The stars twinkled in the sky, the quarter waxing moon shining, the night silent save for the crickets chirping in the background, but the atmosphere was heavy. Something off hung in the air, a strange calmness that accompanied those feelings of anger and hatred. The metallic scent of iron was faint, but came strongest from a small house nestled between rows of crepe myrtles, secluded in a heavily wooded area.
The house stood silent, all lights off, all doors and windows shut. It appeared as though it were frozen in time, unmoving and undisturbed in its ominous slumber. After a brief moment, a window slowly opened, the scent of metal growing stronger as a small figure climbed out and down. Stepping onto the grass below the window sill, the figure turned around and shut the window, smearing something across the panes as they slipped from its grasp. A barely audible curse came from the figure as it turned once more, its back to the house, and took off in a sprint. Shortly thereafter, a loud explosion could be heard and the night sky lit up as the house went ablaze.
As the figure ran further and further from the house, running through the underbrush that littered the forest floor, the sound of sirens filled the almost silent night air. Stepping out into the dim moonlight, the figure let out a shaky sigh and hunched over, long blonde hair cascading down. She paused to catch her breath, knowing she was safe amongst the trees. She stood back up and took off in a blind dash once more, putting greater distance between herself and the fire.
She panted heavily as her gait slowed and her stamina ran dry. She could no longer hear the sirens nor see the glow of the flames, though the heavy scent of smoke filled the air. Stopping and gasping for air, she crouched down and stared at her hands. They were filthy, stained red and cut up. She reached up and ran her fingers across her cheeks, her blue eyes growing wide at the rough texture of dried blood streaking down her face. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears.
"What happened…?" she asked quietly, standing up with haste and wobbling momentarily as disorientation took over. She felt sick, doubling over and dry-heaving herself into further confusion. Her head spun and her eyes blurred over as she collapsed to the ground, her consciousness fading quickly and the nightmares began.
"Historia Reiss! What did you do?!" A loud accusation accompanied the aggressive slap to the face that caused the young girl, Historia, to fall out of her chair. She stared up at her attacker, a woman not much taller than her, with bobbed blonde hair, and a look of complete hatred upon her pinched face. Historia's face was blank, emotionless, used to this kind of treatment. A red handprint engulfed her left cheek and covered her left eye. She had no clue what her mother was going on about and she just stood up and took the verbal abuse, as she always did, until she couldn't stand it anymore.
"Are you really trying to justify your actions towards me? You've been abusing me since I was about five, since dad decided he wanted to fuck someone else. And you're still trying to find excuses to hit me?" she shot back at her mother, laughing loudly. "You're a pathetic excuse for a human and completely unfit to be any sort of mother, to anyone. And a fucking booty call to that piece of shit of a sperm donor." She spat on the floor and earned herself another slap, even harder than the last. Stumbling backwards, she laughed even louder.
"I'm so used to this, it doesn't even hurt anymore." Blood dripped down from her nose, which she wiped away with the back of her hand. "Oh look… blood… Guess I'm still a human, Mom, which you so conveniently like to forget," she said, adding a bitter inflection to the title that woman didn't deserve. She gave her mother an amused smile before the older woman began to punch her repeatedly, the younger not doing a thing to shield herself. She felt bruises form all over her body and then sucked in sharply.
She reached out and grabbed her mother's fist before one more blow could be given. She smiled wildly at the woman and jabbed her in the sternum with her elbow, knocking the breath from her vile lungs. The older woman collapsed onto the floor, writhing helplessly. "Doesn't feel too good when it's you on the receiving end, huh?" she questioned as she picked up one of the heavy glass vases off the floor. "I wonder how much this will hurt…" she said with a cute smile, looking at her mother with tormented and disturbed eyes. "Let's find out, shall we?" Stepping towards the helpless bitch laying on the floor, Historia let out a demented laugh.
"No way! Historia! Please!" A plea fell on deaf ears as she planted the bottom edge of the vase into her mother's face, blood spattering up and all over Historia. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you! Just like all those times you never heard me screaming out in pain and begging you to stop!" she screamed loudly, a blood rage taking hold of her. Over and over again she swung the vase, until her mother stopped shrieking and was staining the wall and window.
