Fatale, Age Nine
So, I went to her school and lied through my teeth when she asked me questions. It wasn't long before I had my first kill. Her name was Yolanda Johnson. She was a beautiful girl of twelve years with short brown hair, falling in soft waves about her face. When I saw her, the world was better, and I had forgotten about the troubles I put on my father. But what got me was her piercing, red eyes. I'd never forget her eyes, staring up at me, even in death.
Yolanda
After I had killed Yolanda, my mother had a feast in celebration. "A young lady's first kill is a reason to celebrate. Unfortunately, this is the only time. So treasure it while it's here." However, my father wasn't present at the feast. I was heartbroken. When I confronted him about it, he wearily turned his eyes toward me and said, "Death is no reason to be happy, Fatale. But never tell your mother I said that."
I slept lightly that night, waking up at the smallest sounds. I swear now that in the corners of my dream, I heard the padding of a child's feet and laughter that only a little girl could sing. It was a terrible, haunting sound. I had so many nightmares, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with my parents. But I would be considered weak, and therefore useless in my mother's eyes.
On my eleventh birthday, my mother presented me with a terrible surprise. "I hear that a certain someone is doubting my ways," she said, whispering in my ear as she put my hair up. "But you don't disagree, do you Fatale?"
"No, Mother," I answered quickly.
"Well, your father does," she said. I froze. How on earth did she find out about that? "And I have a mission for you. If you do this, you will graduate tonight, and you will no longer have to go to my school."
"What... what is your wish, Mother?"
"Kill your father," she said simply, as if telling me to answer the phone. Without waiting for my response, she continued: "He stays in his study from four to twelve, comes out for lunch, skips dinner and goes to bed early. The time to kill him would be to get him in his study."
"Why not his sleep?"
"An assassin can kill anyone, no matter what the circumstances."
I stared blankly at my mother from the mirror. She brushed my hair and paid no attentio to my gaze. I loved my mother. She made me beautiful, the way she did my hair, and she would even let me wear make up. Three days a week I wore my hair down, and the other four they would be up in ponytails at the side of my hair. My mother hated for me to cut my hair.
Fatale, Age Eleven
That night, I did my job efficiently and quickly. He didn't even feel it, the sword piercing through his troubled heart. In a way, I felt as if I was doing him justice. He was so thin, eating only once a day, and worried about my little sister any other time of the day. He was so tired, so worn out, and I couldn't stand to see him live like that. However, if my mother hadn't asked me to kill him, I never would have.
Sometimes, I swear, I can still hear his voice. "Fatale, you're going to grow up to be a beautiful girl."
"I love you more than the world itself, Fatale."
"There is nothing you could do that would make me angry at you."
Oh, God, what have I done?
