Authors Note: welcome to my first official fanfic. I was gonna wait till I wrote the whole fic before uploading it, but I couldn't take the suspense. So, read, review, enjoy, and have a great day, and hell, a great week as well! Originally rated M, but I was checking out the other fanfics rated T, and I discovered to my astonishment, they had just as much swearing and violence as mine. Besides, if a thirteen year old came to read kill bill fanfic, one would assume they saw the movie, and if they saw the movie, they can handle anything I dish out. For sure.

Disclaimer: the people who were in Kill Bill Vol. 1 and 2 are not mine. The people not in it are mine. Here it goes!

Kill Kiddo

"You're thoughts create your world, Nikkia. When you're scared, when you're afraid baby, just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and picture what you wanna see. 'Cuz thoughts are stronger then monsters. Did you know that, baby?" --Vernita Green

"Victims. Aren't we all?"-- Eric Draven: The Crow

When you fall in a dream, you wake up and your heart is jumping because you really thought you were falling. When I fell, my heart jumped because I realized I wasn't dreamin'.

I felt myself lose balance. No. I can't. I have to stand. My legs go back. I have no control. Then my body gives way, and I go down. My head bangs into the wall, my muscles contract in pain, and I could feel the blood ooze out of my side.

Owwwie.

As my attacker approached, I let the air drain out of my lungs. My attacker cracked her knuckles, and looked down at me, her blue eyes drained of any emotion, of any sign, good or evil. I sneered and spit blood at her. SHE shook her head.

"You remind me of me. Of how I was." SHE says in her raspy voice. I glare at her. My eyes can be read like a book- angry, hurt, and overflowing with hatred.

"I'm...nuhh-nuhhh-huh...nothin-huhing likeee...y-hooh-huh...you." I tried to say, but I couldn't. The blade of the sai sword pierced my lung. I can't get any air.

SHE raised her eyebrow, then looked my wound over. SHE bent down.

"Is this where the story ends?" SHE asked.

The story. Whose story? Mine?

No. I don't want mine to end yet. It can't. It can't. I didn't get a happy ending. Shit man, I never get a happy ending.

But who's to say my ending would have been happy? What is the difference between good and evil? Who's to say if what I've done, who I've become is good or evil? Maybe my attacker is good. Maybe her ending was the happy one, the one that y'all were cheering for. Then, does that mean I'm the bad guy?

I try to move my fingers to the sword in my side, but I can't. I slide to the ground, my lung filling up with blood.

I need to close my eyes. Just for a minute. I know, they say your not s'pose to do that, but I know I'll open them. I will, I will okay! I'm just so tired. As I close my eyes, memories of what I've done to get this far flood my head. What did Kiddo call it? I can't remember...oh. My Story.

Stories don't make much sense if you hear them at the end. Let's rewind it a bit.

zzzzzzzz-i'm not like you-zzzzzzzzzz-born a victim-zzzzzzzzzzzzzz-we will begin our descent shortly-zzzzz-El and I-zzzzzzz-who the fuck hides a body in the gas tank-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-Montoya-zzzzzzzzzzzzz-Pete-zzzz-Sofie Fatel-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-Yin and Yang-zzzzzzzzzz-suffer-zzzzzzzzzzz-she had it commin'-zzzzzzzzzzzdie kill-zzzzzzzz- tiger and dragon-zzzzzz-Copperhead-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-kids are smarter then-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Okay, right there. That's good.

Kids are smarter then adults give them credit for. You wouldn't think it, but most kids are smarter then adults. They just have so much going on in their head at once; it's hard for them to express themselves in just a few sentences. But kids are really smart. They know how to add numbers without calculators, and feel like they did something GREAT. 'cuz it is. Using your brain without the help of adults But when kids start to cross that line, they stop swallowing all the crap parents shove down their throats.

When my mom told me that tiny Barney wrecked the house, I knew she was lying.

But the thing with kids is they always figure out a way to get something they want. When they question the tooth fairy, they "forget" to tell their mommy they lost their tooth. When they don't want broccoli, they hide it in their napkins.

So when my mom told me to go up to my room, I went into the upstairs bathroom, and put my head to the vent that went down to the kitchen. Congratulating myself on finding a way to listen in on my mother and Beatrix Kiddo's conversation, I thought I had won the battle. Instead, I found myself stumbling into the middle of a war.

Or a massacre.

I listened in on the story with a hunger. What had really happened in the living room, and why was my mama pretending I was stupid? I wasn't no fool back then. And she knew I didn't believe her. She knew. So whatever I was gonna hear, I knew it was something.

