I may have been born into a "happy" family, but it does not mean I was raised by one. I was born on December thirteenth, which was Friday the thirteenth that year. People thought it was a "happy accident", but not me. Once I understood common concepts, I knew I was a mistake that was going to be removed shortly. There was not simply the option to put me into the adoption system either, because there would be record of my birth family still.



***

Going back to when I first remember, my mother used to swaddle me in my blanket so tightly that I could only whimper. She told me that she loved me with all of her heart, but something would flash across her face as though she was completely disgusted by me. Back in those days, and up to my last day, she was the only one who paid attention to me.
A few years after dying, she was one of the people I would go out of my way to haunt. She especially deserves it because she was the one who planned my death. I eventually got her so freaked out that my father had her institutionalized.



***

"GOOD CHOICE DADDY, MAKE ME FOCUS ON MOMMY AND NOT AS MUCH ON YOU.."

That was not the case at all..



***

A few years after I died and after haunting my mother, I got bored of it so I focused on haunting my father and leading him to the death he deserved. He was the one who said it was alright to kill me when I was only seven years old.
This year I would have been seventeen, but my ghostly presence still portrays me as a seven year old little girl, which is a huge advantage.



***

"DADDY, WHY DID YOU MAKE MOMMY LEAVE? WHY DID SHE GET IN MORE TROUBLE THAM YOU?"



***

Lately, I have not stopped focusing on my murdering. My mother and father pretended to love me for seven short years.
What they did to me only comes in bits and pieces.



***

My wrists are tied to the door hinges of my old closet. They are tied with fabric from my old baby blue sweater.
I see blood pouring out of multiple gashes. The most noticeable is a gash on my left leg, which is absolutely grotesque. The moonlight shines in from my window, making the blood look like a black liquid that was oozing out of pale porcelain skin.
Mother looked disgusted with me and disappointed. My father, on the other hand, had the look of a crazed killer.