Retribution in Blood
Growing up a socially awkward child, I was often bullied both by my siblings and by other children at my school. When I reached my teens, I had no shred of self-esteem left. Teachers never cared, and my parents were always telling me to “grow up” and “stop being so sensitive”. They often called me a drama queen and an attention-seeker. I couldn’t rely on anyone, anywhere.
I ran away from home when I was sixteen but was caught by the cops that same night and brought back to my parents. I tried explaining to the police that I couldn’t take it anymore in that cursed neighbourhood, but they brushed off my words as teenage angst. The moment the cops left, my parents beat me senseless for what I did. I hated them—I wished they’d die. But it was not just them: I was beginning to despise the entire town. I wish I could erase them all.
After that day, I made it a point to loiter at different shops and the town library to escape my siblings and bullies after school. However, one evening, I was caught by a group of girls and was dragged to the cemetery. They forced liquor down my throat until I threw up and passed out. I woke up past midnight, nauseous and missing my clothes. I looked around to see if they had hidden my clothes anywhere nearby, but no, they had stolen them. I stuck to the shadows and took a detour home, but when I got there, my parents were ready for me. Those girls had taken snaps of me nude and spread them across town to every phone number they knew.
I was beaten once again that night. My parents wouldn’t hear my side; they had already made up their minds about me. I curled up in bed, crying as the night passed by. I wished the morning would never come. I never wanted to leave my room again, I never wanted to see their wretched faces ever again. I was engulfed in my thoughts—feelings I filed away that often resurfaced at times like these. Things I never had the courage to act upon, no matter how much I wanted to. Maybe I was too sensitive. Maybe I deserved this for not being able to stand up for myself, even once.
I was almost consumed by those dark suggestions when, suddenly, a voice whispered into my ear: “You don’t deserve their ridicule, don’t you ever doubt yourself.”
I almost fell off my bed the second I heard it. “Wh-who’s there?”
“A spirit of vengeance, but you can call me Karina,” the voice replied.
I was about to question the spirit again when a dagger suddenly marerialised before me, floating in the air.
“Hold out your hand. Grasp it,” Karina said.
I did as she told. The dagger fell into my hand; I gripped it tight. A sudden surge of power coursed through my body, and I saw my veins begin to glow amber as the energy spread throughout my entire being. It was exhilarating. I looked ahead and saw that even the veins on my face were glowing—and so were my eyes.
“Now go,” Karina said. “Reap the retribution you deserve!”
I went into my parents’ room and stabbed them repeatedly. I started with my mother, tearing through her throat and driving the blade into her temple several times. My father tried to stop me, but I held him back with one hand with my newfound powers until it was his turn. Each time I sunk my blade into my mother’s skull, I felt the power within me well even more. I easily sliced through my father, starting from his shoulder and moving diagonally to his hip, tearing him in half. The room filled with the metallic fragrance of death. I finally felt what I was longing for all my life: freedom.
“There’s still more to do,” Karina said.
“Yes, much more…”
Next were my siblings, then my bullies, teachers, and even the cops that found me that day. No one could stop me. The more I killed, the more invincible I became. Bullets and knives were nothing against me. But I found myself unable to stop. Maybe I didn’t want to. Karina’s magic trapped the residents of the entire town within its limits. No one escaped my wrath—I slaughtered every last one of them until it was finally silent.
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