There are lots of ways to kill a person. You can strangle, stab, shoot, crush and bludgeon someone to death but that's just the basics. Dad says sometimes we have to get creative. He says I'm not as creative as my sister. Brunehilda was born to kill; at least that's what she says. She enjoys it. The screaming, the begging her victims do as she laughs. She's crazy but so is my dad. They went crazy after mom died. She died in the hospital after her heart just stopped working. When the doctors told dad she had passed away, he lost it. He started screaming that the doctors had killed mom on purpose. He said she must have seen something they hadn't wanted her to see. He swore his revenge. The hospital security had to drag him out.

"Murderers! Murderers! My wife didn't die; she was murdered by you so she couldn't tell your secrets! Killers! I'll get you for this!" He screamed. Soon he spread his tale to my sister. Brune was in so much pain she was willing to believe anything. So they started getting his revenge. Brunehilda looked older than she was but she was also very pretty and easily drew men in. She'd lure doctors' home with her or she'd kidnap them for her and dad to kill. However, they wouldn't just kill them they'd take parts away too. Eyes, lungs, and one cardiologist heart currently sat in our freezer. You see, Brune and dad had this idea that they could rebuild mom and make her twice as healthy by taking body parts from doctors who would have taken the best care of them. Her eyes came from an optometrist and her lungs came from a cardiovascular specialist. Dad had tried to get me into it but I didn't like killing. I wasn't like Brune who could draw it out for several hours; I preferred a quick kill and then get back to what I was doing before. Dad decided I was better at burying the bodies so after Brune was done I would take the bodies outside and bury them in various places over the yard. This is what I am doing now.

I finished the six foot deep hole and threw my shovel up onto the ground. Gripping the edge of the gaping space, I heaved myself up. A relatively easy task considering all the shoveling had given me Hulk like upper arm strength. I reveled in the soft grass feeling beneath my palms and the fresh soil smell in the air. However I was soon faced with the real reason I was here. The body of the liver doctor lay rolled up in a black plastic bag on the ground in front of me. Reaching forward, I grabbed the doctor's body and dragged it toward me. He was a heavy set doctor and I had overestimated how close to the hole I was.

"Ahhhhh!" I cried out as I went tumbling into the grave. I landed hard on my back and to add insult to injury, the doctor's massive body fell in on top of me.

I groaned as I shoved him off me. I would definitely be bruised if not left with a couple of fractured ribs. Stepping over the body, I situated it into a laying position before clambering out. It took me a while to get all the dirt back in and situated before I set a rock over it. As the dirt settled the rock would sink in and provide an inconspicuous grave marker. Finally done, I began my hike back to the house. We lived on an old farm with no neighbors for a good distance on either side and only one road going past. This made my job infinity easier since I didn't always have to worry about people seeing me. The house was small with two bedrooms, one bathroom and an office which had been converted into another bedroom for me. The kitchen and the living room were separated by a short wall that only came halfway up. The door creaked as I shoved it open and walked into the living room. My father and Brunehilda were sitting on the couch, dad was watching a ball game and Brunehilda was reading a new magazine.

"Charlotte? What happened, you have blood on you?" Dad said sitting up. I looked down and discovered there was blood smeared over my shirt. It must have soaked through the bag and gotten on me when the dead man used me for a landing strip.

"I fell in the hole" I shrugged. I didn't like talking if I didn't need to.

"What's wrong Charlie? Lose your footing?" my sister sniggered. Dad glared at her before motioning me to go clean up. After a long shower of scrubbing off a layer of grime, soil, and blood, I slipped into my room for a much needed nap.

My room was a small, grey walled block. The bed was crammed in and took up most of the room with a small, compact dresser shoved in a corner. I had a small closet on the wall but it was full of tattered clothes and my mother's stuff.

I pulled a t-shirt over my head and snuggled into bed. Reaching under the mattress, I pulled out an old photo. It showed a young version of mom balancing two babies in her arms. She was smiling at the camera. This was the only photo I had of mom; dad had taken all the others and turned them into a shrine in his room. Every night he sat in his room, drinking Jack Daniels, and crying his eyes out as he stared at mom's pictures.

"Goodnight, mom" I whispered before replacing the picture and dozing off.

"Charlie, wake up! Get up!" Brune hissed shaking me violently. I sat up and shoved her off of me.

"What?" I groaned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"The police are here. Dad is outside right now talking to them. What did you do? Dammit, Charlie! What did you do?" she harshly whispered and her hands grabbed my neck and began to squeeze. I wrestled her bony fingers off of me and struggled to breathe.

