"Again," my father's sharp voice cut through the fog. I took a deep breath, tears welling in my eyes, no I did not cry. I wasn't allowed to, Father hits me when I cry, "I said again." My head snaps up, he sounds angry, why does Father sound angry? I shake my head while getting to my feet to rid myself of the blinding pain threatening to overwhelm me, "James, please, don't make her do that again, she's only seven. Seven! A seven-year-old should not even know how to do a flip, nevermind that!" Mother sounds frighted, why would Mother be frightened? Not of Father, no he wouldn't hurt her, would he? 

    He did. Father hit Mother. I wanted to say something, anything to help her, but then I'd be hit too. So instead I stood back up, calmly walked back over to the building, climbed up to the second floor, and lept. 

~**~***~**~

    "Again." That was his favourite word these days, 'again'. He used it a lot, 'Again, that was atrocious!  You dare to call that food, again! What even was that? Again. Again. Again. Again.' I lifted my aching arms. Steady. Aim. Steady. Fire. "Again!" "James, she's ten. No ten-year-old should ever touch a gun, nevermind fire it!" Again, again, and again. My life was like a neverending circle, Father teaches me a new skill. Mother hates it, says I'm too young. Mother gets slapped. I do it again. Re-load. Steady. Aim. Steady. Fire.

~**~***~**~

    "Again. Aim to maim, kill, or disarm. Quit defending yourself, attack." Mother had died last week. It made Father worse than ever. The cuts and bruises scattered around my body like art were proof enough. 

~**~***~**~

    "Again. You are a disappointment child. What would your mother think? Twelve and still unable to disarm me, an old man. Pathetic."

~**~***~**~

    "Again." 

~**~***~**~ 

    "Again."

~**~***~**~

    "Again."

~**~***~**~

    I took my first life at fourteen. I would never hear 'again', would never feel the sharp pain that followed a slap, would never be controlled again. Mother was right in the end, Father was toxic and would corrupt me. Did. Father was dead and I had done it. And I didn't regret it in the slightest. He wanted an acolyte. Instead, he got a monster. A monster that was alone. 

*How is it? I'm just trying something new. I'm not even sure what this will be about. Comment thoughts and or ideas down below.*