When it started, nobody quiet knew what was happening. They said it was a new viral pandemic that had quickly spread worldwide. People were dropping like flies, the hospitals were overflowing with patients that nobody knew how to treat. The world seemed like it was ending, that's basically what the news was saying, anyway. The airports shut down and city's went on lockdown, afraid of spreading it more then it already had. So people that were on vacation or out of town for work were stuck and unable to go home to their families. There was global panic as everyone was trying to get home or lock down there homes to try and keep the sickness out.

But nothing worked, no matter what anybody did. People kept getting sick and they kept dying, but nobody could figure out how to cure it or why it was even happening. They had every possible person on it, but nobody was getting anywhere. But little did they know at the time there was nothing that they could do.

But, honestly? None of that bullshit mattered to me. Life was still the same for me as the world was falling apart. I was still covered in bruises and blood, I was still getting used and taken advantage of. Nothing seemed to change for me as it had for the rest of the world. Not at first at least. It wasn't until right after the government bombed Atlanta that things actually changed in my world.

At the time I lived in a small house in rural Georgia about an hour away from Atlanta with my father and twenty-four year old brother, Andrew. Things with my father were never good, but even though we're seven years apart I used to be really close to my brother. Used to. When he turned sixteen something in him changed. I suppose he got tired of the abuse so he did everything he could to prove to our father that he was worth it, that he was better then he always told him he was. It wasn't long before my father brought him in to work for him to help him deal drugs and bring girls home for him to screw.

After Andrew started working for him things between them changed dramatically. That was good for them, but a living hell for me. Instead of getting his anger out between the both of us, he almost completely aimed it at me, and my brother did nothing to help me. Hell, if he was around he had the tendency to join in.

I know it sounds bad for me to say this, but I enjoyed seeing them being the ones in pain for once. I wasn't heartbroken or angry when the monsters came for us. No, I didn't mind at all. Most people viewed them as monsters that tore families apart, and that's how I would think of them in the future, but in those moments I viewed them as my saviors.

They came at night. In a drunk my brother came stumbling in some time after midnight, leaving the door wide open. He had stumbled up the stairs and passed out on his bed. A couple hours later I woke up to horrifying screams of pain coming from down the hall. I quickly jumped out of my bed and ignoring my better judgement, ran in the direction of the screams. When I got to the door my brother wasn't moving anymore as the monster was ripping his intestines out in a bloody mess as he stuck Andrew's stomach into his mouth with disturbing squishing sounds.

I just stood there paralyzed as I watched the scene before me unfold. It wasn't another moment that my father was beside me and slamming the door shut. He turned to me and gave me the angriest look I'd seen from him in a very long time. I took a step back but he was at me in an instant. He threw me to the ground, hitting my head hard on the wooden floor.

"You left the fucking front door open!" He yelled as he punched my face, making my head snap to the side with a loud smack. I knew better then to talk back so I kept my mouth shut and watched him, waiting for whatever was to come next, wondering if this would be the time he killed me.

He roughly pulled me up by my hair and dragged me to his bedroom, throwing me at his bed before slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. I sat up and looked at him fearfully not sure what was about to happen.

"You think you're goddamned perfect, huh?" He growled, "You think you can get away with murdering your own brother? My only son?" He took a couple steps toward me, "Bitch, you have another thing coming. Nothing I do ever seems to work with you. So I guess it's time to try a different tactic." He wrapped his hand around my neck and squeezed until I could barely breathe, "You're a mother fucking murderer, sweetheart, how's that make you feel, huh? How's it make you feel knowing that you killed Andy?" Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to take a breath.

He let go of my neck, not allowing me to pass out. I curled in on myself and held my neck as I coughed, "Daddy, please." I tried to beg as he undid his belt and pulled it off of his pants. My cries landed on deaf ears, though, as he whipped me with it a few times before throwing it to the ground. I didn't do anything but whimper as I did my best to keep quiet.

He pushed me onto my back and got right in my face, "Everything that's about to happen is your fault. If you could of for once in your miserable life have been a good girl then this wouldn't of had to happen, do you understand? I don't want to have to do this, but you didn't leave me with any other choice."

I breathed frantically as I watched him undo his jeans and pull them down along with his boxers. His pants were around his knees as he got on top of me. He started sucking and licking at my neck as his hands went down to my waistband and fumbled with my buckle. As soon as he touched my pants I started thrashing underneath him. Now I may be above what most people consider to be average height, but I was underweight and still so much smaller then my father. He was a really big man, almost six and a half feet tall and pretty muscular. So I was no match for his strength as he easily overpowered me.

He rubbed his length against my thigh as he undid my buckle and button on my jeans and roughly yanked them down, "Daddy, stop! Please, daddy." I pleaded as I still continued to struggle against him. I couldn't understand why he was doing this to me, especially after what we had just seen. I suppose that it was just even harder proof that he never actually cared about us.

I screamed when he stuck his hand down my panties. He quickly put his other hand over my mouth to silence me, "Do ya wanna get eaten, girl?" He glared down at me before a huge smile broke out onto his face, "Unless you do wanna get eaten." He chuckled, "Yeah, I bet you love getting eaten out, don't you? You're just a slut, aren't you?" He said running a finger down my slit before rubbing me softly.

I wiggled beneath him as he let my face go, "I'm not, daddy, I promise." I couldn't stop my back from arching as he continued his minstrations, I tried to close my legs but he wouldn't let me.

"Bullshit." He growled as he suddenly stuck a finger inside of me. I cried out by the sudden, painful intrusion. I felt like I was going to throw up. This wasn't right, none of it was. I'd never had anybody touch me like this before, it felt so fucking wrong. I wasn't ready for this, I couldn't do it. Tears poured from my eyes and I fisted his shirt as he forced a second finger inside of me. It hurt so fucking bad I knew I had to be bleeding, I don't even want to think about how bad it would hurt for him to put his penis inside of me, "You're such a goddamned whore, yeah, I bet you've gone around and screwed most of the men that come through here to buy from me, huh? You like getting fucked?" He bit down on my neck, drawing blood, before pulling away, "By your daddy?"

"N-no," My voice cracked, "Daddy, please, don't hurt me." He ignored me as he ripped open my plaid shirt and then my bra. He pulled out and started rubbing on my clit again as he sucked my nipple into his mouth. I wiggled beneath him as I felt a strange sensation course through me. Sure, I had touched myself before and thought that I had brought myself to orgasm, but I wasn't so sure after feeling how intense his fingers felt. But I couldn't, I couldn't let him do this.

I didn't want to. I didn't want to, damnit! I shouldn't have to, either. I did my best to look around the room, turning my head from side to side trying to find anything I could grab onto that would help me get out of this situation. That's when my eyes landed on his hunting knife. It was set on his bedside table, it looked like I could reach it. But could I really stab my own father? Did I have the strength to do something like that?

I tightly gripped his arm as I felt my body tensing up. I couldn't wait any long, and I couldn't hold it back much longer, either. So I reached as far as I could and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the knife. I didn't wait another second as I sunk the blade into his back as hard as I could before pulling it back out. He stumbled up onto his feet as he got off me.

"What the fuck did you just do?" He said as he wobbled on his feet. Tears rolled down my face as fire burned inside of me. I lunged forward and stabbed my father in the chest once, then again. He fell to the ground but I didn't stop. I couldn't make myself stop, I don't know if I even wanted to. I was in his lap as I stabbed him again and again and again until my arm hurt then I sunk it into his forehead. I let out all the anger, all the pain, all the hurt and tears in those moments. I just wanted him to feel what he'd made me feel for my entire life. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to see me. See me for the monster that he had made me become.

I wanted him to die.