"I didn't *cough* do anything" I choked out "why would I? I mean maybe it was you. You and dad are getting sloppy. Leaving the doctors cars in open view and using your real name. Besides you aren't as pretty as you used to be." Her face contorted in unbelievable rage and she lunged for me. She scratched at my face with her nails and tried to gouge out my eyes. Grabbing her wrists, I threw her against the wall. I ran for the door and slung is open before bolting for the kitchen. I heard Brune's howl of rage as she followed me. Her screech was like a banshee's scream and it shook me to my bones.

"You ugly, little bitch!" Brune's hands tangled in my hair and threw me down on the cold tile of the kitchen. "Now, I'm going to do what I should have done years ago!" she ripped a huge carving knife out of a wooden knife holder and started towards me. I surged up and stumbled away from her. I turned to run and she once again seized me by my hair. Jerking my head back with enough force to give me whiplash, Brune shoved me against the counter and poised the knife to stab deep into my chest. On instinct, my hand shot up to grip the knife handle over her hand. Now it was a battle of strength. Both of us trying to force the knife in opposite directions.

"No!" I growled as I struggled to get the knife away from me. Brunehilda was smart. She was clever and much prettier than I was. She also, as dad had mentioned on many occasions, was much more creative than I was. However, years of digging graves and hauling bodies had left me with the most upper arm strength of the two of us and I was quickly over powering her. As the tip of the knife pierced the soft skin of her chest she let out a shriek.

"No! You are nothing but a useless freak!" she screamed. I noticed a thin red tear falling down from the knife wound and I felt a surge of power. After all those years of Brunehilda beating me and spilling my blood, I was finally going to spill hers. I was going to make sure she never hurt me ever again. Adrenalin surged through my veins and I slammed the knife into her chest until only the hilt stuck out. She gasped, and fell backwards. Her chest rose once, twice and then fell still. Her glassy eyes stared up at me. Brunehilda was dead.

"No!" my father's voice rang through the house. His face was pale and his wide, horror-stricken eyes were fastened on Brunehilda's body. He stood, frozen by the door until finally his eyes slid to me.

"You killed Brunehilda" the odd calm to his voice was more unsettling than what had just happened "You killed Brunehilda, you were part of it the whole time. You were on the doctor's side. I won't let them get away with this! I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!" he screamed as he came thundering toward me. Reaching down, I ripped the knife from Brunehilda's body. I brought it up in just enough time for him to run straight into it.

"What?" my fathered gasped as he stumbled back, the knife jutting out of his stomach. "I thought you loved us. I thought you loved your mother. You were a traitor. You never loved us. You never…" my father's words disappeared into a whisper and his eyes took on the same glassy look as Brunehilda's. My father was dead.

The police officers came running in attracted by the noise. The house was soundproof but when my dad had come in he had left the door wide open. His yells had sounded around the neighborhood. Their names were Officer Trevor and Officer Anderson. I would come to know them very well in the trials. They would say that when they saw the bodies and that I was so dazed that the only thing I could say was "Get Creative" over and over again.

The trial's passed quickly. I became a source of pity. At first the media called me a monster and pasted my picture everywhere. Then after my doctors reports got out they called me the poor abused daughter. I had multiple healed fractures that they said were probably due to my father and sister beating me so often. I didn't bother to tell them that most of them were from all the times I had dropped a body on myself. Then the psychologist said I had a form of schizophrenia that made it so I didn't really know what I was doing. There was a strong insanity for them to build on and I arranged a plea bargain after showing them where all the bodies were. I was given a not guilty ruling since the evidence stated that I had acted in self-defense.

I was placed in a foster home, given therapy, and finally ruled safe enough to put in school. I became happy. No more killing, no more digging, a normal life. The acts of the past seemed so trivial as I walked home from school. I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face as I recalled the shocked looks on my father and sister's faces when they realized that in the struggle of death, Death which they had been so good at, that I had won. The sound of feet behind me alerted me.

"Freak!" said a blonde, beefy boy from school as he knocked my book out of my hands.

"I heard she was in a mental hospital" said a half starved red head I knew as Julie. I stooped to pick up the book, not letting the smile fall off my face.

"God, what a Freak!" a smaller boy with coal skin laughed before he and his friends ran off laughing. I followed them with my eyes until they rounded the corner and slipped into an abandoned old building that most teens hung out at. Standing up, I let my smile widen as a large carving knife slid out of my sleeve.

"Get Creative" I said before following after them.