Nicholas Take

Chapter 1

A long time ago, before I became the victim of poverty, I lived in a small town just west from London bay. It was a lovely little town and my parents were very rich. My father was a banker. Which means he gets paid a lot. Back then when I was a kid, I was known as "That Demon Boy" because of my strange and violent behaviour. It wasn't my fault I grew up like that. I had shit parents to begin with. They never paid attention to me, they never showed affection towards me and they never treated me like I was their own flesh and blood. It made me sick to the bone. But, I couldn't complain to them. If I did, then they wouldn't really care and I would have been kicked out of the family. Nobody complains to my parents without having some sort of punishment. With me, if I complained then I wouldn't be here telling you all this. Probably because I would have been dead. Well anyway, you see I had this older brother. Martin. He was their first born and their favourite son. For many reasons such as he is skilled in art, poetry, piano, violin, writing, dancing, singing, martial arts, knife throwing and many more. No wonder they were so proud of him. The only thing I was good at was a stupid old board game. But being a master player at a board wasn't particularly a skill. Unfortunately for me, I didn't just have horrible parents, I also had a horrible brother. He used to bully me, blame me for everything that happens within the household. It was hell. But when I think about the past now, I'm grateful because what happens next changed my whole life. Changed me into someone else. Without the past, I would have never did what I had to do through the course of my life. For this is because on my twelfth birthday, everyone died. I laugh at the past now.        

        On October 8th 1964, my father caught my mother having an affair with his best man. The man who witnessed their entire relationship take place at the start. He was engulfed by his own rage. His rage blinded him on what he was about to do. Without hesitation, he slit my mothers throat with a butter knife and continued stabbing her and stabbing her and stabbing her until the whole scene looked like a butchers slaughter house. He was able to create such a horrific murder with only a single butter knife. That impressed me. After he was finished with my mother, it was the best mans turn. He ran towards him with a sadistic laugh as he raised the knife and slashed down towards his chest. Blood spilled out of his chest as his wailing screams slowly faded. Me and my brother heard everything in the other room. My brother was in tears. His hair began to turn white because of shear fear. He looked like a living ghost. I on the other hand, smiled. I wasn't afraid, I was impressed, stunned and shocked. I was surprised how a butter knife could do so much damage. It made me chuckle. A few hours went and I soon began to hear my dad wail in sadness from downstairs. I figured he only just realized what he has done. He killed the only woman he had ever loved. And he killed his most precious child hood friend. He drowned himself in his own grief and alcohol. My brother and I didn't want to go down for we both feared to see our own farther in that state. Another hour flew by and the wailing stopped. My brother built up enough courage to go down and to see if father was okay. I waited in the room. Suddenly, my brother ran up the stairs and back into the room with tears falling from his eyes. "It's all your fault Nicholas!" He shouted. "How is it my fault?!" I shouted back. But he never responded. He grabbed a pillow and he ran towards me. He held the pillow tight against my face and he kept shouting and demanding to bring father back from the dead. I couldn't breathe. I struggled getting out of his grip, but it was no use. He was stronger then me. I felt myself drifting away as my body began to weaken. "Why did it had to come to this?" I thought to myself. With that, everything went black.

        I soon woke up on the floor of my bedroom with a strange taste in my mouth. My arm bruised and cut. I was confused and I wondered what happened and what happened to my brother. As I looked around the room in search of my brother, he was no where to be found. I walked to the corridor and down the stairs. What I saw next will never be erased from my mind. I can remember the image so clear and detailed that it's almost impossible to believe after all these years. I saw my father, hanging by his neck on the chandelier. But that didn't frighten me. That didn't scar me for life. But It was my brother who hung besides him that did. But I knew it wasn't suicide because I can tell by the bruises on his fists and the awkward way he swung. He struggled to live. But, that wasn't all. His eyes were also torn from its sockets, he lost most of his fingers and his stomach was slit open vertically. He was killed. I was so shocked, I felt so ill at the scene that I couldn't bare myself to witness. I vomited at the wretched stench of his intestines gave off from the floor. I looked at my vomit and I saw it. I saw it... I saw my brothers fingers... I was the one who killed him, I was the one who tore his eyes, cut open his stomach and ate his fingers. My hands were blood stained. I screamed in terror and I ran away as far I could go. I ran to the nearby forest by the town. I ran and ran and ran as my eyes were filled with tears. I didn't know what to do, they were dead, my family were dead. I had no where else to go. I fell to the ground and I cried. I didn't know what happened. I couldn't' have killed my brother I thought. But the proof is undeniable. Suddenly, a thought popped into my head. My family hated me, they didn't care about me, they wouldn't have cared if I died so why should I care. The thought made me smile. The thought of them dead didn't upset me anymore. Instead, I rejoiced at the thought. After that, I began to live alone in the forest for awhile. Just enough to understand how to survive. I was alone. Or so I thought.