It is a starry night- the kind where a pale strand of moonlight can make the stars dance like diamonds across the inky night sky. Tendrils of smoky clouds veil starlight as they claw at the moon, receding towards the edges of the sky carried on the swift autumn breeze. Nightmarish shadows scramble over tree roots, slurring together in the darkness. Silver mist rises from the ground, lapping at the gnarled trees. Old, fractured tree limbs caress their fiery leaves, and then kiss them goodbye.

Gleaming through the mist, moonlight has chosen favor to a particular tree. This tree is as pale as the thick sea foam that crests ocean waves. Ivy snakes around the tree's stocky trunk, slowly sucking the life out of it. From one of the low, thickset branches hangs a rope, as black as ebony.

A little girl hangs from the other end. Black curly hair frames her round face and dull blue eyes. Her white linen dress clings to her body, wet with perspiration. Gashes crawl up her arms and legs, leaking blood onto the forest floor below. Tears streak down her mud-caked face. She desperately claws at the noose around her neck that is swiftly choking the life out of her. Her face swells and her lips are tinged with blue. Her struggling lessens; her breath fades until it becomes nothing.

What has he done?

Father storms over to me. "Come on Travis. We must leave now, as fast as possible. We should be approaching another town soon. The girl's parents will be looking here as soon as dawn breaks. We have to go, NOW."

"W-W- What was her name? She had to have one." I barely whisper.

"We've discussed this before, Travis. When you call something, or someone, a name, you become attached to it. You can't become attached to someone who interferes with my trade." I look at my father pleadingly, begging him to tell me. "Ugh, fine. Her name is Lillia. Lillia Mai Alcott. She is, well was, twelve years of age. A real beauty, too."

I turn to look at the corpse hanging by the ebony rope. She looks so innocent; so young.

She was twelve, only a year younger than me.

I hate my father for kidnapping these girls. That's his "trade": kidnapping, abusing, and then killing young girls. That's how he got rid of my mother.

"She was my favourite." I say softly.

I hate myself for hiding among the trees, watching Lillia Mai's life slip away. I hate myself for being too afraid to tell anyone what I have seen. I hate myself for being all alone. It's my fault for her death; I could have spoken up and tried to convince him not to kill her, but I'm too afraid of what he would do to me if I did.

"Hurry up Travis! We HAVE to leave. If I get caught and killed, they will kill you too for helping me. Now shut up and move!"

I think I am treated badly enough here.

Shoving our way through dense shrubbery, we run through the forest. Tree branches scrape my bruised face, creating more pain than I think necessary. Father and I stumble blindly, running into objects hidden in the darkness. The sounds of our footsteps are muffled by the thick blanket of decayed leaves on the forest floor.

Lillia Mai Alcott is dead and it's my fault. I should have saved her.

Before long, we run into an old abandoned cabin. Remnants of a rusty tin roof litter the unkempt yard. Poison ivy stretches towards the stars. "Let's stay here tonight. "I beg, not wanting to go any further. My father grumbles, but agrees.

We walk inside the dilapidated cabin. Everything is in ruins. A tattered sofa lies on its side in the foyer. Shredded curtains billow furiously in front of a broken window.

Two rooms split off from the main hallway and I sneak into the room on the left. Not much is in this room. Floorboards are missing in some areas. I open up the closet door and there lays a gun, loaded with ammo. It gives me an idea.

Later on that evening, Father falls asleep beside the tattered sofa. His snores echo around the cabin. The even rise and fall of his chest convicts me as I grab the gun out of the closet.

I stand over him with the gun aimed at his head. My finger trembles on the trigger. I am scared to kill him.

What if he doesn't die?

I am ashamed to be his son. I am not a monster. He slaughters innocent people, and I am forced to bear witness. I hate him.

In that moment, all my anger and hatred for him wells up inside me; without further hesitation, I pull the trigger. The gun responds with an ear-shattering noise. A plume of smoke erupts from the gun's barrel and a bullet slices through the air. A low moan escapes from his throat.

I dropthe gun. I stand there, unfeeling. I am scared. I am all alone.

I grab my journal and run out the door into the forest.

What have I done?

