• You want to know about my life? Hm! There’s really nothing to tell. I was born on February 29, 1976, a leap year of all time, so technically I’m only 8 but well, who really goes off of that? I was one of three “oops” babies, ya know, the surprises that just kind of land in the young lovers that don’t really want you, but no one will admit it? The second Oops Baby that was born was my sister Rose, I was two. Then came Bailey when I was seven. My mother, Lynn, and father, Connor were young, unmarried and still new to love. They were shortly married after Bailey’s birth.

    For the first few years of my simple life we resided in a small apartment on the not so good side of town in St. Louis. When we moved, it wasn’t so far, just a few blocks in, to a small house when the apartment would no longer hold five people, the moment we moved so did the love Connor, (I never called him dad or father after I was 17) felt for his family, especially my mother. Alcohol had replaced his heart leaving him only a shell of a man, never once did he ask if I wanted to toss a ball around, or teach me about the opposite sex. Nope, what I learned from him was to not make him angry on those nights that he drank too much for his own good… and his families.

    These nights were few and far between but when they came it was like hell decided to stop by my house for the night and no one was going anywhere. This really started when I was ten, and that’s when I knew he had no feelings for us anymore, on the nights he was not “Connor” my whole family ended up battered and bruised, unless I would help it. I found hiding places from him for my small sisters where he could not find them in his confusion but mom was more difficult; no matter what I tried he always seemed to find her, and me trying to help. This didn’t help me when the time came for my turn with the knotted leather belt and his fists. My mother ended up with the majority of the pain. And the only reason he stayed was because he knew no one would take him in and we were all too afraid to kick him out.

    Mother worked hard, all the time, as a waitress at the local bar and she would rarely work in the hospital when other people called in sick on short notice, it was usually nights. She really only had free time when she took her night baths but other than that she had three children calling for her attention and asking way to much from her while a grown man who acted like he was five screamed for another beer from the kitchen and his supper. But he was to lazy to get off his a** to find work and make his own damn soup. Connor had never stuck with a job for more than a few months, he would usually show up to work late to many times because of a hang over or because he would actually show up drunk. I think the longest job he help was stocking the shelves at the local supermarket for nine months, but with money running low, he couldn’t afford to pay the bills or buy his alcohol so of course his bright mind decided to steel the beer.

    The last time anything bad happen in my childhood home was when I was 17. The want for Connor to accept and love me had faded out and was only left with cold hate for the man who never once helped me with my homework, or social life, in fact I had non in high school. There were no girls crying for my attention or friends calling to hang out on the weekend, but I didn’t mind, I pushed away all the friends I could have had, I don’t need them. But back to what I was saying. Connor had a bit too much to drink this night and of course, Bailey had to go and say something to piss him off. It wasn’t her fault, just the way she was, all she wanted to do was go to the mall the next day with her friend Michelle, a simple question in most families right? Well in mine the time Connor was drinking was a bad time to ask him any questions. You didn’t even ask if he wanted another beer, you just got one for him without saying a word to him.

    Well, anyway, Connor, my own father, came at my sister with a broken beer bottle, and I was not having it. With out hesitation I grabbed a steak knife from the kitchen and came at him from behind. I stabbed my father in the gut. Oh, he went down like a bag of rocks, which is nothing more than he really was. I didn’t hit him in a vital organ or anything but he was so drunk his blood had thinned and there was nothing much left. I remember him gripping his wound and begging for my mercy, an item that had long been out of stock and one that was not coming back to the store any time soon.

    He died a few minutes later at my hands, and I knew I had enjoyed it too much, but I didn’t care. At that point I knew that I couldn’t stay here any longer so I moved out to a small town, the place I reside now; Toginar, Tennessee. I found work doing my favorite thing but as a day job I am the lead singer for a band, which rarely tours because I cannot stand the fan girls… or anyone for that matter. Their emotions are too much and well, the band is not so popular, perfectly fine with me. Besides the band is kind of a lie, a cover up for my true job.

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