Dear Tim,
To everyone, I am the perfect human being. That's not their fault. To my teachers, I am the perfect student, and to my peers, I am the perfect girl everyone wishes they could be. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect grades. So kind and eager, always willing to put others before myself. I wear it like a mask, that keeps me hidden. By this point, you are probably thinking how narcissistic I am, and wondering why I am where I am if I'm so perfect. But you see, they think I'm perfect, but my mind begs to differ.
To the naked eye, my childhood would be the American dream. Big house, Mother, and father, two children, food on the table, and that little picket fence. Under a microscope you would see that growing up, was not what it was cracked up to be. Behind the walls, of this light blue, Victorian house, things were not as perfect. I was only the perfect child I was out of fear. I did as I was told, but my twin sister had other plans. These plans would later cost her her life. Always up to mischief, she was, doing the opposite of what was told of her. Of course, when children misbehave, they must be punished. Mother's Idea of punishment was different. People always wondered why my sister and I covered up our porcelain skin, we would say to protect from the sun. But in reality, it was to cover up the fresh purple and blue we were decorated with, along with the jagged lines, that tell a story.
I remember one time, my sister had decided to misbehave again. This time in public. Ruining her image, Mother would say once we got home, and she flew into her furry like an eagle after its prey. This had been worse than others because for the first time I was forced to participate instead of watch silently. Not able to speak up. I remember this one of them all because this is the day my only friend stopped speaking to me, right after I helped Mother beat her half to death. Mother would pull on Lillie's hair. This time she pulled that curly bed of mashed up blueberries right from her scalp, but Lillie musn’t scream knowing she would get it much worse if she brought more attention to herself. I remember, that instead of fathers belt, my Mother made me go, and clip the thinnest branch off the rose bush, and I watched as she beat my sister with it. My Mother was always careful not to hit the face, nothing to ruin her image, her child with a marked up face, never. I did what I always do, what my Mother said, I fetched her cigarettes, and after she lit two, taking a puff, and handling one to me, she watched as I burned my sister. She watched as I placed the hot rolls, over the newly made gashes on her back. And at that moment, I heard my sister scream.
I will never forget that night, it was our 11th birthday. Father wasn’t much help, he got a kick from this stuff, he was just as bad as her. When she was finished it was his turn. Where she hurt us physically, he degraded us mentally and physically. He would sit ad my sister and I “pleasured him” and he would put his dirty fingers where they didn’t belong, up into me, or my sister. Sometimes he would use a broomstick handle, or something similar, Leaving us sore, where we could barely walk the next day. But we had to walk as if everything was fine, and as if we didn’t hurt with every step. Nobody would ever notice.
WIth everything my sister just wouldn’t stop her behaviors. She couldn’t let Mother and father be. One day all it took was a blow to the head, and the silence she once had, was now forever. On the police report, it states an accidental death. But I know the truth, one I could never tell until now when I’m safe. I watched it with my eyes through the big window facing that rushing river bank. I watched as my sister threatened to expose my parents, and I watched as my Mother pushed her. I watched as she falls down the rocky slope, bashing in her pale face, crimson coating the rocks.
All I wanted to do was run to her, but I couldn’t. Mother mustn't know I knew, for if she did I would be next. I watched from my window silently as my Mother and father cried to the police, I was really alone. Despite my sister hating me, I knew that she would always have my back, but now that was gone. It was supposed to be our first day of high school, just the next day, But my sister would never see that. Instead of the locker filled halls, she got a cold metal box of solitude. My sisters' death was tragic, but it was the first to come, of the many that would grace my future.
After my sisters' death, My father left. I guess my pain alone wasn’t enough for him. I later found out that he died in a bar fight, a few months later. By the end of my second year, my Mother would be gone, and I would be where I am now. I’m not surprised by his death, nor how it happens. He had always been a drunk, full of bad decisions, it was only a matter of time.
As I walked the Halls of my school, alone, Showing nothing but the perfection I had to show, I carried the burden of my sisters' death. The day she left me was the day It all began. The littlest of things would remind me of her, things as simple as blueberries, or even looking at myself in the mirror. These memories would be intense, to the point where I wanted to break down and cry, kill my Mother, or even myself. But I couldn’t I mustn't Make a fool of myself while at school. I would attend my classes, and wear my mask, like the good girl I was supposed to be.
The funny thing is, everything happens for a reason. You see, after my sisters' death, my Mother just stopped. I still had the scars, but my skin was no longer painted. To be honest I didn’t know what to think of it. What I did know, was it wasn’t going to last. And when the time came she would explode like vinegar and baking soda. I was just waiting for the day baking soda would be added to her vinegar, and eventually, that day came. It came and It went and is why I ended up here, in the madhouse.
I remember one, hot Sunday after church, Mother Had allowed for my sister and me to go play in the fields, along with the other children. It was one of the only times I seen my sister sincerely smile. Unlike the fake smile, she and I would put on to please Mother. We were running and laughing, I remember feeling all my worries and cares, just wash away, in the ocean of emotions. Now I break down whenever I see a dogwood flower, They were everywhere that day.
My freshman year of high school, started out rough, but by the end of it my mask paid off. I was one of the most popular girls in school, along with being in the cheer squad. I know stereotypical, but It's what I needed to do to survive, not only my mother but high school. Who knew sophomore year would be the year. The year to end all years in my eyes. By the end, I would be where I am now.
