The Memorable Birthday
I'm fourteen today. I suppose it's supposed to be momentous. Supposed to be is the key word. It's not, if that's what you're asking. I mean, the blood was everywhere. On the walls, the floor, the ceiling. How did it get up there? I suppose I should start at the beginning. I'm supposed to. At least, I think I am. How did we get here again? I don't know. But I am supposed to. Again. That word. Supposed. Such an interesting word. Used so often. Without care. It's a preconceived idea, demand and question all at once. It's… interesting. As interesting as how the blood got on the ceiling. How did it get up there? I suppose that's another question. See? I used it again. Suppose. I suppose I better get on with the story. I'm supposed to start at the beginning, but I'm fourteen, and I couldn't care less about what I am supposed to do. I could ponder how the blood got on the ceiling. How did it get up there? I don't know. All I know is that I am supposed to tell you my story. And so I begin.
I fall into the darkness, the shadows swallowing me whole. There's no need to see their faces; I know exactly who pushed me down this endless grave. I suppose that I should have expected it. There. Again. Suppose. I never noticed my descent; instead deceiving myself into believing that I was still standing on the ground. It was not until I turned fourteen and the screams were clawing at my throat, desperate to escape my smiling lips, did I realise that I could not see my feet. That my demons where grabbing me, holding me, whispering to me. "You're fourteen. That's old enough. We suppose." They promised mercy and peace, consoling my heart as I acknowledged my own humanity, my own age. "You're falling fast," they laughed. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Years-
Seconds-
Centuries-
Minutes passed me by until I finally understood. I suppose I do. I don't know. I'm flat on my back staring at the insignificant point of white almost consumed entirely by the nothingness. And I laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Like they did. I suppose. The bottom of the Pit is flickering with cold flames that drown me, burn me, kill me, inside. Bloody handprints mark my ascent up, smeared messily as I grab of the shifting Blackness. I suppose after the eternity spent falling, time is nothing. And now I sit here, having climbed out of the hole. I sit here on the edge with no one beside me, and look down into the darkness wondering if I should jump this time. I suppose I should. It would be the right thing after all. I sit here with no one beside me, a rope carelessly draped across my lap. I sit here knowing that they left my lifeline here fully believing that I wouldn't need it. I suppose they thought me to be easily beat. And I laugh, and laugh, and laugh at my fading shadow. I suppose they didn't think it through. I suppose they underestimated me. Because you asked for repentance after creating a monster. And I am fourteen after all.
