A decade has slipped through my grasp, leaving behind nothing but ephemeral dreams. No matter how arduously I strive, the haunting specters of my past refuse to release their grip. The words that once bewildered me, spoken with deceitful tongues, reverberate through my very being. Life, oh life, so unjust that forgiveness remains an elusive concept. I am trapped, ensnared within the confines of my bitterness, unable to forgive these wretched humans. And look at me now, a mere shell of who I once was, lost in the labyrinthine depths of my own identity.
Every morsel that graces my plate has a tinge of rust, devoid of the sustenance it should provide. Starvation fails to stir within me, numbed by the weight of this curse that binds me. I am compelled to break free, to shatter the chains that confine me to this desolation. Until the day you departed, our memories were the sole anchor that held me steady. But even now, the world's functioning eludes me, slipping through my fingers like smoke. I may have claimed understanding, but in truth, I comprehend naught. I refuse to accept the rules that govern this existence. Humanity, I reject you. I reject everything. I cannot bear to inhabit a realm steeped in torment.
I feel lonely and isolated as nobody wants to be friends with me because of my appearance. I'm surrounded by emptiness and it's hard to connect with others. I have tried, oh how I have tried, but hope remains a puzzling specter. Doubts gnaw at my core as I question my purpose within this cruel world. "What in the depths of hell am I doing here?" I cry out, the words echoing through the void, unanswered.
As I lifted my arms towards the ceiling, I felt the tautness of my muscles and bones, visible through my pale skin. My head hung low, and the world flipped upside down, revealing a different perspective. The light bulb flickered above me, casting shadows that danced across the walls.
For too long, I had stood in this kitchen, listening to the same old tunes, hoping to find some kind of meaning. But as the music washed over me, the memories came flooding back, unbidden and unstoppable. I could no longer ignore the traumas of my past.
Yet, in that moment, something inside me stirred. Perhaps it was the energy of the music, or the sheer force of my own willpower. Whatever it was, I felt a glimmer of hope flicker to life deep within my soul.
There was never a place where I felt safe. All I remembered back then was my abusive father and a mother who doesn't give a f*ck at all. I never loved them. Both of them were trash, the lowest of the low. They were rich, so it's no mystery that they would never want someone who is a failure in their family. They never asked me, "Are you ok? Are you starving? Do you need help?" Those types of concerns. But I didn't hear a single ring from them. They may have even forgotten about me. They are to blame for everything. My face, my status, and my traumas—they are to blame!
I left my memories in this notebook. I'll read it once again to look at my horrible past.
In the days of my childhood, a radiant cheerfulness radiated from within me. Even as my classmates subjected me to torment, hurling insults and trash in my direction, and callously discarding my belongings in the garbage, I held steadfast to forgiveness. Their accusations of theft, though baseless, drove me to silence, for fear gripped me—fear of my father's wrath, fear of the shame that would cloak me in its suffocating embrace.
True friendship eluded me during those early years. Bullying was the harrowing overture that played out on the stage of grade school, and I found myself thrust into the role of the perpetual outcast. Every misfortune that unfolded was effortlessly attributed to my existence. I can still recall the futile attempts to defend myself, only to be met with the deafening silence of disbelief from both teacher and classmates alike. They, too, harbored their own fears, afraid of becoming the next target in this twisted dance. Yet, I persisted, enduring the pain that gnawed at my spirit, persevering until the bitter end.
Each day's return home left me shattered, a tattered mess of a child. My once-beloved school bag, now filled with refuse, became a physical manifestation of the gradual erosion of my humanity. I could feel the transformation, as though I was being reduced to a mere creature, stripped of dignity. Upon entering the threshold of my familial home, my father's wrath awaited me, raining down upon me in a torrent of violence, leaving fresh scars upon my battered frame. Forbidden from the table, I found solace in the lonely confines of the attic, a space both for sleep and exile. A soft, comfortable bed became an unattainable luxury, reserved only for those worthy of the family name. I had been cast out, disowned, and my own siblings regarded me with a cold contempt. That joyful child of yesteryear had long since faded, replaced by a being condemned to live in the depths of hell.
However, there was always that one sister who cared for me. She didn't care about my social standing, never mistreated me, or treated me like an animal. She was elegant and also the youngest of the family. All of them entered an elite institution, but I was left behind in a low-class school that my younger sister had to pay for. Mom and Dad would just question me about where I got money to pay for my enrolments.
As I reflect on my life, I can't help but feel deep-seated anger and frustration toward the world that has treated me so unfairly. I longed to study and excel in my classes, but the weight of humanity's constant criticism and deceit made it impossible for me to focus. I felt like a prisoner, always hiding and avoiding exams, while the rest of my classmates cheated with impunity.
