Saturday, June 4, 2016

A backstory

Clara sobbed, trying to press herself into the corner without touching the long, but luckily shallow, cut across her stomach. Her dress was torn and soaked in blood. Her mind was panicked and scatter and she was desperately trying to decide what to do. What was there to do when-
Her parents walked in. They both frozen and stared at her in shock.
“Clara...” Her father said. “What -?” he hesitated. “What happened?”
She stood up slowly, grimacing. “I think,” her voice shook. A clear thought formed in her mind. Weakling. She made her voice hard. “I think you know perfectly well.”
“Clara, honey, we have no idea. Please, tell us what happened,” her mother responded, her voice thick with concern. Fake concern.
“STOP LYING!” Clara screamed, tears streaming down her face. “I KNOW YOU SENT SOMEONE TO KILL ME! TO KILL YOUR DAUGHTER”
“Clara, that’s ridi-“
She cut her father off. “NO. I CAN READ YOUR MIND. I KNOW. STOP LYING”
A fresh wave of pain washed over her and she slumped to the ground.
“Just stop lying…” she whispered.
Her parents stood over her, glaring.
“Fine.” Her father finally replied. “We did send someone to kill you. And I guess we’ll have to finish the job for ourselves now.”
“You’re not our daughter,” her mother spat. “You’re some psycho who mind controls people into doing anything for her. I don’t know what you are or how you do it, but you are not our daughter.”
How do they know about my powers? She instinctively looked into her mother’s mind and found it completely different than it had been any other time. She saw all the same memories, but in a different light. This time, instead of the love or emptiness she normally found, there was hate and fear. Her parents had realized. They realized she pushed at their emotions and had hid their true thoughts from her. She hadn’t harmed them in any way or even been in their minds all that much. And they tried to kill her. She felt hatred and anger welling up inside of her and stood up. Even though she was only eight and much shorter than her parents, they both took a step back.
She looked at them and shook her head. “You’ve made a horrible choice.”
Her father pulled a knife out of his jacket and unsheathed it. Her mother smirked. “No, I think it’s you that made a horr-.” Her eyes widen and she gurgled as Clara’s father dove the knife into her throat. Now it was Clara’s turn to smirk as she instructed her father to stab himself next. He fell to the ground, blood pouring out of his next and mingling with her mother’s. She laughed at them both, feeling so powerful while they lay at her feet. Well. Now what?
Clara looked around her room, then realized she too was spilling blood. She went to the bathroom, grabbed a wash cloth and soaked it in warm water, gently cleaning the blood off. She then bandaged it up to the best of her abilities and put on a clean, blue dress. She walked back into her room and looked at her parents again. She carefully knelt down and dipped her finger in their blood, writing “Forget Me Not” beside them. She wiped her finger on her mother’s shirt and stood up. She grabbed a draw string bag from her closet and put together a small bundle of things then left her house, her mind full of violence.