"Everyone pays for their sins one day, Emile"
"Death comes to us all, in one form or another"
"We all face judgement. We'll face ours together"
"Now, kill him before it's too late!"

Emile gazed down at him sadly; he wouldn't even be awake for his death. Maybe it was better that way, the joy of not knowing. She'd always know. She'd always picture him like this; his death would etch across her soul, another tally mark to send her to hell. It wasn't even her fault. It was never her fault. She was a good girl, her only failing was that she always done as she was told.

The voices hissed at her, and she plunged the blade into his gut and tore it up until she pierced the heart, leaning all her weight onto the hilt of the knife, she twisted the heart and pulled the blade back. Wiping it across his jeans, she watched as the blood blossomed over this chest and abdomen. She edged backwards, and ran home.

"Coward"
"Feeling sad for our abusers now?"
"They'll never relent, they'll always hate you"
"That's why we kill them"

Emile whimpered and curled up into her sheets. She wished for once they'd be silent. She yearned for silence, for the only voice in her head to be her own. But ever since she could remember, they'd been there. All of them, and they were stronger than her. They seemed to know more about how the world worked, and they dealt with her tormentors, every last single one of them.

Emile had always been a strange child, short, thin and always short of friends. But then, she didn't need friends; she had more than enough friends in her own head than she'd ever need outside it. That's what they told her. But she'd like a real friend, one to play with, one who didn't tell her what to do, one who didn't order her to kill.

"Didn't it feel good, Emile?"
"Knowing that he could no longer hurt you?"
"He'll never hurt anyone again"
"And it's all thanks to you"

She tossed in her sleep, and groggily looked at the clock. Seven twenty-nine, she crawled wearily out of bed and went through her morning routine on autopilot while they bickered away in her skull. She hated her reflection in the mirror; she was so scrawny and weak. It didn't matter that she could kill people. That seemed easy now.

Once dressed, she left for school. As she straggled along the pavement she kept her head down, but even while trying to remain inconspicuous, they saw her. A pebble hit off her shoulder and she glanced up. A boy near her age stood on the other side of the road, a malicious grin spread across his face.

"Please…. Don't…" she called over to him, her effort was rewarded with a pebble slamming off the tarmac at her feet.

"He's next then"
"Get him at lunch time"
"Go to the woods, he'll follow. You know what to do"
"And don't hesitate this time!"

Lunchtime came in record speed, and they goaded her into obeying them. She'd been watching the boy all day; he seemed nice, not like the others. She really liked him. His eyes sparkled when he smiled, and he didn't seem to be nasty all the time. She left the classroom first, and sure enough he followed behind her.

She dawdled as she tried not to lead him to his death, but he was stubborn and continued to follow her doggedly. She walked deep into the heart of the woods, stopping in the clearing in the centre she glanced back at him, and he kept coming towards her.

"Look at that…"
"Like a lamb to the slaughter"
"Either they're getting dumber, or she's getting brighter"
"They must have to hold competitions for village idiot"

Emile shrank down onto the moss and waited while he approached. "Emile?" he asked, his voice gentle. She looked at him, her eyes empty, and her blood cold, "Yes?". He seemed to shuffle his feet, and look everywhere but her. Curious, she thought to herself, with her own voice.

"I'm sorry about earlier, I shouldn't have thrown things at you this morning. I didn't realise how nice you were.." he stammered the last line, and Emile shook her head, half in disbelief and half at his comment. How nice she was. If only he knew. He crouched down beside her, his hands pushing the autumn leaves aside.

In unison, the four voices screamed, "NOW".

She ignored them, for once. But out of forced instinct, the blade was already hidden in her palm. He was looking at her again, and not out of hate. She forced herself to meet his eyes. Liquid hazel, flecked with gold. Her heart melted slightly. Alien feelings rushed through her body, and for once, the voices quietened.

They hadn't expected this either. He raised his hand, as if suggesting she shake it. She accepted it, and he stammered, "My name's Jamie". She nodded. She knew that already. "Want to go for a walk? I could walk you to your house?" He had to nearly raise her chin to make eye contact again as her head hung, crestfallen.

"Emile, kill him"
"He's pretending"
"He knows you're going to kill him"
"He's bluffing his way out of it"

Unconsciously she waved a hand at the voices, it was an old habit when they said things she didn't want to hear. He saw the blade as she waved her hand and he scuttled backwards away from her. Lost in her own head, arguing with herself, she didn't realise she was waving the knife about, slicing the air in perfect arcs.

She stopped, and looked at him, and he shrank even further back. She'd reached a decision. Her eyes were glittering, and he wasn't sure what with. It wasn't fear, love or violence; they shone with greed for death. For once she'd made a decision all on her own, and hell mend her, as it probably would try, she was going to go through with it.

"Jamie, you might want to leave", Emile whispered. The knife held loosely in her grasp. He shook his head. "I mean it, you don't want to stay for this. Leave". His head shook even more vehemently. She tilted her head at him, "Have you ever seen someone die?" The colour drained from his face, but still he didn't move. Emile sighed. She knew he'd carry this for the rest of his life. But it was his choice, and as the same as this was her choice, he had the right to make it.

"We can talk this over Emile"
"You're acting so rashly!"
"You don't know what you're doing"
"Just listen to us, we know what's right"

"I know exactly what I'm doing", she murmured.

Jamie watched spellbound as Emile done to herself what she had done unto others before her. The knife pushed deep into her stomach, she pulled it up and plunged it to her heart. She screamed incessantly all throughout it, her hands bathed in her own blood. Her vision stained crimson. She collapsed to her knees, but still she lived, despite the torrent of blood that washed over the mossy carpet.

The blade resting by her heart, and the voices were screaming in harmony with her now. He watched her, horror-struck and before her death, she met his eyes. Silence resounded around her, for the first time in her life, and with a peaceful look on her face as she stood holding her own intestines pressed to her stomach she whispered sadly, "I was born a martyr".

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