But despite my efforts to escape the clutches of injustice, I was never allowed to cheat. The fear of punishment loomed over me, and I knew that any misstep would result in the harshest of consequences. The world seemed to be conspiring against me, and I felt like I was destined to fail.
Within the depths of this living nightmare, my younger sister became an illuminant of solace surrounded the darkness. She alone saw the agony that consumed me, offering unwavering support that provided a glimmer of hope. Yet, even her belief in me could not drown out the overwhelming despair that enveloped my being.
My father's neglect and indifference weighed upon me like an impenetrable shroud. His refusal to believe in me reduced me to the status of a mere animal, an object to be disregarded and discarded. With each act of disregard, my worth was diminished, and I couldn't help but internalize a sense of failure.
As I sit here now, contemplative, the resounding question of the world's unfairness lingers in my mind. Why was I chosen to bear this burden of suffering? The answers may forever elude me, but I know that I must find the strength to persevere, to defy the forces that seek to drag me down.
The echoes of my father's cruel words reverberate through the chambers of my mind. "Ugly." "Hideous monster." How could he inflict such wounds upon my fragile heart? Did I truly warrant such merciless treatment?
My appearance and worth became enigmatic enigmas, shrouded in doubt. Was I truly as repulsive as he claimed? The ceaseless barrage of insults eroded my self-esteem, leaving me perpetually feeling inadequate, forever falling short of some unattainable ideal.
But as I reflect upon those memories now, I realize that it was never truly about me. It was a reflection of his own insecurities and failings, a distorted lens through which he perceived beauty and perfection. My father's twisted perception, his self-loathing, became a toxic filter that he projected upon me, tarnishing my self-perception.
It took me years to comprehend that the fault was never mine to bear. His words were but a reflection of his own shattered spirit. I, in truth, possessed an inherent beauty and a profound worthiness of love and respect. I stand resolute in refusing to allow his venomous utterances to shape my identity.
My face bears witness to the tyrannies of my father, which have assaulted me. The relentless pummeling, the merciless battering, has left me marred and maimed. A mosaic of swollen bruises adorns my visage, each an indelible mark of the torments inflicted upon me by my callous peers and my own flesh and blood. A living embodiment of anguish, I dare not gaze upon my own reflection. The repugnance that stares back at me is unbearable.
The flames of despair flicker within me, enticing me towards the embrace of death's sweet release. Yet, my younger sister, in her wisdom, dissuades me from succumbing to such darkness. Her tender counsel resonates within my troubled soul, "There are moments when fortune smiles upon us, and others when the fates appear unkind. Life, it is true, can be a merciless foe. But you, dear brother, possess a strength beyond measure. I know you shall break free from this venomous curse. Hold fast, for I shall ever be here to lend an ear to your woes and provide solace." With her words, a glimmer of hope flickers, alleviating the weight that burdens my heart and granting respite to my beleaguered mind. I realize that as long as she endures in this cruel world, as long as I have but one person by my side, I shall persist in this realm. I shall paint a smile upon my face and endeavor to discover that life still possesses its allure.
Never did I anticipate the existence of benevolent souls in this desolate realm, yet she stands before me, the epitome of kindness incarnate. I yearn to someday repay her boundless compassion. That shall be my resolute purpose in this world. Though the embrace of reality may prove arduous to endure, I must remain constant in my pursuit of liberation. Even my dear sister defies the actions of our progenitor. She, too, yearns for freedom, striving to carve a path to success. An independent woman, she seeks to exemplify intelligence, fortitude, and grace, thus shielding herself from the scorn that befalls one such as me. She has taken my place in the realm of inherited favor, yet I harbor no trace of envy. Instead, I am astounded, and in turn, lend her my unwavering support in any manner I can perceive.
As I recall my past, I cannot help but shudder at the thought of my parents, Rea Lei and Sui Lei. They were monsters, consumed by their own viciousness and cruelty. My mother, in particular, was the embodiment of pure malice. She paid no attention to me, as though I was a mere phantom haunting her existence.
When autumn arrived, I felt as though I was plunged into an eternal abyss of hell, with no hope of escape. Her wickedness knew no bounds. There were times when she attempted to snuff out my life, but the brave intervention of the butlers and maids saved me from certain death. I vividly remember the day when she pushed me into the deep end of the pool, despite knowing that I couldn't swim. It was a miracle that I survived that day.
