Maybe I'm just a little bit Psycho

It was a knife.

A really shiny one, actually. Her distant eyes were fixated on the peculiar object, turning her head on different angles to see how the sun's light bounced across the metal. It was strange. It was something she hadn't seen before. She reached out to touch it.

And was rudely interrupted by an intercepting hand. "Lucy! You shan't touch the knife. It's a very dangerous object." The larger hand grabbed hers, pulling it back sharply. The girl looked up blankly at the older woman; who upon seeing her blank gaze scoffed and pulled her hand away from hers.

Lucy blinked as she started stomping around. "Why? Why me!?" her mother wailed, picking up her dress and starting a tantrum. "Why must I be born with a half-witted daughter?"

Lucy didn't understand why she was being so loud. She covered her ears and pressed them tightly to her head, trying to block out the sounds that echoed around her. It didn't work. It never did. She heard through her covered ears the conversation that followed.

"Sweetie," her father cooed, stepping to her. "We must accept who she is. She is not a half-wit, she is perfectly capable of-"

"Doing what!? Doing what, Bradley?" she shrieked, letting go of her gown and clenching her fists by her sides; face flushed from her anger. "Nobody will marry her! She will not take care of us when we are old and fragile, she does not speak a word!"

Her father gave a soft smile. "Then why does her have her hands over her ears? She understands, darling. It's just that she can't talk."

Lucy's mother made a grunting sound, most unladylike for a person like herself. "Then why," she mimicked, following his tone. "does she scream when I hug her? Why does she stare at the walls? I tell you Bradley, she is a half-wit!" She pointed accusingly at Lucy. "She will never bear you a son or daughter for you! Our family ends here! Why!? Because she is a half-wit!"

Bradley clasped her hands and pulled it to his chest. "She is a special child, Martha. You cannot judge her for the way God presented her at birth. She was meant for us." She pulled her hands away, disgusted.

"Then why did He not give us a better child in her stead?" she asked, before storming off. Bradley glanced over at his daughter, looking at him with a glazed look in her eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her hands.

Bradley picked her up, rocking her back and forth. Lucy clung to him, but did not talk. He mumbled apologies and empty promises, then when he heard something, he put her back down.

Staring fondly at Lucy he picked up one of her golden-brown curls, before rushing towards the sound.

Lucy remained blank as always, before pulling her knees to her chest and turning towards the window.

Her eyes remained focused on the knife once more.

"Honey, sweetheart, my darling little angel..." there it was again. His soothing, honey-soaked words. Martha hated it. Hated how it always calmed her down. Hated how it made her fall in love with him in the first place.

The middle aged woman screamed in frustration, snatching the glass of wine her husband was holding and threw it against the wall. It smashed.

"That was a very expensive glass, darling," Bradley scolded lightly.

"I WANT HER OUT!" She roared, fists firmly by her side. Her mousy brown hair was in a messy bun; it became even more tangled as she clasped her hair and pulled at her scalp. Bradley tried to stop her; but it was no use. In her own way, Martha was a crazy old woman. Just like Lucy. "She's an ungrateful girl and she should know it! Why? You promised me, Brad." Her frenzied eyes went soft; puppy-like. Bradley would not have married her if he wasn't as humble as he was. He melted at her pleads. It couldn't be helped; he was a simple yet humble man.

"Of course," he mumbled, looking down on her feet. She snarled, lip curling.

"Then, she'll be left out on the streets like I want," she whispered. Bradley's eyes widened, and he shook his head. Once again Martha let out a grunt and she stomped her feet.

"Why, Martha, why? She is such an innocent child," he said.

"I don't know, Bradley," she said sarcastically. "Maybe she's a little bit psycho? A demented child? Who wants her?" She took his hands. "It's for your own good, honey," she said, instantly changing. "She will never bear you your grandchildren."