Dirt on her hands, working so hard to get there. Her feet moved quickly over the floor of the small house, she had called a home for the past four years. She had decided to clean it, try to get her heart clean from everything she's done.

She was alone, she liked it that way. What could the people do for her anyways, she didn't have anyone anymore. Yes, she had a rough past and some would call her a psycho, but that was just who she was.

She was so done with the voices of her family, telling her she was a disappointment, a disgrace, a little poor girl. So she had killed them. She killed the only people, who prevented her from being lonely.

She'd felt good that day. It made her happy to not have to worry about what she had to do with it.

She missed them now. She missed those people who had driven her crazy. In fact, she regretted everything she had ever done wrong to them. So she cleaned the house. She cleaned the house to feel clean.

The dirt on her hands didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was that she felt clean on the inside. It was three a.m. When she had cleaned the whole house. The hole house except one room. The room where she kept their bodies. She didn't want to know how their bodies were rotting, because she was crazy.

She finally fell asleep on the cold floor, exhausted. To never be seen again. To die with her family.