Page 1 of Dirty Monsters

Invisibility was a trait I'd picked up somewhere along the way. I wasn't complaining. Being invisible was the best thing I could've done for myself. It meant the monsters couldn't see me. I stayed low, blending in.

It was a motto I repeated since I was young—when my two monsters first showed up. Not the kind who slept under the bed, but more like the kind who lived in the room next door. I tried to stay hidden from their glaring evil eyes. Eyes who wanted to destroy me simply for being the right child—the wanted child.

I guess I couldn't blame them. Every person desired to be loved, but as far as I knew, these monsters were unlovable, unkind, and downright cruel. Not in this lifetime would they ever be someone's white knight. Just the dark fog as it seeped into someone's soul when they least expected it.

The work of the devil.

Hell's darkest demons were lurking in the shadows, waiting for the chance to charge in and destroy anything pure in their paths. Demons because they didn't have souls.

How could someone live without a soul?

They wreaked havoc on my childhood and burned scary memories into my brain. Some so deeply rooted that the scars would forever be evident in every step of the rest of my life.

No one understood. The world seemed to excuse behaviors like theirs because of their circumstances or mental illness. No one would ever admit they were simply evil.

Being left alone with my monsters was agony. Time crept along slowly as if it were waiting for me to beg for death. Waiting for tears to fill my eyes as I crawled on my hands and knees with the rough texture of the ground beneath me.

Feelings were pesky little things—fear, pain, anger, even rage. Feelings meant you were still alive, and sometimes, I wanted to be as far away from alive as possible.

Some nights, I prayed for death. Wished and prayed the angel of death would show up on my doorstep and swoop me away into the night.

We were children, and I couldn't understand hate as a child. It never registered how someone could do such vile things. Children were meant to be filled with faith and wonder. They were supposed to believe the people bigger and stronger than them would protect them.

For a long time, no one protected me because I kept my secret to myself. Not telling a single soul.

My two monsters believed they were entitled to whatever they wanted, and I owed them simply because I existed. I was chastised and tormented, and when I bravely spoke out to tell them they were wrong, I was put in my place.

There were so many twisted lies and secrets in the dark corners of my mind where the voices lurked and whispered. They called me names and made me believe that even if I was the right child, I still wasn't wanted.

More than once, I'd contemplated killing my monsters. Better them than me. But that was not the way it worked. No one would understand. The emotional turmoil and tricks my brain played on me wouldn't be a valid excuse.

My brain sometimes tried to tell me that maybe they weren't as bad as I believed. Maybe they actually were misunderstood.

Nope. Another lie. They weren't misunderstood. They made their feelings very clear. Their actions spoke louder than those voices.

Like the day one of my monsters told me how easy it would be to take my life. He told me how much he would enjoy seeing me suffer. Seeing me lay on the ground, begging for mercy. Begging for him to go ahead and end the torment afflicting my soul. Begging for the escape death would offer me.

He told me it would take less than five minutes for him to end my life as I knew it. To snuff out my entire existence.

I had no doubt if he wanted me dead, it would happen. I was despised, the worst of the worst for simply being born to biological parents who wanted me more than them.

Apparently, my invisibility was also a lie. The truth was, they saw me. They saw everything I did. Waiting until I was alone and unprotected to strike, much like a predator did with his prey. Playing with it before devouring it whole. Lulling them into a false sense of security before finding the perfect opportunity to lash out.

Sometimes, I believed I was Ariel inThe Little Mermaid, the girl who had so much and nothing at once. Living below the surface her whole life, wondering if she could ever be a part of another world. I dreamt of being a part of someone else's world—another family.

What would I give to live away from these monsters? Maybe a part of my own soul?

My invisible blood?

I couldn't actually bleed. Not on the outside. But my heart bled and flatlined most days. Eventually, there would be no blood to replenish and sustain life, and I'd slowly slip away. Fade into black. I wondered if I'd finally have peace.

Peace from Kane painting his own blood down my bedroom walls. Letting me find it as a gift when I came home at night.

Tarnishing me.

He believed I was the golden child, the special one because I was blood, and he wasn't. I became a game to him.

A plaything.

---