Mom asked if she still liked cream and sugar. She did. The start of a completely trivial conversation. borrrring. I thought about leaving. Then, I heard it.

"So I suppose it's a little late for an apology, huh?" my mommy asked.

Ooooh. What did mama do?

"You suppose correctly." Beatrix Kiddo replied.

This is gonna be good. I thought, settling back down.

I should have left.

I listened in on the rest of their sick conversation, my knuckles pressed so hard to the ground I couldn't feel my fingers. Glued to the ground, like a deer in headlights. Beatrix Kiddo mentioned killing mom. And dad. And me. My heart thudded. She called mama a bitch. Mama called her bitch, and swore, but she swore a hella lot on any given occasion.

All I was was a baby. I was only four, but kids are smart. I didn't fight this logic that my mommy was somehow linked to this murderess Beatrix Kiddo. I accepted it easily, and shook where I sat. The vent I had used to spy on mommy many times before with daddy or Sarah was no longer any fun. The floor was cold, even though I pressed my knuckles on it so hard.

Maybe my knuckles would break open and bleed and I'd die.

Talk drew to a close. They arranged a time to meet. A place. Beatrix said someone called Bill said she was the best with an edge weapon. Mom called her a bitch. She also called her something else.

Black Mamba. She said that she should have been Black Mamba. Motherfuckin' Black Mamba.

But it felt as if she were safe. The way the conversation was endin'. Like, mommy wasn't gonna fight her. Like when Beatrix Kiddo left, she'd call the police. My thoughts create my world. Yeah. The police would show up at the diamond, and get her. My thoughts create my world. Just think, will what you want to happen, and it'll come true.

A picture of my dead mommy being carried away by a stretcher flashed into my head.

"Weapon of choice, but if you wanna stick with your butcher knife, that's fine." Beatrix Kiddo said.

"Very Funny, bitch."

That was it. Just hearing mommy's tone. I knew.

"VERY FUNNY!"

I heard a gunshot. I didn't even think about what would happen to me. I ran out of the bathroom, and down the stairs. But I knew I was to late. I knew she was gone. And seeing her dead confirmed it, and I thought I might feel mad and sad, and I might go crazy, and then I would scream, and pound and cry cry cry until my head was empty and my heart would be empty too and I would still cry and cry and cry because I was just a fuckin' baby and my mommy was dead and gone and she'd never call me Nikkia or make me a snack, and the last thing she ever said to me was go to your room, and I was only four I was only a baby and I didn't care that she yelled at me or lied to me and I'd cry myself numb until I couldn't feel or remember anything.

But I didn't. I saw her, on the ground, and I thought, she's dead. I knew she was. And it felt kinda like a relief, to know that, but I knew I was s'pose to feel guilty, but I didn't, I didn't feel anything, cuz my insides were already all numb.

Funny how I still remember all this. But getting rid of an image like that isn't easy. What I remember most Is feeling the betrayal. My thoughts create my world. But how do I control my thoughts? I feel guilty for not crying. I feel guilty for not not going up to my room. And I feel guilty for doubting my mom, for picturing her dead when she wasn't. Oh do I feel guilty... But that's nothing compared to what I feel about Beatrix Kiddo. The Bride. The Black Mamba.

Mother fucken' Black Mamba.

Some people say loath, or detest, or hate, or shit like that, but they don't feel strong enough to me. How do you feel about someone who ripped your fuckin' life away before it even began? I was just a baby, and I watched and listened with an empty heart as my mother died. I waited in front of her lifeless body for an hour until my music instructor Sarah came and found me, standing and staring in a blood splattered room before the sweaty corpse of my mommy. Eyes drained of emotion.

What would you think?

I've had a lot of thoughts. I picture killing Beatrix Kiddo, stabbing her, shooting her, choking her, and running over her with a car over and over, or just stomping her long face in with my foot while her daughter she talked about watches. And I look at her and I see her pain and I don't feel bad at all, and I don't feel good, I just feel numb, but it's a good numb, cuz I don't feel bad about it.

My thoughts create my world. That's what my mom told me. I think, therefore, I am. I've been waiting for a long time to Kill Kiddo, but I think she's already dead. She died twenty years ago, when she took that first step through the door of my house. Beatrix Kiddo is dead, and I know she is Dead, because I've watched her die. A million times, a million ways. But she's dying for good soon. She isn't gonna suffer to her last breath. She isn't gonna be torn apart. She's just gonna look up at me, and ask me not to kill her in front of her baby, or baby's babies, or whoever. And I'll hear her.

But I won't listen.


Well that's it for now. I am open to any reviews, suggestions, remarks, flames, and spare change if you have any. This writing doesn't pay for itself.

See ya!