It’s not my Fault, is It?

“Alright sweetie, remember to brush your teeth before you go to bed. Oh and don’t stay up too late, you have a chemistry test tomorrow. And-” Dad began.

“Dad, you say the same stuff every night, now go, you're gonna be late to work, I’ll be fine.” I interrupted.

“When did you start growing up? One moment you're wearing diapers and the next we’re celebrating your 17th birthday,” Dad sighed.

“Dad!” I urged.

“Oh alright, remember if you need anything, call me. Happy Birthday, Morana.”

He kissed me gently on the forehead before he walked out of the room and gently closed the door. The old oakwood floor creaked as I walked to the bathroom and gazed at my small stature in the mirror. My round grey eyes stared back at me. My silky blonde hair fell over my shoulders. I rubbed off my makeup, revealing deep dark circles underneath my eyes from lack of sleep.

“New year, same me,” I muttered to myself in the mirror.

“Same you indeed,” a soft voice repeated.

I swiftly turned around as a cool breeze grazed my neck.

“Hello?” I said cautiously. “Who’s there?”

After peering into my dark bedroom, I brushed it off my imagination and continued my nightly routine. I splashed my face with water, and sifted around my drawer for my toothbrush. 

“Where did it go?” I mumbled.

“Turn around,” the voice demanded.

I used to think that there were two natural human reactions to fear, fight or flight. But in that moment, as I looked into the mirror and saw my dead mother swinging back and forth by an electrical cord, I froze.

“Turn around!” she screamed.

The moment I turned around she disappeared from sight and a piece of paper floated through the air and onto the floor. It read:

Blame yourself.

“Blame myself for what?” I questioned firmly.

As I looked back down at my hands, they were dripping with blood.

“It’s all your fault! You were an accident, you should never have been born!” my mother’s voice echoed.

She appeared again directly behind me, this time screaming into my ear.

“Go away!” I yelled in terror.

“Do you know how much pain you caused your father and I? We used to live in a decent apartment, drive a nice car, live in a good neighborhood until you came along and sucked all of the life out of our bank account. You ruined everything!”

“Leave me alone!”

“The only part I regret about killing myself is not taking you to hell with me!”

“No!” I shrieked as I flung the trash bin across the room.

The force of the bin struck the book shelf behind me. It began to sway and before I had a chance to react, it collapsed on top of me.

“Die!” my Mom shouted.

I could feel my blood begin to pool around me. The loud pounding of the door resonated until my hearing faded into oblivion.