I open my eyes and find myself on a basketball court. The ground beneath me is slick with the sweat and blood of my fallen teammates, I am the last surviving player.

On the other team is my mother, father, my brother, mama, Papa and Amanda's mother. They all wear shiny blue suits and are pointing white guns at me.

Somebody fires. It is Amanda's mother. I see the bullet coming towards me and know I would never be able to dodge it at this distance. I would die and they would win this game.

In slow motion, I watch my fans in the audience scream my name. They are wearing shirts with my face printed on, and although I don't see it, I know they have the number '666' written on the back of their shirts in red. It is heartbreaking that even though they are cheering me on, I would still let them down.

John jumps in front of me, taking the bullet right to his face and spraying liquid electricity all over me. He turns towards me with the bullet still lodged in his face, giving me a thumbs up with robotic hands.

"Do your best" He says, before collapsing and sinking into the bloody floor of the court

As he slowly sinks into the ground, I feel his strength seep into me, along with a strange "self-assuredness". John has given me a chance. I would win for sure. I would win for John.

The woman who fired the bullet grunts in anger and throws her gun at me, but I sidestep easily, catching a glimpse of the tiny-print label etched into its side before it passes by. It says, "Dextra's blessing"

The gun passes by me and hits a wall at full force. Before any member of the other team can react, I jump into action.

The basket ball is an extension of my arm. I dribble past my mother and father with ease, side flip over Amanda's mother's head and shoulder slam papa out of the way so that he falls to the ground and shatters like glass, sending blue suit pieces, bone fragments and chunks of skin in all directions.

My brother rushes towards me, and I can see mama behind him, readying her gun for when I manoeuvre past him. I don't, I simply jump and shoot.

I see the other team's fans stand up in anticipation of my loss, their golden wings flapping sporadically and their halo's vibrating intensely above their heads. I see my fans stand up in anticipation of my win, their horns are an electric blue and their voices deep as they chant my name. My ball is going in for sure, I just know it.

I never get to see it go in. I blink for just one fraction of a second and when I open my eyes, I am standing before a Golden Gate, staring directly at the face of the angel I know is called Michael, who is idly patting one of the heads of Cerberus, Hades's guard dog.

"Am I dead?" I ask him

"Yes, you fool, you are D-E-A-D as a doornail" he says in an angelic "head in the cloud" tone that doesn't fit.

"Look at that scale," he says to me, pointing at a large old measuring scale that suddenly appeared in the sky "your heart is on one side and on the other is a grain of sand. If-" He cuts himself short as the scale drops with a clang on the side where my heart is "oh shit, you are rotten" he says.

Cerberus growls at me and jumps, sailing through the air with all three heads fighting each other for the first bite. I raise my hands to defend myself and in one motion Cerberus bites everything from my wrist down clean off.

The pain shoots up my arms and my eyes snap open. I am in a big room, lying on a soft bed that is wet with my sweat. What the hell was I dreaming about that made me sweat this hard?

I bring my right hand to my face to clean the sweat that is about to drop into my eyes, and I almost scream when I see it.

" My hands, what happened to my hands?"

I am looking at my arm but I don't recognize it. If this is my arm, then where is my wrist? Where is my palm? Where are my fingers?. It is a feeling that is just wrong, I can feel sensation on my palm, but my palm is not here, I can move my fingers, but they aren't here either. Why do my arms end in stumps?

I chuckle to myself as I finally get it. It is another dream again. How could it not be? It is exactly like me to dream up a nice room and a crazy situation I have to deal with. I know for a fact that I'm sleeping on my mattress in mama and papa's house, I'm probably drooling too. A little pain would wake me up, I am certain.

I bite my upper lip, hard. The pain rushes to my brain in waves, I can taste blood. Tears start to fall from my eyes, slowly at first, but with increasing intensity. The pain is not responsible for my tears, it is the crushing realization that this is my reality.

Conflicting feelings fight for dominance in the small place that is my heart. Shock, Despair, and anger clash to birth something new. It is disgust, bitter disgust. I almost retch as I see myself. Is this me now? What have I become?

