The Release Every time I close my eyes I see those faces, their faces. Twisted with pain, eye’s begging, mouths open, yet no words coming out. Their expressions were pleading for mercy. Their eyes blacked and their faces darkened as their bodies went limp and fell to the floor. I watched my mother, father, and brother’s horrible murders. They were shown no mercy. When they finished with my brother they turned to me. I was prepared to die. Only death didn’t come. Instead, they tied me to a chair in the corner, deciding fifteen was too young to die. I sat there for thirty hours, staring at the lifeless bodies of my family, to horrified to scream for help, to scared to breathe, ready to wake up from this nightmare like reality. It was raining when the police escorted me out of my house, and into the police car. I couldn’t feel the rain hit me, I couldn’t feel anything. The raindrops hit the window, streaming down the window. I don’t know how long I sat there, time no-longer mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. I was alone. I watched police officers carry three body bags out of my house. The sight made me cringe. My face felt wet, I reached up and discovered I was crying. Before I knew it I was crying so hard I couldn’t stop, my body was heaving up and down so ferociously I thought it might actually kill me. Someone opened the car door, and I fell to the ground. I started gagging from crying so hard, my hair was getting wet and clinging to my face, but I hardly noticed. Mustering all the strength in my body I rose to my feet and ran to the body bags on my porch. I yanked the zipper down on the first one, to see my brothers face. He was pale, sickly pale. I started shaking him, yelling for him to wake up. I heard screaming, looking around I realized, I was the one making the awful screaming. Officers were running towards me. I felt my self start to vomit, just as everything went black. I woke up, blinded by how bright the room was. I just wanted darkness. The room consisted of a bed, four solid white walls, and me. The door clicked open and someone walked in. My eyes stayed on the solid white floor until she spoke. “Callia,” she said her voice soothing. My eyes shot up. My mother’s sister was sitting on the bed beside me. Her hair looked exactly like my mothers. I felt tears sting my eyes. “Come on darling, the Police need to talk to you.” She finished. I slowly tried to stand up. I collapsed onto the floor, my legs unable to support my weight. With my Aunts help I finally got to my feet. Once I exited the room I realized I was in a police station. A young officer ran over to help my aunt walk me to the interrogation room. His eyes looked at me with such pity and sorrow. As we started walking I heard hushed whispers about me from every room we passed, eyes darting in my direction. Eyes filled with such sadness, bearing down to my heart. With each look I remembered what happened more and more, filling me with horror over and over again. We passed a mirror, and I glanced at my reflection as we walked. My black hair was a tangled mess, and my blue eyes looked almost grey. I was wearing clothes I didn’t recognize, and defiantly didn’t put on myself. Before I could put much thought into who might have dressed me, we arrived at a door labeled ‘interrogation room 3’. I spent hours sitting in a chair, answering the same questions over and over and over again, for numbers of different people. With each question I relived the whole experience again. Finally, the police finished their questions, and I got to go home to my aunt’s house where I could sleep, and be alone to think. The first couple days I couldn’t sleep, I kept thinking that I would wake up and the men would be back. Fear froze my mind every time I closed my eyes. I didn’t know what I would do next time I saw these men. August 14th, 2011 two men were arrested for the random murder of a woman and her husband and their son, my family. After a long trial, they were convicted for 3 counts of first hand murder. Soon after that, I watched these men die, sentenced by the death penalty. Slowly, a smile crept across my face as they drew their last breaths, and the life drained out of their bodies. I pressed my face against the glass and watched them closely to make sure they really died. It was my birthday and I was sitting on a bed in my Aunt’s house, when it came to me, the perfect idea, and the answer to all my problems. I ran to the bathroom, throwing open the door. For the first time since the incident I felt happy. I almost felt alive. I grabbed a razor, and broke it to reveal the blade. I cut myself. Not deeper than any of the other cuts up and down my arms. This one would just scar over like the rest. Blood bubbled up on my skin, oozing out of the cut. The color was so red; I felt a rush from inside of me, a tiny bit of relief. I felt the relieving of the stress begin. I held the blade up. With this next cut I didn’t just want to relieve stress, I wanted to relieve myself. Somebody once told me that fifteen was too young to die, but nobody ever said anything about sixteen.