Briars throw themselves at my face, digging their sharp talons into my skin. Tree branches reach towards me, ready to save me from all the pain. Tears roll down my dirty face, exposing patches of freckles that once hid under dirt and grime.

A violent gust of wind threatens to lift me off the ground. Thousands of autumn leaves swirl around me. Owls screech and wolves howl, but the only thing I hear is the gunshot that echoes throughout my mind.

I sit down on a fallen tree stump. I am shaking terribly. Taking deep breaths I try to calm myself.

I am a monster. I killed someone-my own father. No one should have to cope with this pain-it's unbearable. I deserve to die.

I look around. Silver mist curls around my legs, sneaking towards my face. The dampness of the air chills me to the bone. Tears well up in my eyes, and then begin to freeze on my eyelashes. Absorbed in my inner turmoil, I don't even notice when it begins to rain. I lie there shivering until I fall asleep.

Thunder roars through the vast obsidian clouds. A howling wind echoes throughout the tenebrous warehouse, whistling through every crack in the floorboards and shattered windows. Flashes of lightening flicker on and off, illuminating it with cold white light.

"Lillia Mai was absolutely beautiful." Her name reminds me of the day I took over my father's trade; the night my heart turned to stone; the night I turned into a monster.

"Who was pretty, Father?"

I turn around from where I stand. My son Adrian sat on the floor, playing with dust motes. His deep brown eyes stare back at me quizzically. He is twelve-no thirteen. I search my mind for a moment to figure out why he is there. Everything becomes hazy.

I turn back around to what I was attending to before Adrian interrupted me. "But not as pretty as you. You are gorgeous." I tap the dying little girl on her nose. She swings, like a pendulum, from the rope from which she is strung. Her flaming red hair tumbles down her back. Her warm brown eyes shine with pain. Fat tears roll down her swelling cheeks. Her face begins to bloat. Her lips turn from pink to blue to purple. She stops struggling and the shallow rise-and-fall of her chest stops abruptly.

The euphoria that follows her death makes me a little light-headed. I sway a little unsteadily on my feet. The room begins to spin. I feel like I am king of the world. I am laughing and smiling like nothing could go wrong.

"W-What was her name? She had to have one?" Adrian quietly whispers. Those words make my blood turn to ice.

I said those words all those years ago when Father killed Lillia Mai. I said those same exact words.

"H-Her name was Isabella." I paused. "Don't become attached to her Adrian; she interfered with my trade."

It is too soon; Adrian is only…thirteen. I was thirteen when I inherited the trade. I don't want to give it up yet. I love my trade.

I freeze where I stand. So many things are running through my mind.

I hope Adrian inherits the trade soon. The euphoria should be ours to share. Wait, I murdered my own father that night. That means- What was that noise? It sounded like a gun cocking…

I whirl around to face Adrian. He stands frowning at the ground, arms folded across his chest. The way he stands reminds me of that day. The day I have tried so hard to forget; the day I had inherited the trade; the day I found out what I love to do. "Adrian! W-W-What are you doing? W-We must leave now!"

"We aren't going anywhere." He unfolds his arms and cradles a small, rusty handgun in his hand.

Oh no.

I begin to back away slowly. My heart is racing. My breath comes out in short gasps. "A-Adrian what are you doing?"

"Something I should've done a long time ago."

He shoves the barrel of the gun into the fatty part of my stomach. It knocks the wind out of me. "I hate you." He spits these words in my face as if they are venom. "I hate you more than anything. I never loved you. You never loved me. I always try to please you, but it is never enough. I'm ashamed to be your son. I am not a monster like you. I wish I wasn't your son, but that's okay. I know how we'll fix our little problem." He smiles darkly and slides his finger down to the trigger.

Butterflies flit around nervously inside my stomach. I am about to die; my own son is going to murder me. His eyes bore into my skull.

Why am I sad? Adrian is inheriting the trade! I should be overjoyed.

"I hate you, Father." And with those words being said, he pulls the trigger. The last thing I see before I crumple to the ground is Adrian grabbing his journal and running outside into the night.

Adrian has inherited the trade. He has stolen the one thing I love from me. I have unwillingly passed the trade to him. His life is now ruined, too. He is now a monster like me.