The Seven

Waking Up For The Last Time - A Narrative.

I remember waking up for the last time.
I remember how, even though it was so early in the day, so early in my life really, that that would be my last morning alive in my bed.

The feeling that hits you right before something else does.
I was five at the time though. I suppose I still am.

~*~

I awoke, like every morning, to the sound of stumbling, crashing, and cursing. And, as always, I hated every second of it.

Have you ever wondered what it takes to make a 5 year-old suicidal? It really doesn't take much, nothing but consistency really.

Consistent and perpetual fighting, screaming, yelling. Now, that never made me suicidal, but to complete the "family", my dad decided to marry an unending bottle of vodka.

I was told vodka was tasteless, and odorless, but the bottle had the stench of failure, and put the taste of hate in my mouth.

His addiction was so bad that he may as well have stabbed me in the heart. Looking back at it though, I wish he would have.

But when that time came around, he at least did to me what he did to my mother.

~*~

When I woke that morning to the fighting, and screaming, and crashing, I had to listen to five very loud crashes before I got a sliver of peace. Then intruded a scream I would later reproduce.

In the ten minutes it took me to wake up, and hear that scream, I went from simply melancholy and sleepy, to being suicidal, and afraid.
No more than a second after the scream was I hiding under my bed.

I was there for a long time before I finally left its confines. I slowly worked my way towards my door, and opened it.
And there she was. Bleeding on the floor. Her usually lively eyes were now cold and dead. I saw hell in her eyes.

A person should never see hell. Especially a child. Especially in the eyes of their mother.

Standing over the corpse of my mother was my father, out of breath and drunk, holding the instruments of mine and my mother's ends.

An empty bottle, and a 9 inch blade.

I remember the sun shining through the window at the end of the hallway. I remember how bright it was, despite how early it was in the morning. The sun itself set everything in motion.
My father's knife reflected into my eyes the power and brightness of the sun, and blinded me for a few seconds.

I gasped.

He lunged.

And I never saw him again with living eyes.

I first tried to stand up, but couldn't. The knife was still lodged in my stomach, right to the hilt.

Even crawling was difficult. The pool of blood I was creating on the wooden floor was too large for me to gain any balance or friction.

I tasted blood.

I smelled blood.

I saw blood.

I breathed blood from my lungs.

And I cried blood from my eyes.

I died for 6 hours before I finally lost my life.

The morning after my murder, I found myself once again in my bed. This time though, it was cold, and very far away, even though I was lying on it. I haven't tried to sleep since.

Not until I can feel my bed again, till I can feel my mother again. I know it won't happen, but I still hope. I'm still a child really, even though I've been dead for 200 years.

But, I'll keep waiting for her, just so I can maybe see her smile.
I never knew her smile.
But I will.

I have possessed many people since, but I think this will be the last.

Tylerr