Death and blood always had an important meaning in my real world
When my mother was killed in front of my eyes by my father, did I really at that moment felt sad for her.
Because in fact, it wasn't my mother from, to begin with. She was just the person that torments me every day of my life.
I was not sad because she died, but I was afraid of death. I wanted to live
So when I put my hand in the pool of blood that was under my mother, I was horrified because my drunken father he could have moved his attention to me and killed me.
So I ran away from that house when I got the opportunity. That when I was taking by that son of a bitch Child molester, we were attacked every night without mercy.
Why didn't I hold the damn knife put it to my neck and finish everything? that what anyone else would have done?
Anyone else would have killed himself and ended all that misery.