My mother took great pleasure in fanning the flames of my unhappy existence, turning it into a never-ending nightmare. She heaped upon me an unrelenting workload, showing no mercy or respite. There were no comforting snacks to ease my hunger, no kind words to soften the blow of her cruel criticism. Instead, her voice dripped with disdain as she sneered, "If you cannot meet our expectations, then you must work! You lazy, foolish boy! I don't even recognize you! You are no child of mine!" Her cutting words pierced my heart like a dagger, yet I summoned the strength to mask my pain behind a smile. But it seemed that my mother derived pleasure from inflicting suffering upon me. Each time happiness dared to dance within my soul, she became consumed by rage, plotting new ways to sow misery in my path. Her blows rained down upon me without any regret surrounding her, leaving me defenseless and shattered.
As I gaze upon the shadows of those bleak days, I can only hope that my parents have found solace in the realm beyond, for the terror they unleashed upon me continues to haunt my every waking moment.
In the depths of my despair, my father's wrath knew no bounds. At the slightest provocation, tears streaming down my face, he would unleash his fury upon me. His relentless beatings were accompanied by the grotesque act of shoving his used socks into my mouth, robbing me of my voice and further diminishing my worth. My mother, like a wicked witch, would cackle with delight, her laughter echoing through the chambers of my shattered spirit. The two, seemingly united in their cruelty, would often engage in heated arguments over their attempts to bring about my demise. However, in the depths of their argument, I overheard whispers that gave me the chills: "We still need that child." A grim realization dawned upon me—I was nothing more than a pawn, a puppet to be manipulated, a slave to this suffocating house, and a slave to a world that knew no mercy.
A home, they say, is a sanctuary, a place of refuge. But where is my home in the thick of chaos? Family, they say, is a sanctuary of love. But where is the love that eludes me? To have both, they say, is a blessing. But I find myself trapped in the depths of a personal hell, where hope feels distant and evasive.
In the words of Socrates, "The unexamined life is not worth living." Yet, as I peered into the depths of my own existence, I realized that even the examined life held little value in this twisted reality. It became painfully clear that the inhabitants of this Mansion were devoid of empathy and consumed by their own malevolence. There are some souls so steeped in darkness that no explanation can justify their actions. This house, once a symbol of shelter and comfort, had transformed into a den of monstrosity, where every inch seemed tainted by the presence of dead.
Amongst the pervasive darkness, there were a few flickering lights that offered a glimmer of solace - myself, the maids, the butlers, and my little sister. Though she was but a child, her spirit radiated with an unwavering brightness, defying the oppressive shadows that sought to extinguish her innocence. However, their capacity to aid was severely limited. Their own livelihoods hung in the balance, their jobs and the means to support their own families dependent on maintaining the status quo. I couldn't fault them for prioritizing their survival, for they too were trapped within the same cruel system that shackled them to this place.
The notion of seeking help from external authorities had crossed my mind, but I knew all too well the art of manipulation my mother possessed. She was a master at distorting reality, gaslighting and weaving a web of deceit that could easily ensnare the unsuspecting. No one would believe my accounts, and even if they did, justice was not a guarantee. The weight of hopelessness settled upon my shoulders, its crushing burden reminding me of the futility of resistance. And so, I resigned myself to endure each day, navigating the treacherous waters of emotional and physical abuse that had become my twisted norm. The only ember of hope that remained flickered within my sister's heart, a flame that whispered of a future where we might break free from this living hell.
But until that day, I would hold onto the fragments of my shattered spirit, clinging to the belief that somewhere, somehow, there existed a glimmer of redemption, a chance for escape from the clutches of this abominable existence.
The world, an enigmatic entity, operates under a peculiar code of conduct. It becomes abundantly clear that in the realm of advantage, wealth reigns supreme. It is no wonder, then, that my feeble existence renders me defenseless, bereft of any monetary sustenance, lacking the qualifications that the human process so deems essential. Money, the catalyst of all transactions, assumes its role as the omnipotent force dictating the course of existence. It is the wellspring from which nefarious flows, an insidious obsession that snares the minds of men. Yet, perhaps it is a misguided accusation, an undue burden placed upon the very concept itself. Humanity, succumbing to its own vices, has allowed obsession to manifest, elevating money to its lofty pedestal as the paramount source of all things. For money, people are motivated to do unspeakable things. My words are not an indictment upon all, for there exist those who do not fall prey to this harrowing truth. However, it is undeniable that the majority, with their insatiable hunger, will go to great lengths and sacrifice all in their pursuit of opulence. Such is the harsh truth of reality—a reality that dismisses the destitute as mere refuse, a reality that renders one invisible to their purported friends, their existence forever forsaken. Why should one bother to beseech another for monetary aid, when greed and gluttony have become the norm, woven into the very fabric of society?
Ah, just another ordinary day in the realm of reality.
