• Story One: Midnight
    Miyuku Yokota, Age 7.
    Chapter One.
    It was a dark and dreary night in my home, and my parents just went out on their second anniversary. Cold, shallow
    pools glistened in the porch light. ‘What a wonderful night' I thought, pressing the palm of my hands against the glass window.
    The shivering sensation of the glass on my fingertips was ever so delightful. I looked at the clock. Eleven Fifty Eight.
    Two minutes until...Two minutes left...Two minutes 'til I would kill my mother. You see, I never really wanted any of this
    to occur, but it did! I looked at the clock again. One minute has passed under my mindless self-blabber. I looked around and
    my eyes locked into a sledge hammer. Creaking sounds boomed throughout the house as a dragged the sledge hammer down the
    hall, and held it at the ready. I was assuming that my mother, my prey, would open the door at any second. The knob clicked,
    then slowly turned counter clockwise. I stood, wide eyed, expecting my worst nightmare: A pissed off mother. Sweat beaded on
    my forehead, then slickly rolled down my black hair and pale-ish blue skin. You see, my skin has always had a crystalline
    complexion. I snapped my glare to the tiny dampened light between the door and the frame. The second lock clicked and
    revealed a tiny crack between and door and the door frame. The edges faintly glowed with a pale-green color.
    Chapter Two.
    I was nervous, thinking my last scattered thoughts, trying to decide the best decision and what to do at this predicament. 'Should I? Yes: Its for the best.' I made up my mind. I walked slowly to the door, hammer raised. The door creaked open a bit. I moved a little closer. It swung open and I jumped backward. A tall slim woman came out of the darkness and into the house, reliving her model-like appearance. This was my mother.
    "Well hello there, Miyuku!" She chirped, soon later finding out what I held ever so gingerly in my hands. She examined me. My sweat-covered face. The expression of rage and distinguish. My un-combed hair. The last thing the noticed was my tears and the hammer, obviously. "You know...You aren’t supposed to play with thing as dangerous at that. Have you no shame?" She looked down at my frustrated self, hands on her hips. I grinned up at her, grinning.
    "Hey. mommy. I want to play I little game called...Get Ready To Die." I smirked, pulling the mallet-sized hammer off the ground. I thought about it before, then smiled a sickening smile. I thrust it out ever so gracefully. It raced to her side and demolished her ribs. They made a disgusting cracking noise. I enjoyed that noise, and the short hesitated scream that slipped out shortly after pleased me. I pulled it back with instinctive reaction, admiring the unique blood splatter designs on the walls and the blood that dripped in such an acute way off of the mallet.
    "M-M-Miyuku! NO! BA-" She slurred, but I quickly finished her sentence off with another blow to the body, but this time it was to her skull. It penetrated deep, but not deep enough for instant death. I planned that. I wanted her to suffer like I myself did every time she sent me away countless times. I grinned, glaring at my now kneeling mother. She whimpered a short 'why' and I stepped forward to her. I gave her a short look of endless boundaries of pity and disgust, then lifted the hammer over my head and swung down as fast and hard as I possibly could. It dropped on her impaled head, making a squishing noise only a murderer could withstand, or, a madman. In this case, A madwoman. I studies her last moments of precious life. Her eyes widened like she was high, her arms shook rapidly, and she grew limp. All in a blink of an eye. I looked at her again. Her expression was blank and eerie. She leaned one way, then fell the other. I heard a dull 'Thump' as she hit the ground hard. Her dead bodily essence lingered.
    Chapter Three.
    "Crap..." I murmured, setting the blood-covered sledge hammer down by her barely twitching feet.
    ((No Point Of View))
    Miyuku reached out and wrapped her fingers around her mom's now greenish-pale ankles and pulled. Nothing. She tugged. Didn't budge. She let out a small moan in defeat and went back to tugging at her mother's legs. She heaved backward with all her might. She budged. Miyuku grinned and kept tugging her dead mother's corpse. 'Where should I hide her body...' She thought to herself. She looked out the window and made her decision. "The old tree house!" She whispered to herself. She has always seemed to either talk to herself or 'spirits' that she saw. She continued tugging her. Every now-and-then she's stop and take a breather, then continue onward with the miraculous adventure the caused not so long ago.
    Chapter Four.
    It suddenly became very cold as she slipped open the sliding door and strode outside, her mother’s dead weight making her slower then normal.
    “Screw thiss…” She hissed, wind hissing in her ears. About fifteen feet in front of her was the tree house. Towering wooden poles, maybe oak, stretched above her. Stairs and a slide lay at the peak, leading down to the snow covered ground. She counted the feet and paces she took. “Thirteen….Twelve….Eleven…..Ten….Nine….Eight…” She murmured, adding a little lisp from the sheering cold. She slowed her pace, catching her breath. One question was still locked in her mind, though. Where was her father? Wasn’t he supposed to come home AFTER the anniversary? Was he off being drunk again? Yah…seems plausible.
    ((Miyuku’s Point Of View))
    I stood, hair on end, staring up at the magnificent structure that lay before me. ‘What a beatifically built play house’ I thought, eyes searching the outside of the tree house for any flaws. Very tall, slender pine poles shot up, reaching up to a four-by-four plank, barely stretching over and around the poles. It was frankly like a dollhouse for teens, at least it was big enough for a teen. I looked at the stairs. Too steep. I glanced at the slide questioningly. Don’t know if its too steep. I’ll try anyways.
    Chapter Five.
    It was ‘round Twelve Forty two in the morning and I was tired. I finally came to my senses, though: I killed the only person who ever did- and probably ever will -love me. Now I seemed as the bad one.
    “W-what have I done!?!?” I nearly screamed, dropping my mother’s feet and dropping to my knees. I finally remembered the joys and sorrows we had shared together. All the times we laughed together and the other times I’d find her, crying in her room. I remember I would stay up all night- even on school nights -to help her forget all that has gone wrong in her day. So…I am a seven year old convict. I killed my mother. I am a terrible person! I hate it. I feel so dirty…I looked around for a match and gasoline. I had to burn her. I couldn’t leave any memory. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. I didn’t want to remember that fateful night. I wish that there was someway that I could forget all of this. Just….someway to escape this mortal life and run away from it all. My joys. My sorrows. My frustration and denial. I found a match, snapping back to reality, and some gasoline in the three-by-three wooden storage utility unit. The gasoline bottle was a red two liter bottle, yet only to be filled to the one liter mark at all times. O’well. That’ll do. With a pitiful tear in my eye, I poured the gasoline over her corpse, soaking it heavily. I took out the match and strook it against the black strip and threw at into her. My nose twitched as a sadly watched her burn in the inferno-like fire. I looked at her hair. Her blonde hair flared and quickly disintegrated, leaving only charred remains of it and the glowing embers. For thirty minutes a stood, watching her burn.
    Chapter Six.
    I slowly stepped backward, tears streaming down my pale face and dropping down my shirt. I spun around and started running, tears rolling down my cheeks and dropping into the snow, leaving a trail. I didn’t even bother to look backward at my havoc, so I continued running. I left a trail of tears in the crystal white snow covered ground behind me.
    ((No Point Of View))
    She started to quicken her pace until the started running, but one more question popped up. Where would she go? One: her father would probably kill her when- or if -he came home and saw her mother and blamed it on her. Two: She had no one to stay with and no one who ever really cared. That thought made her feel disgraceful. So, she ran away, concluding this ever so fascinating story.