Unforgiven

One, two, get a clue

Three, four, blood and gore

Five, six, beat you with sticks

Seven, eight, this is your fate

Nine, ten, now’s your end

“It’s okay, Ann. I know you didn’t mean to,” the nurse says.

But she’s lying.
I did mean to.

I walk over to the bed and sit next to her.

“I’m so, so sor-sorry!” I sob, burying my head into her lap. I feel her squirm a bit, uncomfortable.

“We were playing House, and she opened the window to let in some fresh air, and-and,” I stop, and gasp for breath.

“My dear, it’s okay. It’s okay,” she responds automatically, tension in her voice.

She doesn’t believe me.
She’s scared of me.

I look right up at her. She flinches, and I break down once more, continuing my charade of emotion.

“You don’t believe me,” I say simply, standing up.

She gets up slowly, crooning my name.

“Oh, Ann, Ann-”, she begins, but I interrupt her by flinging the blanket lying on my shoulders on the floor.

“No! You don’t believe me!” I get up, my fists tightening.

Whitefaced, she backs up. “Ann,” she says, almost begging.

But almost in not enough for me.

I walk over to her, hug her, and whisper, “I’m sorry.”
But I’m not. And that’s okay. Because she doesn’t forgive me anyway.

She just stares at me as I back away slightly. She ponders my face for a second. The breeze from the open window fills the room, covering us like a cold blanket.

Realization appears in her face, but she’s too late.

I push her.
She screams.
But no one’s here.
No one forgives me.
And that’s okay.

One, two, get a clue

Three, four, blood and gore

Five, six, beat you with sticks

Seven, eight, this is your fate

Nine, ten, now’s your end

Devoid of Emotion

A girl is sitting on the cold seat of a swing in a school playground, slowly swinging back and forth, her feet scraping a gravel. It is a cold Autumn day, but the only garments she is wearing are shorts and a long sleeved shirt, tattered and stained with something dark red. “Paint?”, you think. She is looking down at her lap, her bangs covering the side of her face. The wind whistles an eerie, familar tune, cutting through the trees’ branches, tearing off the last of Autumn’s leaves. A newspaper article drifts slowly over to the girl, and it lands in her lap.

She cocks her head to the side slightly, and picks up the article. Silence. Then, the girl laughs, sweeping her bangs from the side of her face. She notices you, and glances up.

Her eyes are cold, black, and empty-devoid of emotion. Her fingers let go of their grasp on the article, and her pale hand raises and turns it’s bloody palm to you. She waves, which sends the article fluttering off again to the mercy of the wind.

Suddenly, she slides off the seat. It flies back, hitting the metal bars up righting the swing set. Clink, clink.

She starts to run toward you, a dishonest smile plastered on her grimy face. You notice she isn’t wearing shoes, and her long black hair is unkempt. The girl stops running, and is standing just a few feet away from you. “Hi. Wanna play a game with me?” she asks, rubbing her bloody hands on her shorts, already caked in layers of dirt and blood. Speechless, you shake your head. She shrugs, and skips off to the school’s back entrance.

The article from before floats by a few feet a way, before gently landing in front of your feet. Cautiously, you pick it up. The girl giggles, and slams the door shut behind her.

BLOODY MURDER AT THE HUNTINGTON HOUSE, the article states, in bold, black letters.

The police are investigating a gruesome family murder that was found out earlier today. The slaughtered remains of the two twin five year old girls, mother, and father, have no evidence on them, Detective Hardy says. The only survivor of this horrible group murder is third child, Mary Huntington, 13, who is currently missing.

Your eyes drift down to a picture of the Huntington family, all sitting on a picnic blanket underneath a tree. The twins are holding ice cream cones, and the mother is in her husband’s arms, laughing. The father is looking at the twins, smiling. But Mary is sitting off in a corner, her eyes slightly off the direction of the camera, staring at the camera man.

Her eyes are cold, black, and empty-devoid of emotion.