She died because she was greedy.
She wanted everything just for her.
She wanted my first and only love for herself. She constantly claimed him as hers, followed him everywhere saying it was a coincidence that they would meet, went after him relentlessly even though she had so many others at her beck and call. His attention, which she couldn't quite grasp, was always on her priority list, no matter what I wanted.
She wanted to be the lead singer, the star of the show, no matter what or who stood in her way. She would plan elaborate ways to get what she wanted, whether it was to ruin someone else's costume, or break someone's ankle. Behind my back, she plotted ways to get me out of the picture so she could be the best. I would either play second fiddle to her, or I would face her wrath for even trying. Anyone who could make a single note sound better than her own would be severely punished by becoming socially outcast. Nasty rumors would spread about them, and they would either become thrown away outcasts, or be transferred from the school in shame.
She died because she wanted to be perfect.
She was vain. Any blemish that dared show itself on her flawless features was covered up in layers of makeup to keep up her poster child facade. There was no way she would allow the slightest bit of humanity show in her angel-like appearance. In turn, anyone else's imperfections were pointed out by her, laughed at and mocked. She would talk about it, roll her eyes and let you know just how bad it was until you could feel insecurity creeping its way into your heart. She made sure you knew just how imperfect you are. She kept me around just so she could have an example of what perfect is, and what it 'clearly isn't'.
She died because she attacked me.
She arrived at my house late at night, accusing me of stealing her favorite lipstick, and ripped at my clothes, telling me how much of an ungrateful person I am for even thinking of touching her things with my 'soiled, disgusting hands'. She kicked and hit me, screamed about how much she hated my guts and how ugly I was, how stupid I was. Insults spilled from her lips like venom. My singing was sub-par, my hair was greasy, my face was much too long and my cheekbones too thin, and she was so much better than me, so much more remarkable and sweet and kind than an ugly creature such as myself. She told me I should be grateful she even looks at me as anything more than trash beneath her high-heeled feet, and my reputation is only because of her. Without her, I was nothing.
SHE DIED because I stabbed a pair of scissors into her throat and watched her bleed out on my kitchen tile. Her lips gurgled with foamy red saliva, ad her teal pigtails stained with her own blood. Her eyes dimmed and turned lifeless, and her gasps for breath eventually stopped. I stared down at her blood, and the gory metal, and felt no remorse.
She deserved it.
Author's Note: So, um, gore. ._. My first try at real horror. This is going to be seven chapters long, and the chapters are going to be short like this. Be prepared for more gory stuff. I don't actually have a clue what I'm doing, hahaha, so just bear with me while I write this. Let me know if it totally sucks and makes no sense, cause I really just ._. I had this as a random idea (I get these a lot) and well... here it is.
What even.
Anyway, review and like... say something. If you read through all this, haha. PM me if you want, that's cool too. I'll try to update this pretty frequently so... yeah.
Yay? *facepalms at self*
Disclaimer: I do not own Vocaloid nor a pair of bloody scissors. I just use them for my own purposes.