Blood nek: Rage!

It is only because memories are limited, that I tell my story using both the knowlage that I have earned and the feelings that I have stolen. Memories are meerly pure truths, such of which that, like the wonders of the universe, they never lie. When being lied to by your own subchonchous point of view, it is only ever because you are afraid to accept reason, that your mind turns against itself in the first place. In event, to turn your head and to speak the horrors of which bestow before a blink. And if you are the one demanding the blink, then who is the one creating the false memory?The very same person who is hiding from it. And i've come to learn that in life, right from the first gasp of birth, we are all really hiding from our memories. People say that memories are to be kept for a lifetime. And that they will, because they are common goods. But regardless of the good and the bad, it somewhat stands to reason, that everybody who is anybody eventually turns their back on the ugly. I have been told many times by my mother, that I was the most happiest baby that she'd ever seen. She'd told me that I never flinched, nor did I dare shed a tear. Of course I don't believe it - surely every new born must cry at birth - but I'll go with what is said. It's almost as if she's right here now, holding me in her arms, and I am an undergon innocent new born with not a secret to hide in the world. Looking up at her, I begin to gurgle and to moan. My voice is high in pitch and sharp in tone, as I cannot talk and am three minutes old. I feel wet streaks of salty liquid flood down the side of my face and invade the privacy of my mouth, and my eyes widen without shock as I see that mother also cries. She is crying not because she is proud of herself with such an achievment, but instead because she has realised that time has passed her by. She has taken on a whole new experience, and soon it should take on her. But of course I didn't know any of this at the time. The only thing I knew was that this was an exciting, terrifying and mysterious place for me and that no matter what, this strange red headed lady would protect me. I could see it in her eyes. Because she has no choice now. And I was right. For the next eight years she and a man I'd learn to call "Daddy" would raise me side by side. They'd sit with me at night and read untill I'd fall asleep. They'd bathe me when needed, and prepare me food when I became hungry and irritant. They loved me like their own, because of course, I was their own. But they did not get along. Every night I'd hear screaming in my dreams. Daddy didn't seem to like the woman, Mummy. From such a young age, the names Daddy and Mummy seemed strange. Why was I called Ethan and not Eathy? Was it some kind of trick? Some kind of coding technique? I did not know. But I adressed them as these chosen names regardless, not because I was scared of Daddy's hits, but also because I respected him. I respected them both. The day before my ninth birthday, was the last day I'd seen either of them alive. I'd hardly saw Daddy whilst growing up because he'd always been out. Working and drinking, Mummy had told me. He came back late. By seven years old, I began to address him as father and understood why I couldn't address either of them by their proper names. I saw Mummy most of the time, more often around the time of her death. I learned to call her Mother. It is rather early in the morning, and I am sitting at the breakfast table, my fingers tapping at the wood. Mother is standing infront of the cooker, gently jolting the frying pan. She has told me that she is cooking me bacon. "Mother, what do you think I'll be when I'm all grown up?" I asked. A pause. After quite some time, she turned from the cooker and smiled at me. Her bright red hair almost seemed to make her bruses shine. Slowly she strode towards me and bent down to reach the hight of the chair I was sitting on. She stared at me for a couple of moments and smiled. Finally, she said "Ethan... I think, when you grow up, you are going to be one of the most successful people that the world has ever seen. I can see your name in big bright lights all over New York. I can see you as so much... So much. What do you think honey? Do you think you'll become famous one day?". I grinned at her. "Prolly will". She let out a burst of laughter. It was a plesant sound. One I hardly ever heard. And so I said no more, but instead enjoyed this rare gift. But then she said something strange. It was so random, that I felt an instinct to let out a small yelp of confusion. "Ethan, do you think I'm crazy?". I shook my head slowly, but long enough as to make it an excuse. "You want to hear a secret? Your daddy thinks I am. I know he's seeing other women, and I don't care. He thinks I'm a joke. Just a joke. You don't think I'm a joke do you?". Again, I slowly shook my head, but with an urge not to blink this time. I didn't want to know any of this. I wanted to get away from her right now, but I felt like I was somehow surgically glued to her presence. I couldn't move. I couldn't even talk. All I could do was stare into those huge, intimidating eyes. Nothing else. "Well nevermind about that," Mother broke the silence. "Eat your breakfast and hurry up and brush your teeth. I'll drive you to school today, alright sweety?" She used a spatular to slap a couple of rashers on a plate, next to two slices of buttered toast, then passed it to me and walked out of the room. It should be assumed that my reaction would consist only of stealth. It wouldn't be queer if I had just sat there, staring at the grease infested strips of meat. Infact, in some very specific ways, it would be absolutly necessary. And so because I was so young in age, and because my actions would reflect on what I thought about them, I didn't realise how odd the previous conversation with my mother had just been. Leading from this, I did not delay, and instead decided to eat my prepared breakfast with an excessive amount of gluttony and an excessive amount of greed. I enjoyed it, as I had intended to, thinking of absolutly nothing else.