Goth teenagers are always hanging around the downtown area, where I like to stroll at night. As I sat on a park bench and watched the annoying joking of young imbeciles, one stood out in particular. She looked a little older than the others, but she carried herself far worse…all hunched over. I squinted into the dark and saw the culprit of her odd gait: a cane. It wasn’t for appearances; rather, she shifted her weight on it for support in order to walk. I became intrigued by her and decided that I’d come back another night to learn more about her. To my surprise, when I returned the next night, she was sitting on my bench, beneath the shadows of the trees. She wasn’t ugly, but I could definitely tell now that she was a teenager, despite looking older than the others. When she spoke, she was articulate, the only indications of her youth were some words, such as “like” and “omg.” I’ve never understood why people want to talk in text code as if they are some kind of computer.
She told me this sad tale of her life; and, I actually listened because it wasn’t what I was expecting. She had been beaten, molested, and scarred by her father since she was very young. She still lived with him when she couldn’t find enough food on the streets. With unusual clarity for such a young person, she told me that she wanted to die…but that she wanted to die the same way that she had lived: by torture. It was an unusual request, but she was emphatic. Without much thought, I followed her to a nearby graveyard, where she had set up several butcher knives and a makeshift alter. “Take all of my power away,” she said. Instinctively, I picked up her cane and began whipping her with it. I told her what a horrible daughter and disgrace that she was; she added her own insults and prostrated herself on the makeshift alter that was really just a large, jagged stone. I raised one butcher knife at a time, leveled it in her face, and struck her with it; She was pinned to the rock like the injured animal that she was. I took her wooden cane, broke it in half, and shoved it through her heart. Her last gasps were gurgles; and, as the blood rolled between her lips, I noticed glistening tears coating the dark black makeup that surrounded her eyes. It was beautiful and haunting. I’m sure that she was proud.
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