I worked hard for my uncle, I cooked, and I cleaned like a good little girl, but I was treated like a mutt, I was pushed around, he gave me a horrible name....
Marionette
I was a puppet to him, a toy he could use for his own sick reasons. He was a pedophile, but I never realized it until it was too late.
I remember that dreary day like it was yesterday, I had been working on dinner, cutting meat and putting it into a fryer, the city of Italy was lively, beautiful, but I was cooped up from the real world
"The real world will never accept such a hideous face like yours, Kris!" Uncle spat at me and I had climbed into my bed and cried for the millionth time that year. He never treated anyone right, he never had a wife, and will never have children in his lifetime. I made sure of that.
I burned my finger on the skillet, as I recall, the sting made my finger throb and make me curse under my breath. I walked to the fridge and pulled out an icepack, putting it on my finger and closing the door.
There in front of me was a dangerous looking Uncle, his eyes dark and hungry. He stared at me with disturbing eyes and I backed up, "U-uncle?" I asked in a shaky voice and he moved closer to me, putting his hands on my waste and pulling himself up to me.
"Your a beautiful growing flower," he said in his rough voice and forced me to kiss his lips but I rejected and he hit me.
"DO AS I SAY!" he yelled and hit me repeatedly and I gave up and he ripped off my black polka dot dress plus underwear.
The pain made me cry out a few times, until he put his hand on my mouth and pulled down his zipper to his pants and hurt me... hurt me.... hurt me... until I snapped and I bit his hand, grabbing the skillet that was still on the burner and hitting him with it.
He screamed out in agony as I grabbed a knife and repeatedly stabbed him over and over again in his chest until her lay silent and dead.
I back away from him, panting, and the bloody blade dropped by my feet as I soon realized what I had done and I ran to my room, putting on tight black jeans and a black dress on, then stuffing my bag with my cloths and running back down, staring at the lifeless body of the pervert uncle that took me in after my mothers death.
I looked at the knife and grabbed it, getting a few other knives and putting them in my bag, fleeing the scene of the crime and entering the now dark city of Italy.