Alexa, play ‘Mr. Sandman’ by SYML
“The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.”
—BUFFY SUMMERS, BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER
The first person I ever killed was my mother. I ripped the life from her on my way out of her womb.
Of course, I was an infant at the time, so I don’t remember seeing the Reaper in the birthing room—but I know he would have been there.
He always was.
The next person to die was my father. My aunt told me I was playing with my blocks when he tripped down the stairs. He broke his neck and died on impact. I was two at the time, and this is the earliest memory I have of Death. He loomed over my father’s body, staring at me from beneath the shadows of his hood. I was too little to be afraid, but I should have been.
I went to live with my aunt and uncle after that.
That didn’t last long, either.
Three short years later, they both died in a horrific car crash. The police came to the house and found me in my bed, staring at the cloaked demon thatstood silently in the corner of my room. I had known my aunt and uncle were dead before the cops found me because the Reaper had found me first.
The police hadn’t believed me when I told them it was the monster who watched me from the shadows. They told me it had just been a horrible accident.
I knew better.
After that, there was no one else to take me in, and I was put into the system at six years old. It was recommended to my foster parents that I receive some form of counseling. The little girl who kept talking about the shadow man who watched her sleep and killed her loved ones was clearly mentally ill.
Unfortunately for me, most of my foster parents didn’t have extra money for therapy. Unfortunately for them, my demonic stalker didn’t care if they had money or not. He killed them anyway.
I was sixteen the first time I tried to commit suicide.
It hadn’t worked.
It never worked.
When the idea first came to me, I did quite a bit of research before making an attempt. I wanted to get itright, you know? I found some suicide forums online and did my best to learn the most effective way to take my own life.
Deathbringer4367:
Always go down the road, never across the street
if you want to make it to the other side.
Deathbringer4367seemed to know what they were talking about. They had ten thousand suicide-obsessed followers.
I’ll never forget the first time I tried. It was like my mind had burned it into my memory so I would remember the failure and take it for the lesson that it was.
I followed the instructions perfectly.
While my newest foster parents were out for the day, I filled their antique clawfoot bathtub with warm water and climbed in with my razor blade. The bathroom was outdated, with its fluffy pink bath mat and seashell-shaped soaps. The woman who had taken me in this time had clearly made an effort to keep her home clean. The linoleum floors were cracked, but they were spotless. They didn’t have much money, but they did their best to keep their belongings in good condition. I felt bad about the trauma my new guardians would likely inherit after finding my dead body in their bathroom, but I supposed it was better than winding up dead themselves.
I made sure I cut deep enough that there was no chance of survival. I was so thorough with the first wrist that it had been nearly impossible for me to do the other.
Once the blood flowed from both wrists and spread like crimson ink into the water around me, I lay in the bathtub and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally, Death came, but he didn’t take me away.
