It was such a chilling notion for a girl of twelve years old to have, but it had always been obvious to me. My mama hated me. She loathed me, she wished for my demise—as I wished for hers.
She never treated me like a daughter. She refused to buy me pretty clothes that all my friends had. She refused to let me help her cook. She didn't even let me stay home alone. What she said to me daily was, “Go play outside. Don’t come home. I never want to see you home."
At night, she always forced me to eat more than I wanted—poultry, pork, cheese. She chose foods that would make me fat and forced them down my throat. Then she stayed around to make sure I didn't puke it up later. She made me feel fat and ugly. I’d never be pretty to anyone.
I had soft, black hair, but Mama never let me grow it long. When I grew breasts and curves, she stopped cutting it short and just shaved my whole head bald. She did it because she was jealous, because my hair was nicer, because I was the prettier one in the family. I could tell she was jealous of me. I could see my father only giving me attention and not her.
My wretched, devilish mama never let me do anything fun. No singing, dancing, or anything that makes me feel pretty and good. She dressed me with the worst, most boyish clothes she could find and then paraded me around the neighborhood. I got looks of pity from everyone and the only thing I could do is bow my head in embarrassment.
I looked at my bald head and my smelly clothes and decided I had enough. The next time she told me what to do, I wasn't going to do it.
Mama came into my room and told me to go play outside. I didn't move. She came towards me and started to yell. I gripped the knife I had hidden under my blanket and stabbed it right into her heart. She fell down onto her knees and said, “I’m sorry. I love you.” Her eyes went blank and she slumped forwards. Her blonde hair mixed with the blood made me feel free. I could finally live the way I wanted to.
I took a portion of the long platinum blonde hair and held it to my head imagining what it would be like to have long hair. The thought of it made me smile. Then my father walked in.
My father understood why I did it. He even helped me bury the body. He let me become the woman I could have been so long ago.
I was sleeping when I learned the truth about mama. It was when my father came into my room and lay next to me. His hands started to travel under my clothes and I could feel his hot breath on my neck. He wasn't wearing any clothes and I can feel his thing poking in between my legs.
“I've always known you’re such a pretty girl,” he said. “Good thing your mama isn’t around to protect you anymore.”