I hated to see her cry. ________ cried a lot. I just wanted to see her smile.

I would hold her, pet her head. She would sob into my chest, and fall asleep in my arms.

She was my little girl.

~~~

The first people who made her cry were some rude girls at her school. Some girls who mocked her voice. We were in 5th grade then, and she was going through some aspects of puberty much earlier than the others.

She came to me, because I was the closest friend she had. I didn't know what to do, so I killed them.

She let me hold her, so that was all I cared about.

The second person that made her cry was a boy she loved. She loved him more than me.

So I killed him, and she cried over his body, looking at me for protection.

And I isolated her. Everyone who hurt her died, and the gossip turned into an urban legend.

The other students wouldn't become her friend, but at least they were decent to my darling little girl.

~~~

She came to me on a particularly hard day. She couldn't stop crying. She sobbed, hiccupped, and kept repeating the phrases that made her cry harder.

I never minded her crying really. But today I had such a heartwrenching ache in my chest. My nails dugs into her skin.

"I promise that you'll never hurt again ________...." I whispered to her.

She didn't believe me.

~~~

She didn't believe me.

But now she did.

How could she have known that the only way to end all pain and suffering was to cut off the very source of life?

Well she did now.

I shared some headphones with her, and saw tears on her cheeks. Not sad ones, happy ones.

And I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her, the taste of three day old blood filling my mouth. Her tongue found its way in my mouth and I pulled away. Holding her close I stroked her hair, making sure to avoid the fringes of skin that hung from her severed neck.