Cold hands and even colder eyes. Gunshots. Blood. Screaming. That was all that she remembered from that night. Or rather, that was all that she had ever allowed herself to remember. It was a self-preservation thing, if she was being completely honest with herself. The little voice in the back of her head was always telling her to watch what she did and said. Even the slightest slip up might one day bring back the rest of the memories associated with that night. It's not every day that someone walks in on their parents being murdered in cold blood. It's even more rare for that person to get away alive after witnessing something so terrible. There were some days where the depression would creep in, bringing with it the few memories she had. Those were the days when she'd often wish that he had taken her life too, if only so she didn't have to live with the fact that she had done nothing.
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