Birthdays are a big deal. No kidding. Birthdays are special between my daughters and I, and thirteenth birthdays? Those were the deluxe special. 571Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡl0P8QAAfmA
My youngest daughter was turning thirteen. She knew how dearly I held thirteenth birthdays, so she dreamed of balloons, ribbons, cakes, and friends at a party, things we'd never been able to afford. She told me that whatever present I got her, it would be the best ever. I couldn't agree more.
That day, I picked up the best outfit I could find for her. I was blue, lacy, and cost me ten dollars. Way too much for me to spare, but it was my daughter's birthday. The occasion was special enough for me to buy one more outfit more than I had bought that year.
I went home to our RV in the worst part of town. The best home I'd been able to find for us in the last twenty years. It had been years since it had a working engine. Cracked walls greeted me as always, black and dirt-soaked, and the leak stain in the ceiling looked bigger than last week. A strange moldy smell hung in the air, threating to make us all sick, but I didn't care about any of that. Soon, I would have money to fix all this. I knew it to be true. Soon, I would be able to get an even better place. Life would be better very soon.
My daughter came home from school just as happy as she left. She didn't look the slightest bit suicidal, which was new and good. School was more than bad for the poorest kid in the class, but I supposed they stopped beating her up because it was her birthday.
I checked my pocket to make sure my daughter's present was still there. It was, neatly tucked out of view. I gave my daughter a hug as she sat down at the kitchen table and set down her things.
"What's the present you got me?" she asked. Her limp brown curls hung around her head, but she looked happy enough. I had always known that smile would make me feel so much better about what I was about to do.
I pulled her present out of my pants, pointed straight at her face, and shot her with it. She didn't even scream. She looked, serene, if that was possible. She definitely looked way more ready for it than any of my older children were when it happened to them. Heck, she probably saw it coming.
I didn't even care when the police barged in through the thin piece of wood covering the doorframe. I so didn't care when they hand-cuffed me and questioned me, trying to find out if I was crazy. I knew why I did all of it. I loved my children. I gave them a better future. Besides, children were so nasty when they grew up, anyway. 571Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgTf28MPuVX
Author's note: Before you call me crazy, let me tell you this was not my original idea. It originally came from Sixteenth Birthday by FilleEcrivé on Where It All Begins. 571Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDcLoXAQuzX
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