My name is Sarah David, I'm fourteen years old and my life has never been simple or even safe but recently I made the biggest mistake I could ever make. I Sarah David. Killed my parents. I must say this now, I never chose to do this, I had no choice. I was trained since I was six years old to kill, I was told that I was born to kill, it was simply in my genes. I wish it wasn't. I wish I had had a normal childhood instead of being trained as a killer. Maybe then, my parents would be alive? I blame myself because I pulled the trigger, but everyone keeps telling me that I didn't know any different, Is this true? Did I know? My head hurts so much that I don't know if I am coming or if I am going. But what I do know is want my mother. I never knew my father, he left when I was small and I didn't see him again until I put that bullet through his skull. I wish I could turn back the hands of time and save them, I wish I had not done what they had told me to do. But I knew that if I were not the one to do it, then someone else would have had to do it, I could not stand the thought of someone man handling my parents. My mother was everything to me, she raised me up and helped me to grow, she made me happy and made me feel loved, part of me loved my father too, although the stain of bigamy he forced upon my mother made me wonder if I should love him or hate him.
My mother's name was Ziva David, she too was raised to kill, but not in such a severe way that I was. Her father is the director of Mossad, he was the one that took me from her, the one that raised me to kill and consequently the one that made me kill my mother and father. I remember when I was seven, I stood beside her at my aunts funeral without her even knowing that it was I who were there. I wish I had been able to tell her then what would happen and to save her, but I could not for I was scared for not my life, but hers. The stain of bigamy was a big pressure upon her in Tel Aviv, making her hide me from the world and at times pretend that I did not exist. I will not say that that did not hurt me, because it did but most of the pain I have simply suppressed into my unconscious in order to be hidden forever.
The cause of the stain was my father, a well respected marine at the time, although now an NCIS supervisory agent in Washington DC, his name was Leroy Jethro Gibbs. I was told he was a bastard. I knew he had been married four times, which added to the crime of bigamy and made me wonder how many others he had simply impregnated and abandoned carelessly. When I investigated him, I knew he built boats, what for I do not know, I dream that it was to sail to my mother and I, but if it were he was too late, we could never be saved.
He seemed caring and gentle in the way he guided my mother through the front door that dreaded night, and the way he shielded her from my gun and pleaded for her life. The cries and sobs shall never be gone from my mind, and the emptiness in my mothers eyes as I cradled her lifeless body. It was at that point that the adrenalin rush fell away and I saw what I had truly done. My parents were gone. Their blood on my hands, of which all the perfumes of Arabia could not wash off. I scrubbed at my hands, the blood staining them, and when they were clean they still felt dirty.
Now, I kneel by my parent's lifeless bodies, their blood staining my skin and clothing and my gun in my hand. When tomorrow comes I shall not be here, I will be with my parents. I need to tell them how sorry I am for the sins that I have committed and pray the lord forgive me, as well as my parents. I can only wish that they will find it in their hearts to love me once again, and maybe I will be whole again.
I know now that there is no-one left on this earth that would cry for me, I hope they miss my parents as they deserve to be remembered, for they are greater than any human beings in the world. For when I raised that gun, they pleaded but they never hurt me or tried to stop me, they must have seen the emptiness in my eyes and the break in my heart, as they cried for me………..