In the beginning there was God.
In the end there was suffering.

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     My whole life, unaccomplished, reverberated through my head. It felt like the pain, the fear, and all the bad things in the world, had been compressed into one soul. And it was about to all end, with this one decision. Just do it already, hissed this impatient voice inside my head. Pull the trigger? Yes, the trigger! Oh, how I wished I would already. End all this ridiculous madness. But the questions and uncertainties ran through my head, and I almost laughed out loud from my own insanity. I wondered what would happened if I did pull the trigger… because we all know what happens when so much pressure was compounded into a finite space. Would the world just explode then? No, I mean, would my world just explode?
     Many would think this monstrous- to spill ones own blood. Yes, utterly and most completely monstrous. Horrendous!
     Despicable.
     A hideous deed.
     An unthinkable crime against humanity!
     An ABOMINATION to GOD!
     ‘GOD!’ Laughter erupted, and bounced around inside my skull.
     Well, how’s that saying go again? No use crying over spilt milk. Blood, milk, not too much of a difference, now is there?
     HA, good one!
     As the half jovial, half cynical chatter went on, I continued my reflection. I must be insane, I thought. Well of course. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here. But from what point had I hurdled to this gate of conflagration? Was it point A? My illegitimate birth to a whore of a mother? Or point B- my childhood which consisted of rape, terror, exploited naivete, and an ocean of tears? So, then, that would make this point Z- the ending of a pitiful life.
     Then, as that last thought put itself together in my own unstable mind, something inside of me woke up. The me which had been asleep, and nearly dead for such a long time, opened her eyes. I had trouble deciding whether to laugh or cry. Is this what I had become? Disgust overtook me. Along with that disgust came shame and clarity. This was not who I chose to be. Anger had chose it for me. Anger had taken my life.
     I had to take it back. I had to.
     This is was it. The devil within me was expelled. I had banished him with my own will. I controlled my life now.
   Yet, somehow I had found that the gun began to slowly cock itself. The muzzle had found its way to the face which had been dead to me for years.
     Oh, I commend thee, clichéd daughter of the poverty that which Satan hath wrought, for your story shall truly be exceptional one to tell! That was what the demons which possessed me jeered as the muscles in my hand and fingers involuntarily began to contract.
     I cried aloud, knowing this was the curtain call.
     -Oh what a splendid grand finale!

     BAM.


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     My colorless face contrasted sharply with the bright red blood that heavily splattered it. So did hers. The gun was found in her hand, so they assumed it was a suicide.
     God, that dream had been such a pain in the ass. That was the fateful day I killed my mother. But that had been about a three weeks ago. I was haunted by that memory once or twice the first few days, which consisted of despairing guilt and fear. But like magic, all that shame had slowly melted away by the undeniable, bitter-sweet reality-
     I am [name undecided]. I am a killer.

by Sara Vohn