Suzie Slasher was the beloved daughter of the Slashers, hardworking farmer and housewife. Her father, who made the farm from nothing, and her mother, who was a empathetic teacher, raised Suzie with their values. The way of the Slashers was “if you want something, you ‘slash’ for it.” Emphasizing hardwork and character, they doted on Suzie.

A child a head of golden hair, more yellow than the corn her father grew, Suzie was the apple of her parents’ eyes. So Mr. and Mrs. Slasher did everything they could with what they had, spawning a spoiled child.When her father sat her down in the fields to learn about when wheat and squash seeds had to be planted, she would eat them. When her mother showed her how to use a needle and thread, the little girl would take the needle and throw it. One time it narrowly missed her mother’s eye.

Anytime either parent tried to teach her or make her do chores, the heinous girl would deny their request, and completely avoided the tasks by running off to a friend’s home several miles away. This was not how the Slashers raised their daughter to be, not intentionally anyhow.

Her father shook his head one evening, wondering where it all went wrong. He decided it was time to put his foot down. The next morning, Mr. Slasher told his wife, and she opposed his proposition initially. But, as much as it pained her, Mrs. Slasher eventually agreed with her husband and so he bolted Suzie’s door shut with screws. Her screams of fury reduced into sobs and pleads for freedom from inside. They cut at his soul, but they had decided that this had to be done until she reflected on her actions and chose to reform herself.

But after that, her parents didn’t hear another whisper from their little girl, and days passed in silence.

Sitting in their dining room at the wooden table, the parents quietly discussed their most pressing matter: Suzie. A giggle echoed, causing them to tense. Mr. Slasher turned his head to the direction of the sound. Low and behold a little girl with yellow hair and bright eyes paired above a toothy smile. Or was it a snarl?

He opened his mouth but when he saw those red irises, so pure like freshly cut blood, they took his breath away. Like it was suffocating him. But before her parents could react, Suzie lunged forward and slapped her mother across her face, leaving bloody lines from breast to cheeck. Chunks of her throat laid on the wooden floor along with her body.

Her father screamed at the horrible, unthinkable sight in front of him, and screamed why.

“Because it’s time to play,” she giggled before lunging for him.

For 30 years, the Slasher’s Ranch has been empty. No buyers or visitors except for spiders and occasional crow. Word is, if you dare come out here, you’ll hear giggles and play. Whether you like it or not.

so much I want to tell you: letters to my little sister

By: Anna Akana

"instead of saying that you’ll write for an hour, you can always say you’ll write a minimum of five hundred words. They might be the shittiest five hundred words you’ve ever written, but you’ll be five hundred closer to some you like."

These words are what helped motivate me to actually write shit.

I don’t tell people this.

I’ve never told my loved ones about this moment.

But I’m telling the world in hopes of releasing the shackles on my wrist.

When I was 10, my sister picked me up on a Monday.

How unexpexted, I thought.

I was getting out of school early, yay.

This is all I remember until the hospital.

A familiar place as my mother frequented it for her chest.

Us sisters waited until the call.

In a lovely and quiet room for private use,

A lady with stump broke news that made our hearts plummet.

My sanity went loose.

I watched my body exist and embrace and pace.

My tears kept flowing and she kept going.

I had been hit too many times with a mace.

My mother laid unmoving on that bed, hooked up to tubes and machinery.

I came over to her side and leaned over, never touching.

My instinct of some sort was to check if she was alive.

I saw no movement.

My being stilled and I backed away, scrambling.

Leaving her room and seeing my father’s and sister’s faces, I thought,

she’s breathing, right?

November 11, 2011. 11:21 P.M.