sick people

The little girl was seven, maybe eight years old. Innocent and loving, like any normal child. Adorable too. Long curly black hair trained into pigtails, big brown eyes, and smile that told of a missing baby tooth, always a proud accomplishment. If I ever wanted a child, I’d want it to look like her. She smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back. She either didn’t see the bloodied knife in my hand, or it didn’t register to her that this was a dangerous thing. Simply looked at me, smiled and said, “ Do you want to play with me? I have dolls, lots of them! You could have the one with red hair!” All of this was spoken with little gasps of wind escaping from the hole where a tooth once rested. “No, I don’t play anymore” She looked sad for a moment, as if the thought of not being able to play frightened her. “Do you play anything?” she asked of me, still a little sad from my previous statement. I looked at her for a moment, pondering how to word my answer. I wanted to tell the truth without being brutal about it. “Yes, I do play. It’s a very special game. I find people who are sick, who don’t have a chance, and I make them better.” Her eyes brightened in wonder at this. ”Really?! Ooooh, how do I play? Can I play? I want to help people get better!” She was practically jumping from anticipation. I kneeled down beside her, the knife behind my back. “Maybe. You see, only people my age can play. When we get older, we get the…gift to see who’s sick, and the gift to make them better. Only certain people get this a gift, but I think you might be one of us” The last part was a half lie, I had no idea if she was special or not, but I didn’t want her to feel excluded, such a cute little kid. Her eyes got even bigger, as well as her smile. “I’m so happy I get to be able to help sick people when I get older! I can’t want to tell daddy and mommy!” Her words made my warm smile fall. I put my free arm around her. “Sweetie, I said, “try not to get upset, but mommy and daddy are some of the ones who are sick.” Her smile abruptly left her face and a look of cold fear crept in. “”but….you made them better, right?” “Yes” A weak smile started to fill her face up. “How do you make them better?”
“I kill them” simply stated from me. A new kind of fear rattled her, then a look of anger. “LIAR!” she shouted. “YOU DIDN’T KILL MY MOMMY AND DADDY, THEY’RE SITTING ON THE BENCH BY THE POND OVER THERE!!” All of this was sad with her finger pointing somewhere to her left, and she had pulled away from me. “I’m not lying” I said. “I did kill them, that’s their blood on this knife.” Pulling it out to show her. More horrified looks, but I could tell she didn’t want to believe me. Instead she kicked me in the shin, called me a “very bad person” and ran off in the direction of her parents. I sat down on my rear, rubbing my shin, and sighed. I was telling the truth. Her parents had been very sick. In four years her dad would be killed in a car wreck, and as for her mother, well, I could tell the woman was a bitch. Might as well save them and the little girl some pain later by taking care of things now. A high-pitched shriek from a bench by the pond told me it was time to go. I had been here long enough. After all, the world was full of sick people.