Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I stood there with the sword in my hand
Blood soaked the wooden floors
I look up to the person in front
It’s me, the broken version of me
She wears a weary smile but I can tell she’s tired
She’s tired of all of the burdens, begging to be killed
I stare at her and wonder if she exists in me
If she’s at the root of all of my pain
I look back to the sword in my hand
Tears welling in my eyes
“It’s not her fault” I cry to myself
“It’s not her fault” I repeat again
But I know what I have to do
I know she must go
So I raise the sword and take a breath
But I stop, and open one eye, just a crack
Cowering beneath the blade is a little girl, little me
She looks at me, eyes wide, full of terror
Tears streaming down her face
“Why?” she screams
I could only stare back at her, guilt forming in my throat
How do I explain that it wasn’t her fault
Because she knows that’s not true
She knows that we’re the ones who brought this onto ourselves
We were the ones who made her this way
I was the one who created this broken monster
My tears start falling with hers
I look away, my lungs feel like there’s a thousand pounds crushing them, heart racing
My chest tightens, and I start to feel nauseous
The tears falling quicker
I scream
And bring the sword down
The blade going through her
I fall to my knees, sobbing
I look at the little girl and see myself again
But she no longer looks tired or broken
I can see in her eyes that she’s free
She no longer feels the pain
And I realize, the weight on my shoulders disappear
I can breathe again
The girl I killed was the girl who took on every responsibility
Every burden
And gave everything to others while only saving the crumbs for herself
She was the demon I was running from
I was running from myself

— The End —