My house looked dark and dusty. I walked inside, and the room was a little sooty. I walked into the kitchen to get a broom and duster. I started cleaning up a little. Once I stopped in front of a stereo, I pressed the play button. The stereo sang "Stressed Out" by Twenty-One Pilots, a song from a mixed CD I left inside. My cleansing didn't last too long because I kept playing around the house a little. I went back to cleaning while listening to different genres of music that echoed the house. I pretended to sing opera, and, at one point, I fell over a dining chair doing so.

I ran upstairs so I could clean the bedrooms. For a while, I hesitated to start on grandma's room. Eventually, I suck it up and went for it. I grabbed two different color plastic bags for trash; although, I took what I wanted to keep in the grey bag. I placed items to sell in the black one. There was more stuff inside the wanted bag than the sell bag after I finished. I left, heading to mom's room. Tears immediately rained down my cheeks as I tried to clean up her room. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. I fell to the floor, trying to hold in my cry. I felt my chest churn and my lungs cramp. I stood up and left momma's room for later.

I walked into my room... Oh, my gosh! I thought, upon seeing how messy I left it. Pictures were scattered all over the floor and all over my walls. It seemed that all of my dead people portraits waited for my turn to join them. So, I lied down on the floor with them, pretending to be one. I waited for my tears to stop falling.

Once my eyes were dry – giving me a chance to see clearly again – I shook my head and stood up. There were paint supplies left for a few more drawings. This time, I wanted to finger paint. I drowned my hands in a lot of strange colors, distorted by the dark room, and crazily smeared my hands on my canvas. I played with it at first, laughing. I backed up to my work, I realized I'm a better artist than I thought and frowned. It was a perfect master piece and I hated it. It was the portrait of me shedding a tear of blood. I scratched the skin on my face.

Memories – sweet and painful memories – of my mother and grandmother shot through my head, again. My vision blurred before my tears swelled up. I fell on the floor, curling up and crying. It hurt so much to see it all – to have my entire family's bloody bodies replay over and over. Everywhere I looked were nothing but dead people on these canvases. I even noticed a selfportrait that depicted my death. I was tied to a post and burned alive like people used to be sentenced with in medieval times. My mother told me that I woke up five years ago with no memory and frantically drew it before I fainted again.

Minutes passed, I needed space from my room. The living room seemed too far, so I laid my body on the floor with an Arizona green tea gallon in my hand. I drunk some of it and gazed at the ceiling. I thought about the displayed guns and tantō swords inside the display case in the living room. My gaze shifted to some of the empty canvases on the floor that I left behind during the hiking trip. They leaned against a wall in the kitchen. I stood on my feet, quickly rushed to a drawer in the kitchen to find something to write with, and then drew angry faces on the canvases using red and black sharpies. I set up those canvases around the living room for gun practice.

I took the Robert E. Lee edition revolver from my family's display case. Then, I loaded it with small golden balls and black powder that I found neatly organized in the drawers of the case. I began acting like a sheriff. I walked toward the center of the room, holding my leggings like actors used to do in old cowboy shows I used to watch with my grandma. I twirled my gun in circles. Viewing all corners from left to right. A villain shot its first bullet. I pretended to dodge behind a table. I shot the villain and her friend right in their heads. They ripped apart and fell on the floor.

"Uh, huh... You thank you got me?" I nodded, standing up on my feet. I held my gun in both hands and aimed up. "Foolish girl, you will never stand in the way of justice!" I yelled in a loud fake cowboy accent.

"We've begun the shootout." I warned my invisible partner using a walkie-talkie with dead batteries. "Duck!" I jumped behind the couch for hiding.

I stood up and shot twice at two more evil canvases between their eyes. I blew the gun's muzzle. "Heh... Pathetic."

I gasped, swiftly turning around. "You can't get away from me." I whispered and shot one behind me, swinging from the ceiling.

I shot all of the villains; but, it wasn't enough. I still lusted for more paper shedding. "I will avenge my loved ones!" I yelled.

I started shooting the couch, the kitchen's broom, and constantly reloaded to shoot at more unnecessary objects. Now, there was only one villain left. I turned to the mirror on the wall inside the living room. I looked straight into the reflections eyes. I knew what had to be done.

"You are the reason they are all dead. Now, it's your turn." I shot the last villain with the last bullet.

I walked over to the display case again. I was going to put the gun back... but, I... I hesitated and felt I couldn't do it. I looked at the empty cylinders in the revolver. I loaded more golden balls into it. I thought the battle was over. I thought the last villain shouldn't possibly be alive, right? No, the last villain... The last villain was me.

I knew the battle wasn't over. All of them died because of my existence. I would do them a favor if I don't stay here in Forks any longer. I had no fear, I was the villain and villains don't fear something as simple as sacrificing their own life, right? I wanted to become good, I wanted to stop being evil.

"You're fired, Sheriff Catalina." I gnarled.

I held the gun to my throat and aimed it to shoot the ball out of my head. The stereo played "Russian Roulette" by Rihanna. The time had to be now. This situation had become too severe. No turning back. I'm tired of blood. The other guys had me cornered with their weapons. I lived a good life, but... now more lives will be safe in my absence. I must shed the last of it. The last of my kind. I pulled the trigger.

PISSHO!

A gunshot echoed through my house, loud enough to almost reach the rode. This was the end.

It had to be, right?