[Self-inflicted Conflict]

"Cold," a last and final whisper came from the direction of the lifeless, mangled body. Life left her almost too peacefully for a victim who faced the slighty more... gruesome resolve. Standing up from the ground, I faced forward. This was exactly what I wanted- no, this is exactly what I needed.

A warm, crimson colour covered my limbs, my torso. It was the only blanket engulfing my figure on this chilly night, another 11:11 pm that won't stick in anyone's head. I suddenly recalled the time's my mother would tell my stupid younger brother and I to make wish. "Why isn't it coming true, mom?" A small child with my voice asked, a little frustrated at the fact that no matter how hard she tried to get some type of response, no one said a single thing. Shaking my head in a panicked jerk, visualizing nostalgia fading away with every gesture. Though, this time it's different. My wish came true.

"Should I look back?" I questioned hesitantly in my mind, wondering if I wanted to see my only murder one more time. Continuing through the familiar house, I held the kitchen blade diligently in my right hand. I'd drop the weapon in attempt to take a forensic counter measure, but if someone bothered to look at the crime, the answer would lie on the surface. It was pretty obvious that I did it.

I'm not exactly proud of what I accomplished, but the person I hated most- the person that didn't matter was finally gone. If she did, anybody would have taken the time to tell her so. Including me.

I glanced back at the dead person lying in their kitchen, forever gone on the floor. Restful eyes stared back into soulless ones. My gaze trailed down to the cause of death, a single stab wound to the throat. "Aren't I great? I'm great, right?" I thought, "who else would take full control and stab someone-?" But my self talk was interrupted by the blood spreading out more and more, creating something I didn't want to see.

I saw myself in the puddle, and to reassure myself, I had to repeat the words, "she's gone" and "I'm a different person now". 11:37pm now, and I'm still lingering in the lavender scented house. I have my reasons, and what's done has been done. I can't go back now... So why am I suddenly having impulses similar to regret?

"It's the smell," I thought, taking another deep breath. "Definitely the smell." I remember an almost uncanny scent, one that would hug me when I knew no one else would. My father would have vases full of lavender flowers set up around our small residence. Sometimes my sibling and I would run around the house, playing tag or actually- any game we could think of, really. So much so, we would break majority of the small cases that held the plants. Even if I did, my father wouldn't get angry.

The muscles in my face unconsciously formed a smile, but after realizing I had made this expression, I immediately furrowed my eyebrows. My mother removed every flower in this house, and wanted absolutely no memory of my dad. Even if my younger brother doesn't remember much about him, shouldn't he at least ask? Show some sort of interest in our father figure?

"What a jerk," I clicked my tongue, gripping on to the messy weapon tighter than usual. Well, with this unholy crime committed, I don't ever have to see him again. His stupud eyes that slanted, his slightly crooked teeth, or even his laugh- the one that resembled a donkey's neigh.

My mind then caught a thought, "what time is it anyway?" 11:46pm. Her family should be here soon, and I didn't want to stick around much longer to see how things go down. As I headed to the rather large, white back door lingering with familiarity, something caught my attention. No, someone... someone caught my attention.

Memories flooded one by one; how my mother would use any way possile to escape reality. The reality my father was not in- mom didn't want to remember any part of him. Yet, she could't.

My brother would work hard and focus on his studies. Even if he got invited here or there, a good book would be better than spending time with his own sister. I was the one who had to make sure things were in check. That my mother did not go out drunk again, that she made it home safe and sound from her multiple part time jobs.

It was a picture of the girl's father, seemingly posted up and framed on the wall by someone other than her. "No, that isn't right," I clenched my teeth, a little noise being created from the excessive friction. "They were supposed to forget. Why is he up there-?"

"Honey, Matthew and I are home," a female in her early 40's declared, before dropping what sounded like a plastic bag holding glass. I slowly made my way back to the foot of the kitchen, slightly horrified. "Stella!" The mother exclaimed, sudden cries being more evident by the second. "Mom, what's..." But as Matthew moved further into the kitchen, he realized the situation and frantically pulled out his phone.

"Calling 9-1-1 is useless," I swallowed hard, not expecting a reply back. I should have left when I had the chance. I don't need to see this.

So why can't I look away? "Matthew, you can't save her," my voice raised its tone, "just put the phone dow-"

"M-My sister- she's..." Before he could finish what he was saying, tears ran down his cheeks like he maybe... even... cared. With the sudden movement of the brother raising his hand to cover his mouth, a small piece of paper fell on to the floor and into the puddle of red.

As I moved in closer to see the remaining two members of the family, I noticed what remained of a vase and lavender flowers spread out on the cold, hardwood floor. Mixtures of emotions started to fill my chest, as I realized what I have done. What I would be missing for the rest of what could have been my life.

11:11, I made a wish to see my father a day before his birthday.

Suicide is not the answer, please call 1-800-273-TALK because things do get better.