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when i was born everything was wrong. out of place. the wrong parts, the wrong brain, the wrong chemicals. i kicked and screamed "somebody help me, get me out of here", but nobody heard, nobody understood.
when i grew up everything was wrong. nobody knew, not even me, but it was wrong, and it would haunt me.
when i was ten, i knew it was wrong. i didnt know what was wrong, but something was happening to me, i morphed into something alien, my skin boiled and peeled and shed, leaving blood and sinew in my wake. i screamed for help, but no one heard.
"maybe this will turn me into something worthy of love", i thought. "maybe i'll become me, finally. who ive always dreamed of being."
only to look upon myself in horror, a mutant looking back at me. i ran crying for help, and it chased me, smothered me, trapped me. i screamed for help and it gagged me. when the rescue squad came, they mistook it for me. they called her [redacted.] they took her to shelter, leaving me in agonized confinement. there was nothing i could do.
i was 13 when i began planning it. i stalked her, took notes of her weaknesses, and began to slowly poison her. she knew something was wrong and she screamed for help and clawed at herself, and there was nothing she could do.
i was 14 when i committed my first murder. it was an accident, or was it. i stabbed her in the chest and buried her in my backyard and spat on her grave. nobody knew.
i tried to erase the evidence and then everyone knew. i tried to make everyone forget her name, what i did to her. i changed my name, cut my hair, threw out my clothes, even changed my mannerisms and handwriting. so they would forget my heinous crime and start seeing me as a person.
no matter what i did, nobody can look at me, hear of me, think of me, without seeing her. the girl i killed. the poorly hidden murder-suicide i thought i could keep a secret despite the blood on my hands, the knife in my pocket, the stench of rotting flesh in my yard.
i am haunted by her ghost even though killing her was what was best for me, for her, and for the world. which nobody understands. they treat it as a senseless act of cruelty. you should've known better, they say. you'll regret it, they say. she was so happy, they say.
i dont hate myself for what i did. i hate that i had to do it, and i hate that nobody can see it for themselves that it was for the better.
you know what they say about killing someone for the first time. it changes you. and when i was 14, i began to change.