The act of humans extinguishing the lives of their own kind, in my humble opinion, stands as the most abominable occurrence in the records of human history. It perplexes me to no end why individuals cannot content themselves with the leisurely pursuit of television within the solace of their own abodes, rather than partaking in senseless violence. Despite our fervent pleas and impassioned appeals for peace, the fires of war continue to rage unabated, an unending cycle from which we find no escape. The motive behind such heinous acts eludes comprehension. Who can say when a fellow human might unveil groundbreaking ideas or initiatives that hold the potential to propel our society to greater heights? Why, then, would one willingly heed the call of a leader who commands the slaughter of their own kind? Perhaps it is the seductive allure of vast riches or the insatiable desire for territorial dominance and resources. However, the root causes of war are tangled and intricate, a web spun by the interplay of greed, hubris, and an insatiable thirst for power. Indeed, when we step foot inside this world, all our vast knowledge is but empty vowels. When we are influenced by our own kind, we also seek the same desires as them: "Power." That center of influence will lead us to the same fate as what they desire. We are but failed imitations of their delusions, doppelgangers that they have made from the very start. An experiment, influencing the minds of infants according to their own desires, deceiving the minds of mere children and saying hello to a newborn who would also deliver doomsday to the world.
Those who do not know how to love will kill and those who do not know how to kill will die. Simple words yet devastating, it's quite ironic, it implies a sort of twisted logic or causality between love, killing, and death, which may not align with commonly accepted beliefs or moral values.
The toll that war exacts upon lives and families is nothing short of heart-wrenching. If only we could transcend our differences, setting them aside in favor of a collective pursuit—the upliftment of humanity. Through this united endeavor, we might hope to shatter the cycle of violence and forge a lasting peace.
Why must we resort to murder? A sentiment that resonates with the essence of my mother, indeed! I have entertained fantasies of ending her life, but such notions prove futile, a mere squandering of time. The gratification derived from her demise would be ephemeral. Instead, I shall demonstrate my worth, surpassing her very existence in this world, and therein lies my true satisfaction. The time may not be ripe for such a revelation, but it shall come to pass.
Neither of my parents harbors religious convictions; in fact, they reject the notion of a divine entity. I, too, find myself aligned with their perspective. I refuse to open my eyes to the whims of a delusional being that lacks substantiation. Throughout my existence, I have implored the heavens for deliverance from this confining prison, yet my pleas have fallen upon deaf ears. Where is my liberation? Where is my eternal bliss? Must I wait until death embraces me to discover true peace and eternal joy? Regardless, I shall continue my struggle, with or without the guidance of a holy being.
The hour of dinner arrives, and it is solely my younger sister and the household servants who attend to my sustenance. Even access to a mere glass of water is denied me within the confines of this wretched Mansion. This spot, here in my comfort zone, remains my solitary refuge. I am told that if I desire nourishment, I must labor to earn the money that shall grant me access to sustenance. In moments of mental turmoil, my sister becomes my solace, soothing my tormented soul. It is with a smile upon her countenance that she addresses me now, uttering these words:
"If you find yourself ensnared by the clutches of depression, if you seek a sign to dissuade you from relinquishing your hold on life's fragile thread, let my voice be that sign. This is it—the affirmation that I care. So, I implore you, do not succumb to the temptation of self-destruction, my big brother." My resentment towards them has never manifested as anger; it has always been rooted in pain. There exists a subtle yet profound distinction between the two. Thus, I listen attentively to my little sister's words, responding with a smile that belies the grotesque visage I bear. It is they who have molded me into the repugnant creature I am today. Even an effigy would leave a more lasting impression than my countenance. Were I to be inscribed in the records of the genius world records, I would undoubtedly secure the title of the most repulsive human being to walk this earth. Yet, I remain unperturbed, for I find solace in the depths of my kind-hearted spirit that resides within.
As the clock struck ten in the evening, I gazed up at the celestial canvas adorned with a resplendent moon and a multitude of shimmering stars. Its brilliance bathed my surroundings, casting a luminous glow that accentuated the contours of my silhouette. Unlike my dimly lit room, the basement offered a vantage point to behold the majesty of the night sky. The moon, in its fullness, exuded a captivating beauty. Yet, when the full moon waned, my nocturnal companion, my shadow, would likewise vanish into the depths of darkness.
Returning to my bed, a crude construct devoid of any semblance of comfort, I realized the neglect that plagued this forsaken Mansion. The room, bereft of embellishment, was a barren enclosure that bore witness to my confinement. There was scarcely any opportunity to traverse beyond these confines, leaving no time to attend to the disarray that had accumulated over time. The pillows, the blanket, all bore the indelible marks of neglect. The last instance they were cleansed was a vague recollection, perhaps a couple of months ago? My sister, preoccupied with her academic pursuits, had delegated the task of requesting fresh linens to the maids. I understood her absence, but the squalor surrounding me only served to deepen my unease.
