- Reads 28
- Votes 0
- Parts 1
- Time <5 mins
Ongoing, First published Jul 31, 2012
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.All Rights Reserved
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