When we are young, we are taught the distinction between the heroes, and the villains. Good and evil. The saviors and the lost causes. But what if the only difference.... is really who's telling the story?
My name is Lexi James. But to everyone else? Im nightmares made real....a disease and a stain on society. But nobody really knows why I've done everything I have done so far. Yet they don't care to listen either. Let me tell you the story of how I became what I am to this day.....
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Ten years ago.
June 14, 2009
It was a pleasent night compared to most, quiet, calm, maybe even peaceful for once in a lifetime. No random gunshots, no cop sirens, not even a scream of any kind. This was unusual for the area we lived in, every other day there was a crime scene, a woman being harassed, someone being robbed. But tonight? Nothing.....the streets were calm, and for a kid, Who would think anything of that?
The calm meant something dangerous that night, the quiet came with danger that lurked so far in the dark you couldn't make out it's face. As me and my little sister are our food...ramen noodles cooked in the microwave....we thought nothing could happen. Little did we know it would've been safer if there was something going down for cops or responders to be here.
When dinner was done, my little sister (only five years old) demanded to help me clean up. Of course I let her, she was all I had at this point. Emotionally Absent parents isn't the walk in the park some people think it is. Sometimes they wouldn't even come home at night, leaving me to care for her by myself.
Mostly I never minded but sometimes it got hard to juggle school, work (despite me being underage) and caring for her. After dinner, I tucked her in for bed, reading her a bedtime story like normal before leaving when she fell asleep. Little did I know....that night was the last time I would use that routine for the rest of my life...
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That night after my sister was tucked in for bed, I stayed up a little. Waiting for my parents to see if they'd actually come home. At around 10 that night I realized today was one of those days they cared more about gambling and drinking than their children. Sighing, I stood up, walking down the creaky old basement stairs to my room. Since it was a two bedroom house and yuka (my sister) wanted her own room, I gave her the room.
Instead, I fixed up a corner in the basement behind boxes of old things. Using a curtain and a tarp to have privacy and a semi decent floor that wasn't the concrete in the basement. From how I set it up, you would never be able to tell their was a kid back there. My parents used that to their advantage though. Sometimes forcing me and my sister to stay down there when they wanted to forget they had kids or when they wanted to either smoke or drink to forget their mistakes....us and poverty.
I walked back to my bed, laying down and pulling the scratchy old covers over my body. Closing my eyes to rest for the night.....but I didn't realize I forgot the most important thing. The locks. I forgot to lock the front door, the dog was outside still with the back door unlocked. The window in my parents room was apparently open but we weren't allowed in there. I wasn't stupid, they probably had things in there children shouldn't see, use, drink, or even know about. The only thing in the house that was locked was the fridge, the pantry, and my sisters window.
The fridge and the pantry was locked by our parents and never opened because they were convinced we were thieves. I slept soundly, the house was oddly quiet, the dog no longer barking....the doors no longer closed.....