The beginning of sophomore year was the same as any day at Maple Hills charter school. First period, second period, break. Third period, fourth period, lunch. Fifth period, sixth period, go to cheer practice. Every day, I would hang around the same crowded, and do the same thing. I was a broken record player. Until I wasn't. In high school people throw parties, it's written in the books, but freshmen never got to go. As a sophomore, I was invited to attend my first high school party.
I regret ever going, it was both the worst and best mistake of my life. Deep in the woods, we were, normally you would be able to smell the crisp air, but not tonight. No, tonight, all you could smell was smoke, and it was intoxicating. It could have been the giant bonfire, dangerously close to causing a forest fire, or maybe it was all the bongs being used at once. Who knew. In one corner there were kegs of alcohol, and in the other, all the stoners either shooting or lighting up, sometimes both. I will emit, I may have had a bit too much. Too much weed, too much to drink, too much fun. But you shouldn't have taken advantage of me that night. That’s right Tim Berk, this isn’t just a random letter, from a random girl, telling you her life story.
I remember the feeling of euphoria as you took me deeper into the woods, away from the loud, pounding music, almost to the point of silence. At first, it was fun, simple kissing, then more, until we were gasping for air, but I had no intention of sleeping with you. I said no, but we were too far away, no one heard my cry’s for help. I won't forget the feeling of you ripping my clothes off. Or the sound of you unbuttoning your jeans. I won't forget your weight on top of me, as you force yourself into me. The flashbacks of what my father did to me, pacing through my mind, as you kept thrusting deeper and deeper. I remember the tears streaming down my face, as a struggled to break free. But I couldn't, you were too strong. I laid there like a lifeless doll, waiting for it to be over. I was at the point of passing out, but you kept going until you relieve yourself inside of me than left.
You left me there, Naked in the middle of the forest, underneath the grand oak tree. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t think. I was frozen, life around me was frozen, the visible night sky was frozen, the wind froze, and time froze, But life Must go on, and so did I.
You may be wondering why I'm bringing Up a subject, that happened 8 months ago, you must be thinking about how much fun you had torchering me. Well, my dear Tim, every action has consequences. Unfortunately, the consequences of your actions fell on me instead of you. What are those consequences? Well, that “magical” night, left me pregnant.
I found out a few weeks later, at first I thought I had the flu, but that constant puking was a result of you. I grew up Catholic, never could I have an abortion, that would only make things worse. Despite my efforts, The pounds started to add up. Mother started to notice, for two whole months she thought I was just gaining weight, thought nothing of it. But by the time I was five months, my belly was starting to round out. I could no longer hide it. So that night I told her, and that night, the baking soda was added, and she exploded.
I went limp, I was bruised and bleeding. I had broken bones and a broken mentality. The words she used were almost as hurtful, as the quick blows to the chest, matching the swift kicks to my stomach, and even vagina. The pain intensified as she dragged me to the door, then quickly cleaned up any evidence, leaving me to bleed out. As the world went dark, I remember her dialing a phone number and the sounds of sirens in the distance.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital room, my mother by my side, acting concerned for my well being. The doctor on my other, checking my vitals. I listen to him talk to my mother and me, about my health, but everything was a blur after he said my baby was going to be fine. My Baby girl would be fine. Congrats.
At this point I knew what I had to do, my mother had to be removed from the equation, my equation. Some would say that I was driven to the point of insanity. I wouldn’t make it painless either. I remember the bloodbath. The dull dagger at hand. With each stab, a memory of her beating me. I thrust the knife into mother again, memories of her beating my sister, surround me. I puncture her, with every thought of how defenseless she left me. I left her as mutilated as she made me feel. Over and over, I would stab her, not a sense of remorse. When all my anger had left me, I sat there and watched as my mother bled in front of me. My white dress covered in her thick ooze. I couldn’t help but laugh, it was finally over.
Later on, I was arrested and sent to the madhouse with a plea of temporary insanity, but I knew full well what I was doing, and I would do it again.
My Room is bleak, nothing but a dresser, a desk, and a twin bed, with a crappy mattress. I’ve followed the same schedule, every week, for the last two months. Constant visits from the doctors. Lots of meds to keep me sedated. Arts and crafts, to help the time go by. I made a friend, she believes that God sent her to earth in order to make a new world, after the destruction of humanity. She sounds perfectly sane to me.
After months of being here, I finally can do it, break out. I'm doing so right after I finish this letter. When I do get out, I’ll go to the cemetery to let my family know I will be joining them soon. Then It's off to the rope swing, in the Wakeling's front yard. You don't think they'll miss it, do you? Of course, I will pay you a visit, how else will you get my letter.
I could have stabbed myself, and got it over with, but I have always had a thing for theatrics, guess that's why it was so easy to hide behind my mask. I’ll be at the grand oak tree, where you opened my eyes, to the true world. By the time you get this it will be too late, but maybe you will be the first to find me. As for our daughter, it's quite a shame. She’ll be going with me. I can’t raise a baby, in a world like this. She deserves more. The only place she can find that is in the silver city, from the bible.
Yours Faithfully,
-Elizabeth Nix
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