Prologue

  The only promise life ever makes is the one it can't break – death. I swore I'd be more than that. The best. The greatest. As a child I grew up with my mother, because my father was a deadbeat alcoholic, and a ghost for most of my life. I somehow didn’t even know his name. He used to beat me and my mother until we bled. My mother was a hard masochist and liked pain, on the other hand I was the complete opposite. I hated it . . . Every bruise – every shout – every moment of fear. I was the only normal one in my family. But don’t get confused, that doesn’t mean my mother didn’t love me. I was 9 years old the st time I saw my father – I aggravated him by forgetting to flush the toilet (the worst crime in my family) he then sent a whirlwind of fists and fury tumbling towards me. I curled up, trying to disappear, but he wouldn't stop.

  He beat me to the brink of death. It was so bad my mother had to step in between us. My father was a complete psycho. He never liked it when my mother would interrupt his py time with me. My father turned on his own wife then – his rage became a red haze and then a red aura. He hit her harder and harder, my mother was groaning in pain. The moment she was able to catch her breath she gasped, “RUN!” I did as my mother said – I ran and got the house phone; I then called the number my mother would always tell me to be ready to call. It was the police.

  Since we lived on the outskirts of Otaru, Hokkaido, it would take the police twenty minutes to get to my location. I knew twenty minutes was not enough time to save myself and the only person I genuinely loved, and that me and my mother would be dead before my heroes in blue showed up. My father was ultimately a coward and would not let the police confront him, so he would attempt to flee like a pathetic bug. Standing up for myself was not one of my strong suits but this was different. A life-or-death situation where there would only be one victor. My father – I knew he had to die . . . Die by my hands. Revenge filled my eyes, i could feel a monstrous aura around me and without thinking I impulsively grabbed the biggest knife off the kitchen counter and aimed it at my father who in my eyes was a disgusting insect. With knife in hand, I ran at full speed screaming at the top of my lungs – “DIE YOU LOWLY BUG!” I excimed with pure hatred and resentment.

  The room became quiet. Blood ran down the knife and onto my arm. The wooden floor my mother worked so hard to pay for stained red. My lungs were failing me. The thought of breathing was like an impossible dream. My knees dropped to the floor. I was scared. I was tired. And even so . . . I was calm. My mind was like a stream flowing with ease. But from the adrenaline, my hands were shaking. Subconsciously I reached for the cross along my neck and tightly grasped it. I prayed for anything. A miracle . . . The police still were not here. Everything got quieter and quieter. The pain – It was fading . . . gone even. I must’ve bcked out. The st thing I felt were drops of what felt like water but I was in the house so there couldn’t be any rain. My mother. My mother - she was crying.