Please dont judge my spelling and grammar too harshly I wrote this when I was 13.

This is a story about a boy whose family was unkind to him he never really even got the chance to go to therapy. This is the story about how I became a serial killer. My names Felix Jackson MaVen. I grew up in a house just on the edge of Salem, Oregon. I never had a really good family. 7 of my sisters hated me they called me a freak and told me I was worthless. My own father told me I was a mistake. Oldest out of 9 I never understood why they treated me this way.

As I ran out of the house my sister Bailee followed me as I went to my father's shed.

"Stop following me Bailee,"

"No!"

"You don't stop following me and I might just kill you-" I said grabbing my axe.

"Leave your sister alone Felix she's only 5," My mom said grabbing her arm.

"Like hell she is she still knows better to leave me alone when I'm freaking out," I gripped my axe hard

"Your a freak just like Billy said 'Freak, you'll never be good enough for this family, Sometimes I wish you would kill yourself,'"

"Stay out of this Bailee," I picked up my ax and ran out of the shed into the street and light up a cigarette, "God that damn child is going to make me flip one day," All my siblings hate me which is the hard part.

These are his sisters:

Billy age 13

Haylee and Haren age 11

Dayven age 9

Maren and Milly age 7

Bailee age 5

Gaythin age 3

And Judith age 1

Unlike my other siblings Judith is the only one who actually likes me, I started walking back home. As I walked through the front door Billy pushed me. I got up and punched her. I ran upstairs and put Judith on my bed.