In those moments before he shot me with what must be tranquillizers, I had gone through a hundred different possibilities; Everything from becoming a slave of the sexual kind to becoming a lab rat. In all of those possibilities, I wasn't this girl without hands.

A new feeling gains prominence, mixing with those already there. It is a feeling I hate, a feeling I fear. It is confusion. I don't know whether to cry, to laugh, to scream or to die. My mind reacts in the only way it knows how, it hides behind jokes.

"What did the princess say to the pea?"

It is no use. The punchlines are all lost. The wall of humour that has protected me for so long falls under the weight of my despair.

*                   *                   *    

The best part is, I desperately want to blame him, but  I can't, it is like within me I know I had it coming eventually. I have brought other people so much suffering, this is nothing more but nature's revenge. Perhaps, the right decision is to just die and hope for the sake of the world that I take my bad luck with me.

It makes sense, doesn't it? I have been the root of everyone's misfortune; I out shined my brother and kicked him out of his happy place(school), I made my dad skip work to take care of me(This was why he lost his job), My presence in the vehicle that night was what caused the accident

There is no mistaking it, something is wrong with me. I somehow always remain unaffected when bad things happen? It's more than weird that the accident that killed my parents didn't leave me with a single scratch.

I am a monster, that much is certain and I deserve everything and worse. The real question is, why did it take so long for me to start getting what I deserve?

*                     *                 *    
My mind has always been quick to develop multiple solutions to problems, but somehow developing a solution to me is a problem. How do I go about solving my problem for everyone else?

I have run a thousand different mental simulations, everything from ingesting poison to jumping off a high place, but it has been one dead end after another. The best thing to do is to lay down here and do nothing until my life eventually ebbs out.

*            *                *   
What must be two days pass and so far I haven't faltered. I know I am close to death. I know I just have to die soon. The hunger and thirst is hitting hard, but I can't afford to give up now.

In those two days, thoughts of what might have been  dominated my mental space, thoughts of the old times when I used to be happy and I still had my real mom and dad, before I killed them.

I smile in sorrow as the sweet memories come again.

I remember my dad, I remember he used to sit me in front of a mirror so I could see "how beautiful I looked" when he made my hair. I remember, every time he finishes, he would always do his corny big bad wolf impression and say that same old joke  "What a cute little piggy, I wish I could just eat you raw and unsalted". I would always pretend to freak out then, and he'll always laugh that laughter that was so rich, present and full of life that I would forget to pretend and join the big bad wolf who just made my hair.
He always made sure to end with " then I won't have a daughter and that would make wolfie cry".

I remember my mom but not how she looked. As a model, she was never really at home. However, when she was, she would make sure I had everything I wanted and just watch me enjoy myself with an interest that was almost exploitative and smile.

She didn't talk much but I remember she would tell me that if I ever wanted to snag a man like Dad, I should start taking lots of slimtea(which she modelled for). Father would just laugh that beautiful laugh and tell her to use her mean advertising skills during work hours and also request his permission before advertising with his name or he'll see her in court.  

Mom won in the end, I can't remember how she looked more than that she was pretty. However, I can say for sure that, wasting away as I am now, I am slimmer than she was.

In those two days I have been on this bed, I have had the time to laugh, to cry and to scream to my satisfaction. All that is left is death.

*           *                  *

It started as a simple fragment of a thought and then broadened into something more complex; is it really fair that I get to take the easy way out? Sure, I might ultimately deserve death but not like this.

It must be my body fighting for life, but I listen anyway. Maybe I should at least try to understand things first? Shouldn't I at least try to balance things out?.

I give audience to a thought that has been trying to get my attention for so long, what if he is hurting others that don't deserve it like me?

I should at least try to know for sure, if it turns out that is true then putting an end to that would go one step toward balancing the scales— who am I kidding? In my heart of hearts, I know I just want to be right so I can have an excuse.

But first, how do I figure out the extent of his damage? how do I find someone with not even a name to go on with?