As I laid down, a familiar apprehension settled upon me. The tendrils of sleep would sometimes ensnare me, weaving nightmares of my parents' heinous actions and the merciless taunts of a society that viewed me as a monster, a grotesque aberration. The echoes of laughter would reverberate within my mind, an inescapable reminder of their cruelty. My memory had become a tenuous thread, slipping through my grasp. I raised my hands skyward, intertwining my fingers, desperately attempting to anchor myself. Birthday? Ah, yes... my birthday was approaching, a mere three days away. Yet, when was the last time someone celebrated this occasion with me? The details eluded me, trapped within the labyrinth of unmemorable moments. Contemplating it only stoked my disdain. I longed to decelerate the frenetic pace of life, to savor even a fleeting moment of tranquility.
Today, on November 18th, I reached the age of eighteen, and yet, the milestone bore no significance. Whether it be my birthday or any other day, the torments would persist unabated. There was no discernible distinction. In the eyes of those who surrounded me, my existence held no weight, reduced to a mere instrument to alleviate their own frustrations. When burdened by the weight of their stress, they would unleash their wrath upon me, inflicting pain so they may find solace. The human mind operates in ways that continue to baffle me. It comes as no surprise that when consumed by anger, individuals resort to striking walls, objects, or even their fellow beings.
I withdrew from the realm of education at the tender age of thirteen, seeking refuge from the cruelty inherent in human interactions. I had grown disillusioned, for it was never a realm of boundless opportunities, not for someone like me. So, on this fleeting occasion of my birthday, I shall endeavor to find some semblance of joy in the midst of this transient respite.
My mind lingers on a question that continues to perplex me: Why won't they cast me out? Why do they insist on keeping me here, trapped in this desolate existence? It eludes my understanding. There was a time when I attempted to flee this wretched household, but my father spared no expense in locating me. His retribution came swiftly, a barrage of blows to my face, accompanied by a barrage of insults that berated my intelligence and deemed me a disgrace to the family. "If you ever try to leave again," he would sneer, "I'll confine you to the basement! Look at you, foolish Jogo. You reside in the lap of luxury, yet you yearn to sleep in the middle of the streets. You are a wretched imbecile. If it weren't for my plans for you, I would have discarded you long ago." Plans, he claims to have for me. I ponder the nature of these plans, but I am left with nothing but apprehension. I brace myself, for I am but a slave in this gilded prison, a pitiable jester in the hands of my tormentors.
My birthday, though tinged with fleeting moments of joy, owes its meager memorability to the presence of my little sister. She is a flare of warmth in this sea of cold indifference. In a household plagued by callousness, she alone possesses a compassionate heart. Among my siblings, a fractured assembly of souls, she is the singular presence that grants me solace. The others, they evoke sinister visions within me—a primal urge to throttle my elder brother, to sever my younger brother into pieces, to drown my eldest sister. Though we are five in number, I feel as though I possess only one true sibling: Izumi, the youngest member of this forsaken household.
In this realm of darkness, I find solace in the flickering flame of my sister's kindness. It is a small ember that offers respite from the surrounding abyss. As I contemplate the weight of my existence on this solemn occasion, I am reminded of my sister's unwavering support and her gentle reminder that I am not alone in this world. For now, I hold onto that fragile thread of hope, whispering to myself that perhaps, just perhaps, there is a glimmer of light that can penetrate the suffocating darkness that engulfs me.
As we sat on the clean floor, a rare moment of tranquility enveloped us. Izumi's gaze met mine, and a soft laughter escaped her lips. With a gentle touch, she wiped the lingering traces of cupcake icing from my face, her smile dissipating into an expression of seriousness. Concern etched its way into my voice as I asked, "Are you alright?" My words trembled, reflecting the worry that gnawed at my heart.
Izumi's head remained lowered, a dark void obscuring her countenance. I strained to catch a glimpse of her face, but only her lips were visible. A disconcerting smile curved upon them as she let out a quiet, almost indiscernible chuckle. Her voice, barely audible, whispered, "Everything will come to an enclosure." Confusion knitted my brow as I sought to comprehend her enigmatic words. "What do you mean, Izumi?" I inquired, my voice filled with curiosity.
