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"Twisted Thoughts"

 I sat down and took a deep breath. Those thoughts were creeping in again. Thoughts I didn't want to have. Disturbing thoughts. I shut my eyes tightly and tried to imagine anything else. Trying to push them away.

I took a few more deep breaths before a voice interrupted me. It was my mom.

"Heather," she said. "Are you okay?"

My eyes shot open and I looked up at her in shock. I brushed my hair out of my face and shakily responded, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"What's wrong?" she asked, taking a seat on my bed next to me. "You know you can talk to me."

"Trust me, mom," I insisted. "It's nothing. I just had a headache is all."

She patted my leg before standing up. "I'll go get you some water," she said. She headed out of my bedroom door and turned back to me with a quick glance to shoot me a smile before continuing on her way.

I stood from my bed and closed the door with a sigh. Why did she always have to walk in on me? Hasn't she ever heard of knocking? I began to feel anger boil inside of me. Anger that I couldn't quite explain. Sure, I was upset that my mom caught me in the middle of a meltdown, but I wanted to tell her about my problems in my own time. I didn't want her to force my hand when I wasn't ready to talk about it.

What would she think of me if I told her about my problems? Would she lock me up? I'm not crazy. I'm misunderstood is all. I didn't mean to hurt those people. They should have kept to themselves. Why did people have to be so nosey?

I heard footsteps echoing through the hall before my door was pushed back open. It was my mom. She handed me a cup of water and sat down beside me as I drank. The water was cold against my lips but the hydration felt good against my tongue. I took several more sips before setting the cup to the side. My mom was watching me the entire time, making me a little suspicious of her.

She tried to get me to open up to her but I shrugged the attempts off, telling her I had nothing to talk about. She seemed to get visibly upset by my constant attempts at shutting her down. Eventually she took a hint and left the room. I listened for her footsteps to disappear before I let out a disgruntled cry. Why would my mom never listen to me? How can she say she wants what's best for me when she keeps forcing out words that I don't feel comfortable saying. Why does she want me to be a perfect daughter for her? I'm far from perfect. I don't want to be perfect.

I reached under my bed and grasped the handle of my butcher's knife. I stared into my reflection as the blade gleamed in the sunlight that poured in through the windows. This scene by itself might make you think I have twisted intentions, but I promise you that I don't. In some odd way, this knife was an item of comfort for me.

As I clutched it and turned it over in my hands to admire it, my door swung open once again. It was my mom. She let a few words out before she stopped dead. Her face was twisted in horror as she saw what I had in my hands.

"How did you get that thing?" she demanded. "Give it to me now!" She extended her hand toward me but I twisted away from her.

She made a grab for the knife but I dodged her. I stood from my bed and took off past her and out my door. At least I tried. She tackled me. I fell to the ground, opening my hands to catch myself, but letting the knife slip free. As my body hit the ground, I felt a sharp pain through my chest. Immediately I knew what had happened. Revenge had been served on the behalf of those who had fallen by my hand. And strangely enough, as my mom leaned over me, crying out, I was at peace.

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