I was...someone

Chapter 1

Alisha's old dairy

It's always there. Never want to leave me. It likes and enjoys seeing my painful tears filling my palms. It likes to see my body shake and my vocal cords used so high that they eventually break. Everything stops. It's here to remind me of what I did. It lives with me. The monster is always there. The monster is me.

M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r. Mo n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t er . M o n s te r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r . M o n s t e r .

I never needed to ask why my family had this much fear in their eyes. I saw every piece of what they felt about me. All of them tried to hide the boiling fear in their skin but, how they moved, talked and looked at me made everything much clearer. I could hear them get scared while talking to me and their voices could break. They feared me and what I could do to them. Or what they thought i would do to them. They never wanted to talk to me or even look at me. But I wasn't like them. I always watched them while they were not looking around. And for every more hour I looked at them, could I see that thing. It was something in their brown and blue eyes. I tried to lie to myself. I said that I didn't saw it. But now I realize my stupidity. The thing I saw was hate. My brothers and my parents didn't just fear me. They hated me too. I carried on with this hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. I hoped that one day my dad wouldn't slap me because his body pulsed with fear every single time I did something. I thought humans always had something that frightened them, right? And many people learned how to deal with their fear. So why couldn't my family just stop fearing me.

My dad's voice is echoing through the room, even if the room is filled with things that make it impossible to echo. " I've always had the devil in my own house" He yelled every word he could find until his lungs screamed for air. I didn't look up. I didn't need to. Ivse seen his face like that too many times and i don't want to be reminded of all the other times. I let the tears burn through my eyes and the skin of my red cheeks. He took a deep breath before he was ready to leave the new red marks. The marks twisted around my thighs and sometimes my arms. They were meant to be there for ever. They were there to remind me of what I was. He did it for the right reasons, but it wasn't many years ago he called me his daughter. And it wasn't long ago he kissed me on the forehead, full with the proudness glittering in his eyes. I think everyone grows up from their parents. And maybe this was my way to do it. I remember the cracked mirror in my old bedroom. No matter how many times i shattered the glass, it was the same for me. The reflection never lied to me. It didn't hide anything. If I saw my reflection, could I imagine the redness like art. The art of my body. Art is beautiful, isn't it?