Lifting her head, Izumi met my gaze with a serene smile. "Nothing," she replied innocently. "I was just lost in thought, that's all. Apologies, I didn't mean to offer discomfort." Relief washed over me, dispelling the apprehension that had gripped my heart. I had feared she was burdened by a weight too heavy to bear, that she might be the victim of bullying or suffering in silence. Such thoughts plagued my mind, but her simple explanation seemed to assuage those fears. I extended my hands outward, as if exerting a gentle force against an invisible obstacle. With a contemplative gaze, I turned my palms upwards, and spoke, "It's alright. I had sensed a lingering preoccupation in your thoughts." In response, she offered a faint smile, her eyes drifting unfocused, merging with the intensity of my own. "Do not concern yourself," she murmured, her gaze returning to meet mine, "let us cast aside such matters, shall we?" Bewilderment tinged my voice as I responded, "Uh... Yes."
Taking a piece of cupcake, Izumi delicately savored it, her blissful smile returning. She remarked, "What a day, huh? I wish I could stay longer, but Mom and Dad have given me a task. Do you mind if I leave early?" I responded with a gentle smile, "Of course not!" Rising to my feet, I extended my hand towards her, pulling her up with a tender gesture. "I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. I'm blessed to have a sibling like you. I don't know how I can ever repay you," she expressed gratefully.
In a surprising turn of events, she seized my shoulders, drawing me closer in an embrace. The sensation that enveloped me was unusual, a mix of warmth and unease. A feeling close to a sinister presence lurked in the recesses of my being, though I couldn't figure out where it came from. Slowly, she released me from her hold, and with a vague smile, she uttered, "You've already repaid me, big brother." The fear that had momentarily gripped me dissipated, replaced by a sense of relief.
"I have to get going now," Izumi declared, her smile losing some of its clarity. "I hope you've enjoyed your day, big brother." Confusion tinged my response as I stuttered, "Uh... uhm... yes, I did. It's all thanks to you, Izumi!" She nodded, acknowledging my words, and turned away.
As she prepared to depart, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling deep within me. It was as if a specter lingered nearby, casting a shadow over my soul. I couldn't decipher the cause of my apprehension, but with a vague smile, Izumi bid me farewell. "Good luck with your task," I offered, my voice laced with uncertainty. She nodded in response and swiftly changed her direction, disappearing from sight.
Left in the wake of her departure, I pondered the enigmatic encounter and the undercurrent of unease it had stirred within me. The questions remained unanswered, their answers eluding my grasp. I couldn't help but wonder what secrets hid behind Izumi's gentle facade, and what role I played in the cryptic plans my parents held for me. As I wrestled with these thoughts, the oppressive weight of my existence settled once more upon my shoulders, reminding me that even in fleeting moments of respite, the specter of torment remained ever-present.
At the tender age of eighteen, I found myself trapped in a temporal prison, still yearning for three long years of ambiguous freedom. Yet, fate had a sinister plan in store for me on that fateful day, November 25th. The air was pregnant with an ominous aura, an ethereal warning that reverberated through the depths of my conscious body.
As the hours waned, the sun began its descent towards a celestial rendezvous, heralding the advent of a solar eclipse. An enigma of nature, its allure captivated my senses despite my disinterest in the cosmic ballet above. The heavens conspired to cast the sun into partial darkness, a mysterious dance of light and shadow. The intricacies of celestial mechanics eluded me, but there was no denying the ethereal beauty that unfolded before my eyes. However, the intensity of the sun's brilliance cautioned me, reminding me of the perils that awaited those who dared to gaze directly into its forbidden gaze.
Noon arrived with a sharpness that pierced the air, and an enigmatic sound permeated the surroundings. Curiosity compelled me to investigate, my feet guiding me toward the source. To my bewilderment, I beheld my mother and father, their bodies kneeling in reverent supplication, their voices a melodic incantation that eluded my comprehension. Their prayers were dedicated to the celestial phenomenon above, the eclipse that held them in thrall.
Beyond them, my siblings stood transfixed, each bearing a peculiar artifact. My gaze fixated upon my elder brother, his hand clutching a glimmering blade that glinted in the somber light. A tremor of unease surged through my veins at the sight. Thoughts of arcane rituals and esoteric practices flashed through my mind, remnants of stories I had stumbled upon in clandestine moments. The maids, with their benevolent intentions, would secretly fetch me books on witchcraft to alleviate the desolation of solitude when my sister was absent. Yet, doubt clung to my musings like a phantom specter. Could it be that such mystical arts truly held sway in our world?
The assemblage continued their strange tableau, my younger sister cradling the weight of ancient relics, while the eldest among us, Izeya, and my younger brother clasped an inverted cross, an unsettling emblem of contradiction. The atmosphere grew increasingly suffocating, an amalgamation of curiosity, trepidation, and a foreboding sense of impending darkness.
