It's not death it's art

How did I get roped into this?

When I was little I was told it was all an accident. How was I to know? I wasn't even a year old yet. I was barely even 6 months old. I don't remember much but the thing I do remember was that there was a lot of red. Back then I was too little to know it wasn't an accident that it had been murder. That the red I was covered in wasn't paint but blood. Cold sticky blood. And it was everywhere. I wasn't the only one. I have this vague memory in the back of my mind that there were two other people with me. I can't remember the other person. But at least I didn't go into foster care. I was brought home with one of the other people with me. One of those people was my older brother Dexter.

See we both have a thing for blood. You would think it would gross us out. Not Dexter. He had a thing for it in another way. A different way than I did. In the memory I have I'm in denial. What do you mean blood? That wasn't blood it's just it's just you know bright red paint! I was lucky to get to go home with such a nice man and my big brother Dexter. But what about the other child with us? Was he my brother too? He looked older than us. A lot of people say I have a selective memory. They also say people like Dexter have no emotions or feelings. But I'm really not sure that's at all true. If he is he's great at faking it. I know he loves me. There a few people like our family that I'm almost 100% sure that he loves. But I don't think of the feelings that I'm sure he feels that one of them is guilt.

He was a little boy. What kind of little boy doesn't want to know what blood looks like? What happens when I do XYZ? To a living creature none the less? I can't blame him for being curious. No one was supposed to know. But I saw it happen. At first I was scared. But I blocked the memory from my mind. I went home after the incident to IDK draw or paint or read a book. Do something productive with my life and with my time. When I see red and I use red paint those memories flood back that I've tried to push away like it was some kind of nightmare. A chill runs down my back. I feel this strange coldness. And not the pleasant kind. The kind that makes your blood run cold in fear. There was one day we were playing outside Deb Dex and I. We were out in the woods they were chasing me and we were having fun. But then I tripped and hurt myself. Enough to draw blood. Enough to need first aid. And I twisted my ankle. I'm clumsy.

When I saw it blood itself made me feel sick. But painting with it painting with red or at all red is beautiful. I'm gonna go get the first aid keep her calm. Debra turned to Dexter. Our dad was a police officer. She wanted to be just like him. Dexter had other plans. He was the kind of person people needed saving from but had to hide it as to not to get caught. And to follow a code. One that dad trained him with when the incident happened. The one I'm not supposed to know about. I wasn't crying or afraid because of the blood or because I got hurt. I panicked and I cried and my heartbeat rapidly. I clutched my fist and tensed up when it was just the two of us. He only looked at me like this. Not like prey not like a secret he had to keep but with concern and with love and wanting to keep me safe. Didn't want me to get hurt. He only showed feelings and emotions true ones toward me. I could tell in his words and his movements that it was genuine. Are ok? He asked me. I whimpered and cried. But I didn't answer. Tears fell down my face I tried to scoot back. Farrah? He looked at me with such fear and concern. Like I was deer caught in headlights.

Let me see. He said gently as he reached for my hand. I whimper and shake my head. You don't have to be afraid of blood it's a normal thing. He said. But when he looked into my eyes he could tell it wasn't the blood I was afraid of. You saw it happen didn't you? Neither of us noticed you were even there. I whimpered again. Stay away from me. I cowered. Farrah? He called out again. It was then I saw the sadness in his eyes that mirrored mine. My skin was as white as a ghost. As I trembled in fear. He got closer but I couldn't move. A part of me was curious what he'd do to me. As if to read my mind he said I'm not going to hurt you. But the sentence went in one ear and out the other. Instead of letting what he said sink in and reduce some of my fear I whimpered over and over again please don't hurt me please don't hurt me. He took my hand and gently opened it up. You're ok he told me as I closed my eyes. He put his fingers to my pulse. He could tell how scared I was. I will never hurt you. You're my sister. Then he told me about the code. How basically he was only allowed to kill bad people. And who those kinds of people were.