Devil by Ker Dukey

Evi Devil.
Yes, that is really my name.
The irony is not lost on me.
I was created from two evil souls and have the name to prove it.
Devil worshipers, perverts, murderer. Is all terms used to describe the parents I refuse to remember.
My mind will not allow me to.
And why would I want to?
One born with dirty blood running through her veins can never truly be clean from its murky hue.
No matter what they try to tell me happened in my past, my mind denies me access, therefore how can I know it is true?
How can I believe that is what I am born from?
Glimpses of my past haunt me, the screams of terror echo in the silent darkness of my memories, trying to remind me that my Mother went from room to room butchering our family.
I have learned from scars that I suffered abuse and that my Father and siblings were not my Mother’s only victims.
Hearing what they tell me.
Reading the words printed in the papers. None of it can prepare me for what’s to come.
My biggest lesson is learning that some memories we suppress for a reason.