Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27582895-20170130001515

I'd always had overprotective parents. They never allowed me to curse, soil my clothing, or date. Unfortunately, the politeness I've worn for the past thirteen years is a simple mask to hide my rebellious teenage self. It's been manifesting itself in several different ways: being angsty, sarcasm, and straight-up rudeness, to name a few.

My friends tell me to run to my grandmother, the most relaxed person in my family. I definitely would, but my parents set up cameras in my room, and they monitor the footage every morning. I'd be discovered within hours.

One night, my mother went too far by taking my laptop, which is where I draw. She told me I was, "wasting my time," on art. That made sense; my parents wanted me to be a lawyer. But by 9 - my curfew, I decided I would take action.

I covered the cameras with black construction paper - my little brother's - and changed into a cute little black jumpsuit and hat. Then I put on black boots and snuck into my parents' bedroom. Luckily, both of them were sound asleep. I had taken a carving knife from the kitchen, and I climbed onto my parents' bed.

I stabbed the knife through my father's chest. One down, one to go. I got off the bed and stood over my mother. Sound asleep. But just as I held the knife over her neck, she awoke. "Sierra... What are you doing...?" "I've had enough, Mother." Vermilion blood spilled across her chest; the knife had gone in.

I jumped out the window. Off to my grandmother's house. 