"You stupid sadistic bitch," she said with a disgusted sigh before dropping the vase and walking into her bedroom, awaiting the inevitable arrival of her father. It was obvious what her mother had been accusing her of: stealing her expensive lingerie, something she had never done as it stood. It made Historia gag and roll her eyes. "What a joke. He doesn't care about her, just what's between her legs and what she can to with her disgusting mouth."
She rummaged through her closet, searching diligently. Headlights lit up the front room and the doorbell rang, causing her to scoff. She paused and reached in further, finally finding what it was she wanted and taking it as she left her room to answer the door. Dropping it on the floor and approaching the door, she opened it and gave a rude smile to the man who fathered her. "Hello Rod." She spat out the last word before being shoved aside.
"Where's your mother?" She looked at him and pointed to the kitchen, smirking as he walked in that direction. She followed him, only pausing to lean down and pick up what she had dropped previously. Silently stepping behind him, she raised the wooden bat he had gotten her for her fifth birthday, for tee-ball. He let out a loud gasp, seeing the blood splattered walls and the battered body of his ex-wife lying on the tile floor. He turned around quickly, only to be met with Historia, who brought her bat crashing down onto the side of his head. A sickening crack rang out through the house as contact was made. He crumbled to the floor and she lost herself completely, hitting him repeatedly until, like her mother's, his blood painted the walls and he couldn't move. She quickly shut off all the lights and locked the doors.
If they were dead, she knew not, but she had no desire to stick around and find out. Taking one last look around the hell that she called home, she ran over to the oven and tied a string to one of the racks on the inside. Setting one end on fire and turning on the pilot light, the gas filling the room slowly, she made her way to the window and quickly climbed out, smearing her father's blood across the glass pane as she went to shut it. She didn't have much time; she had to get out of there. Taking off in a blind dash, fueled by rage and adrenaline, she made it a surprisingly safe distance before the flame met the overwhelming mass of natural gas spewing from the pilot light, and set off an explosion that soon engulfed the houses in bright and smoky flames. She ran into the trees, coming across countless briars, sticks, and the ever-prominent rock…
Her feet were bruised, her hands cuts, and blood dripped from both. She couldn't take it anymore, she felt like her lungs were about to explode, and it was getting really hot. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. There was too much smoke and the flames were getting closer, nipping at her heels. She tried to scream for help, but her voice was completely gone. No sound could be made. Her feet gave out and she fell to the ground, the flames encircling her, engulfing her. The ever-familiar pain of fire and that sickly sweet stench of burning flesh overtook her. She was helpless; there was no one to save her. No one could hear her, no one could see her. But she wasn't alone. In that mass of flames, there was something else with her; that had come for her.
Her demons.
Darkness still hung in the hammock of the trees, dawn still hours away, as the girl snapped awake and sat up with a loud gasp. Her eyes were wide with terror as the scenes from just hours earlier played themselves in her head, repeatedly. Blood splattering the walls and window, the glass vase, the screaming and begging, that horrific and purely evil smile that she had worn up until the very end. All of it, it all plagued her mind. She felt no sadness, no remorse for what she had done. He deserved everything he got, and more. She scoffed and looking down at her hands once more.
She had come at her. She had attacked her. It was all in self-defense, right? That woman was a monster, abusing her from childhood, and deserved to be killed. And that man never gave a fuck about her either. He was just as guilty of child neglect and abuse, and he deserved to be gone too, right? No… she just wanted to kill him. Two words came to mind: blood lust. A twisted smile came upon her face, her eye twitching and a disturbed laugh escaping from her lips. It had felt right. 'No. Not right… It felt good. Amazing.' Historia licked her lips and stood slowly, feeling the right side of her face sting. Pressing her fingers to the cut that ran the length of her brow to her eye, she let out another disturbed laugh. She ran her blood-stained fingers through her long golden locks and adjusted her bangs to cover the cut, wiping the fresh blood from her face. Rubbing her hands onto her pants to wipe off the blood, she stared down at the dirt floor and chuckled to herself, before disappearing into the woods with a final revelation.
"Looks like I've become my demons."