• Many people mainly press asked the brilliant question of ‘why’d I do it?’ and my answer has always been the same ‘why not? After years and years of pure annoyance, I had no choice but to crack they brought their fated onto themselves.’ some said that that wasn’t reason enough but to me, at the time, it was more than enough of a reason. I couldn’t take it , I couldn’t continue, and all I ever wanted was for it, them, to end. So f I couldn’t get that beautiful peace I so longed for then they’d have to discontinue their horrid rampage on earth. I fed the hunger in my belly. That hunger that kept me up all night all even after dinner. That hunger that prevented sleep from coming my way. That hunger that fueled my body through school. That hunger to see them sped out across the floor, to see their bodies no longer moving, no longer breathing, no longer annoying.
    I hated them, hated them with a passion, and as I grew older my hatred for them grew as well. To the point where being in the same room as them made me want to through up. Made me want to pull my hair out, by it’s roots. So to fuel this hunger that also hated those people, I did what I thought was best, and in the end it proved as best. I killed them. I have no problem admitting to it. I worked in raw need, that the thought of covering up the evidence didn’t a cur to me until after their deaths, and by that time it was too late. So I didn’t fight it when the police showed up at my house, I didn’t fight it when the detectives questioned me. I didn’t fight it when the press harassed me. I didn’t fight it when the courts announced my sentence. I didn’t fight it when the rapist and murderers avoided me in prison. I didn’t fight it when the guards had to move me to my own cell because the other prisoners were too afraid to be a round me.
    I’ve over heard many people around me describe me; it brings a smile to my face when the words disturbed, psycho, and crazy are mentioned as well. I hadn’t thought that my crime was so brutal that everyone would be so horrified by me, but apparently, I miss judged the world. I only remember bits and pieces of that night, the night I killed those people. The hunger in my bell was so great I could hear it rumbling. So great that it caused me pain. So great that my vision was affected by it. The words kept playing in my head, I hate them, I hate them, I hate, I hate, I hate, I hate, I hate them! I could barely control my body, but I knew of what I wanted to do, I knew of what I had to do. So in the middle of an arguing combat fight going three ways, I grabbed the sharpest, closed object to me and lodged it into my mother’s throat. Before my younger brother could react to out mother’s sudden quietness, his blood joined to collection of hers splattered across the kitchen wall. I kept going until all give of my other relatives were still, quiet, dead. Ti seemed that as soon as their voices stopped (or was it their breathing?) the hunger in my belly stopped, the body consuming pain ceased. Their deaths were as quick as I’d hoped. When every thing was finished there was screaming, mind shattering screaming. I couldn’t believe what I had done, sure I hated these people but I never thought I’d kill them, but there they lay in front of me, dead. I had no choice but to except it and plan out my next moves.
    I realized that trying to cover up their deaths wasn’t going to work, I realized that my finger prints were everywhere, so I had no chance of pinning the crime on someone else, and if I tried to clean it up the police would notice that as well. So I did the only sensible thing that came to me. I picked up the phone and as calmly as I could manage, and dialed 911. I use my professional voice, that I usually take on when making a speech in class, or on an job interview, and explain to the woman on the phone, what I had done. I personally don’t remember what all I said to her but I memorized what the lawyers had played in court. I’d said that I’d killed my family, that she should send the police, and I gave her my address. I knew she hadn’t taken me seriously, that she thought I was some kid playing a prank. She stated a few times that the police would actually show up. But I assured her that, that was what I wanted. I stayed on the phone with her until the police came to the door. When I et them in, I held out my wrist for them to cuff. They looked over the scene then asked the very question I knew they both were thinking. The very question that every one was thinking. The question that even the judge was thinking ‘why?’
    I don’t think… I know that what I did was wrong and very one sided, sure, now I can se that I loved them, but the unbearable feeling of relief always washed through me relaxing me, when ever I thought of what my life would be like, if I’d let them live. I prefer this way of living to them anytime. But my new found peace came with a horrifying side effect. Every night as my eyes closed, I’m pulled back into that head splitting scene. A girl, 16, stands in the door of a bathroom, struck by fear, feet planted, eyes paralyzed to the teen in the mirror across from her. Hot crimson liquid slid, thick, down her cheeks, it knotted up in her hair, spattered across her face, dripped from her eyelashes and stained her shirt red in blood. A scream is always ripped from my throat at this sight, preventing me from ever sleeping past 5am. every night, a new scream. The detectives that were assigned to my case said that it was proof that I was regretful of what I did to my family, but I could never except that, I just wasn’t strong enough to handle looking back on my own self. I had pictures that had been taken on the day of the murders. I can look at those in awe. I was beautiful. As if a lost goddess, something uncontrollable, untamable. Even in the pictures of me in the police car in front of my house, the blood on my face enhanced my beauty, it made me untouchable. As if I knew, they knew, that they had no power over me. These pictures did not scare me, they enchanted me. But in my nightmares, the child in the mirror, she’s unstoppable, and she wields her unimaginably sharp blade in my direction I had to, I have to, do what ever it takes to please her.
    So, who will she decides annoys her next?