I recently turned 18, and my life has been pretty hard since. I was never good enough for my family. My two other siblings never disappointed my mother or my father. They were younger than me—although the age gap wasn’t huge, I always thought that was the reason they mistreated me. I was never difficult toward them; it wasn’t their fault my parents were like this.
Nevertheless, that wasn’t the case with Abel. He chose to follow my parents’ path. I was quite disappointed, but I was glad Sarah didn’t let me down. Her hope was what kept me alive. She always bragged about me to her friends. She made me feel special, like I was some sort of god.
My parents didn’t want her to talk to me; they said I was a “waste of time.” Funny how she always stood up for me. The age gap between Sarah and me was bigger than the one I had with Abel. That’s why it was quite a funny scene: a 12-year-old girl protecting her 18-year-old sister. She had a brave personality for sure. She talked back to my father without fear. I always warned her about not getting on his nerves, but she never listened to me.
I was always apprehensive about the situation, but at some point, I let it go. Around the time I turned 18, my father demanded that I leave the house. I wasn’t hesitant; I knew he’d eventually ask me to. There wasn’t much I could do but obey—always what I had been trained to do. Like a dog, almost no difference.
I was prepared, but what about Sarah? What was she going to do? She would shatter if she found out I was leaving. Before I could speak up, he told me to pack my possessions. I quickly ran upstairs to pack. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. I was happy I could finally escape this prison I called a house, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah.
Next thing I knew, Sarah was next to me, hugging my waist, which made me cry even more. She asked me what had happened, but my mouth was sealed. I didn’t want her to put up a fight with my father once again before he came. My sister immediately started arguing without knowing the situation. I suppose she assumed it was about our father.
I quickly ran through the front door. The last thing that came out of my mouth was “sorry,” and then I left. I booked myself a cut-rate hotel. I was extremely anxious. What if something horrible had happened to Sarah?
I paid an uninvited visit the next day, just to make sure everything was fine. It was about 1 a.m. when I arrived. I estimated that they would all be asleep at that time, but something was really off—something that bothered me. There was an unusual silence. It was around 1 a.m., but there was a strange energy surrounding the house.
I ignored it and checked Sarah’s window. The window directly faced her bed, which worked to my benefit; I could quickly check on her and then leave. Her curtains were closed, though. I questioned it—she would always leave them open for some reason. Why were they closed?
I squinted my eyes really hard; unfortunately, my eyesight wasn’t the greatest. Suddenly, I saw something. It was the silhouette of a man. I figured it was my father. He looked nervous, his arms resting on his forehead. But I still couldn’t see Sarah anywhere.
I quietly stumbled around the house. I moved on all fours so I wouldn’t get caught. The garden was really dirty. I was surprised by the sight; father always made sure it was clean. As I was questioning the garden, I abruptly fell. I couldn’t tell what caused me to fall. It looked odd—really odd. I couldn’t tell what it was in the darkness, so I touched it.
It was a finger.
I quickly excavated the soil beneath my body. The corpse buried under the soil smelled rotten. It had been there for at least one or two days. As I dug further, a body part appeared—but it was only one piece. An arm. It had a soft texture, just like Sarah’s.
My first instinct was not to call the cops. I needed to take vengeance for the sake of Sarah. I knew exactly who did it. I grabbed a shovel from the cabinet where we kept all our gardening supplies. I knocked on the door. No one answered, but I suppose the fact that I had raised awareness counted for something.
I went to check on my father. He seemed oddly carefree, which made me sullen. I knew he was the one behind all of this. The previous day, they had fought because of me. It was my fault she ended up dead.
My grip on the shovel tightened. For years, I had put up with him and his nonsense, containing my rage. But now, I had to take my revenge for Sarah, once and for all.
I proceeded to break in. I was getting more frustrated the more I thought about my father. I shoved my shovel into the glass, shattering it into pieces. I heard a loud gasp. It sounded like my father.
We glared at each other. At that moment, I saw red. I rushed toward him and started strangling him. He was unaware that I was capable of such things. He tried to talk, but I did not let him. He was soon out of breath. I let him gasp for a moment, and shortly after, I shoved my weapon through his head. I did it a couple of times just to make sure he was dead. I checked his pulse afterward. He was dead.
Surprisingly, I hadn’t heard from either Abel or my mother. It was midnight, after all. I felt a sense of relief wash over me, but that feeling was soon crushed by the guilt weighing on my shoulders—the death of Sarah. It hit me once again.
After wandering around the house, I saw my medication on the kitchen counter. I stared at it blankly. I had an idea. I took a few bottles—enough to make me pass out.
I was almost dozing off when suddenly I saw a light reaching out to me. It was making its way toward me. I have no clue what I felt, but it was as if my faith—my destiny—was thriving again.
“We should go now, Azazel,” said the voice.
It sounded like Sarah.
“Lead the way, Sarah,” I said, my eyes almost shut. I was ecstatic that I could finally be with Sarah.