777 (REWRITING)

I can still remember the way they handled me; like I was an object; some sort of freak. Although I guess that last part isn’t completely false. In their eyes, I was a freak. I am a freak. I always will be a freak.
My entire life I had been the outcast; the reject; the one who was made fun of for being different. So can you really blame me for exploding the way I did? There were such high hopes for me when I was born, and I ended up a weakling. A freak.
I had had enough of my father's beatings; of his yelling. I had had enough of being told that it was my fault that my mother died. Maybe it was the rush; maybe it was the anger; maybe it was the frustration. I may never know for sure, but I do know that the feeling of innocent blood on my hands felt fantastic.