My focus was abruptly called to the slight soreness that pulsed along the lines of my face despite the mysterious scene that was playing out in front of me. Tracing the source, I realized with a jolt of recognition that my visage bore the marks of recent stitches. How had I acquired such wounds? A fragment of memory floated to the surface, like a fragile wisp of smoke dispersed by a gust of wind. It had happened yesterday, a prelude to the encroaching darkness of the eclipse. In the throes of insatiable hunger, I had succumbed to desperation, attempting to pilfer sustenance from the ever-watchful refrigerator. Yet, the prying eyes of omnipresent surveillance had ensnared me, exposing my transgressions and sealing my fate within the confines of this abominable prison.
This Mansion, a bastion of torment and despair, had etched its cruel contours upon my psyche. Memories of anguish and suffering danced in the recesses of my mind, a relentless parade of torment. I sought to escape the clutches of these harrowing recollections, yet my memory betrayed me, slipping through my grasp like water through clenched fists. The fragility of my remembrance, coupled with sporadic moments of amnesia, compelled me to transcribe my existence upon scraps of paper, a chronicle of the cruelties inflicted upon me by my own kin and the callousness of the world.
Infancy, a fleeting stage in the grand arras of human existence, appeared as but a fleeting breath. Yet, for me, the passage of time seemed suspended, my growth arrested within the cruel web of circumstances that ensnared me. My younger sister's voice, a distant echo of tenderness, pierced through the haze of fragmented memories. She spoke of my birth and my entrance into this world in that fleeting instant with beautiful words that vanished like smoke, their meaning obscure. "You were born beautiful," her voice had whispered, a bittersweet lamentation. Unfortunately, the mirror I was seeing at did not like the face she had originally described. Bruises and scars adorned my countenance, eclipsing any semblance of the beauty that might have once resided there. A sardonic laughter bubbled within me, a laughter tinged with the knowledge that insanity had claimed a stake within my fraying sanity. The threads of hope that once tethered me to the prospect of escape now unraveled, fading into the ether. In the depths of despair, I found solace only in the embrace of death's cold embrace.
Lying prone upon the cold floor, my body devoid of any semblance of care, a profound sadness engulfed me. But why? Was this the extent of my worth? A bitter truth whispered incessantly in the recesses of my mind—I existed in a world where cruelty reigned supreme. Were someone to inquire about the state of my day, a wry smile would have accompanied my response: "Different day, same crap." Yet, no one ventured to pose such questions, for to utter such a sentiment to my younger sister would be deemed an act of rudeness.
Confusion was my constant companion, a confounding riddle that plagued my thoughts. Why did people perpetrate wicked deeds? Why did the world pass judgment upon those whose hearts brimmed with kindness? And why did the very fabric of existence demand our relentless scrutiny?
Time slipped through my grasp like sand through an hourglass, its passage far more rapid than my weary soul could fathom. Blinking with disbelief, I discovered that the tender age of nine had surreptitiously transformed into the anguished throes of adolescence, seventeen years having stealthily woven their curtains upon my existence. Each morning, as consciousness gingerly reclaimed me from the realm of dreams, I would mutter in disbelief, " I used to feel so young, just a nine-year-old child. But time moves quickly, pushing us closer to the edge of adulthood. It's like a fast journey, propelling us forward with an unstoppable force."
During that particular day, negativity wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, my existence tethered to a ceaseless cycle of questioning. "Why am I here?" and "What purpose do I serve in this unforgiving world?" reverberated through the chambers of my mind, their echoes devoid of any solace or resolution. In those days of yore, I would adorn a mask of feigned happiness whenever my parents returned from their laborious toils, but the authenticity of that joy eluded my grasp. And now, it mattered not, for my reality had metamorphosed into a labyrinth of torment and suffering. It all began at school, when the clutches of wrongful accusation ensnared me, forcing me to bear the burden of another's transgressions. Each passing day, reports of my misbehavior reached the ears of my parents, their patience slowly eroded by the relentless onslaught. Such is the cruel drapery of reality, where plans falter, dreams lie shattered, and the denouement rarely gifts us with solace.
In those bygone days, motivations eluded me. If I held the position of favoritism among my siblings, I found solace in that singular distinction. Such recollections are fragments tethered to the recesses of my mind, for I cannot recall moments spent in the company of my siblings, not even the youngest among them. The tendrils of amnesia, an unwelcome consequence of the damage inflicted upon my fragile mind, have obscured those precious memories from my grasp.
As time meandered on, weariness coiled around me like an insidious serpent. My parents, having concluded their enigmatic rituals beneath the veiled eclipse, retreated within the confines of our Mansion—their Mansion rather. Their behavior remained a perplexing enigma, and I stood as a silent observer, bearing witness to their incomprehensible actions. Words, be they chants or mere murmurs, spilled from their lips, eluding my understanding. The world around me shrouded in hues of fiery orange, rendering everything in blinding brightness, yet veiled within the embrace of darkness.
