It’s My Fault

"Behind every good thing that existed, there was something tragic."

For me the tragedy was my mom, or maybe the after effects of her murder, or maybe it was the nuclear holocaust or maybe it was our second chance. The chance we had to put our talents to use. It wasn't much of a choice. We were chipped and collared. "We're looking for those who can enjoy the kill." That was what they had said. Why they wanted kids, I never knew. Teach them young, I guess. It was my fault we were there. It was my fault I was staring at the ceiling, cords pouring from my wrist. I was mechanical. I was just a machine, a machine of death. The worst part was that I had dragged my brother in too. Those jokes we made about the electric chair don't seem so bad anymore. I was so proud of myself for staying positive, though it could have just been the high of the kill. "The kill" The two words that changed my life. The two words that sentenced me to The Death of the Soul. I needed to escape, I wanted to escape. "But it's your fault." a voice argued, "It's your fault you're here. You made the kill. You chose not to run." I clenched my first around the charging cord. I shouldn't be here. One mistake didn't determine my life. But it did, didn't it? If I could do it over again, I would do the exact same thing. And so it repeats, the endless metronome of constant grief and regret and guilt. I caused the tragedy. The tragedy that twisted my heart into a beautiful form of pain. Maybe one day it can become something good. I remember being good, it was horrible. I couldn't do anything when my friends were getting killed. I couldn't save myself or anyone else. I gave only power I had. I chose evil, and evil chose me. I sat up and pulled the cord from my wrist. The other girls lay around me, in sleep. I slowly tiptoed across the room, pulling out my charger once I got to the door. Then it hit me. I screamed. The pain overwhelmed me. I gasped. It can't possibly get worse, I thought, and then it did. My back arched and my feet hit the wall. I couldn't tell if I was screaming; all that existed was pain. The all consuming horror of it wrenched at my chest, trying to come undone. "What are we going to do?!" the voices shouted in my head.

"We can't do anything!" replied another, "We just have to wait it out."

The door opened and closed. A mop of sandy, blond hair touched my cheek. I slowly stopped thrashing. Something was moving inside my wrist then the pain stopped completely. All feeling stopped. I sat up and stared into my brother's face. "Thank you." I gasped. And then there was darkness. Welcome to my life.