to a sanitarium. At first my parents agreed and I would spend months at a time in a white room with pads. The doctors would give me all sorts of meds to suppress the voices, but they never worked. Every new med would make them worse, one time it got so bad that I broke the glass and put four security guards in a coma. Everyone was telling my parents that they should keep me locked up or for the safety of the community at large put me in an unnatural coma. My parents were appalled by both the choices and took me back immediately.

After we left I was fine for 7 years.

Of course something good never lasts long. I was cleaning the floors of the restaurant where I worked on weekends and was about to finish cleaning up when the voices hit full force. I screamed which alerted the other late shift people. They came running to see what was wrong with me. I screamed and screamed telling them to go. They didn't leave. Their killing was the first I remembered. The first person I killed was a middle aged woman whose name was Shelly; she had three kids all under the age of ten. I tore off her head and feasted on her innards, all the while I some how kept the other two in the room with me. The next person was a young boy no older then 16, he was a run away, but he was the nicest person you would ever meet. His death was the most gruesome; I slowly stripped his skin from his body while I broke every bone in his body. I think I was laughing the whole time at their pain The last person who died was a new hire I didn't know him that well, other then that he was single and in his forties. I made him eat Shelly's and the boy's hearts as well as his own. After the killings I blacked out and woke up in a hospital.

The police told me what happened and asked me if I knew who the killer was. I did, it was me, but I would not tell them. I couldn't voice the words. I think they knew I was lying. They came day after day asking what had happened and who the killer was. Every day I would tell them I didn't know.

On my 18th birthday day the voices got worse and I did the worst thing I have ever done. My family and I were having my birthday dinner. We were laughing, joking, and all around having a good time. Until…the voices came, stronger then normal. This time they were too strong I couldn't control them. I yelled at my family to run, too leave the house, to get away. They didn't go; they thought that they could do something to help me. That was not the case. Before anyone could move I attacked… that was the last memory I have of that night. But from what the police report said my brother was attacked first and his insides were torn out of his body and spattered around the room. My father was attacked second, his spine was pulled out of his body and his face smashed in. Lastly was my mother only too marks were on her, right on her jugular vein, she was drained of all her blood and was lain delicately on the bed my parents had once shared and was wearing her old wedding dress. It seemed as though the killer wanted her to have no suffering.

I was in complete shock that I had done all that and too my own family. I couldn't even cry. It was all too surreal. Even during the court procedure. I opted to live by my self; I did not want to hurt anyone anymore. Never again, I would never hurt like that again.

I ended it under the glow of Christmas lights on Christmas day.

yeah for gross morbity!! ok i know this is very morbid and not like my other work, but i did this for class and i wanted to see what you think