Summoned forth by the anguished call of my father, his tone dripping with ire, I braced myself for the impending confrontation. Perhaps more scars would grace my fragile flesh, each a sign of the unflinching truths that awaited me. Each time my thoughts stray toward that precipice, my mind recoils, rendering me an empty vessel. Each time I awaken, the world presents itself as an abyss of impenetrable blackness. When I cast my gaze upon others, their countenances contort into demonic sneers, mocking my failures and passing judgment upon my very existence. Paranoia, an unwelcome companion, clings to my fraying sanity, an unshakable specter. My utopia, once a realm of respite, forever beyond my reach, has crumbled into dust. Endings loom on every horizon, consuming all in their relentless embrace. The humans before me, devoid of empathy and compassion, offer naught but a mirage of humanity.
His beckoning voice pierced through the chaos of my mind, and a moment of hesitation flickered within my thoughts. Yet, options were a luxury I could ill afford. Alone, I traverse this labyrinthine realm of torment, bereft of alternatives. Only Izumi comprehends the essence of my being, while my two purported brothers remain but spectral entities in my fractured memory. Memories, a jumble of haunting traumas, cling to the recesses of my mind. Even moments shared with my sisters remain elusive, fading specters that dissipate upon grasping. Vague recollections barely hold their fragile grip, and it is for this reason that I etch my existence upon these paper fragments, desperate to retain every facet of my existence, be it agonizing or blissful. I refuse to allow the cruelties of this world to be forgotten, for with each perusal of these notes, memories flash with a searing intensity, causing the tendrils of pain to coil within my mind. Tolerance vanishes into the realm of impossibility when lost in the maze of options. Everything, everyone, shall fade into the annals of oblivion. Such is the inexorable march of time, where all succumbs to the inexorable embrace of decay.
With trembling hands, I turned the doorknob, granting passage to a nauseating stench that permeated the air. Something ominous hung in the atmosphere, causing my nerves to jangle with unease. Yet, in this wretched existence, no alternative remained but to obediently heed my father's command and proceed forward. Step by hesitant step, I approached the threshold, bracing myself for the impending descent into despair. My father's enraged voice pierced the air, scolding me for my perceived delay. Inside, my brothers stood, their countenances devoid of emotion, and I stood in stunned silence. A wave of realization crashed over me—could they be under the sway of some insidious mind control? A mere conjecture, but one that clung to my thoughts, refusing to dissipate. My sister, with an enigmatic smile upon her lips, beckoned me to the door. The meaning behind that smile eluded my grasp, lost in the tangled labyrinth of my consciousness. Yet, a gnawing unease settled within, a premonition of impending doom.
Strong hands seized my shoulders, binding a blindfold around my eyes, and without resistance, I allowed myself to be led forward. The cycle of torment, an unbreakable chain, continued its relentless grip upon my existence. The world reveled in our suffering, subjecting us to an existence of endless anguish. Perhaps those afflicted with incurable diseases placed their faith in a benevolent deity, trusting in a divine plan. Perhaps it was God's design to see me immersed in this sea of torment. The phrase, "God always has a plan," echoed through my mind, tempting me to single out a higher power for my woes. Yet, deep within, I knew the fallacy of such thoughts. God had not saved me, nor orchestrated the symphony of my torment. Merely the unfortunate consequence of being born into this wretched household, my path etched by the cruel hand of fate.
Why must individuals inflict pain upon others when they themselves wage internal wars? Why does possessing a tender heart in this merciless world become a curse? These queries tore at my tattered sanity, and their solutions seemed to elude me forever. Could it be that emotions, these intangible constructs, render me defenseless, incapable of finding solace in justice's embrace? The world, devoid of empathy, swathed in inhumanity, offers no respite. I am weary of the futile struggle, exhausted from the ceaseless charade. Pretense no longer holds allure, for this world, with its insensitivity and malevolence, has extinguished the flames of hope. There exists no purpose in futile attempts to change what is inherently unchangeable.
The words that often escaped my lips, "Tomorrow will be better," held no truth, no tangible evidence of their validity. Perhaps it was time to relinquish the notion and take matters into my own hands. Yet, should the day arrive when my body acts of its own accord, devoid of reason and control, I would cease to be human, no longer recognizable as myself. In that state, I might even become a harbinger of death. Uncertainty cloaked my thoughts, obscuring the path ahead. However, one thing remained clear—this day was not the day. Patience still lingered within the recesses of my being.
As I stepped into the room, blindfolded and disoriented, the cloth was promptly removed, exposing me to a sight of unparalleled horror. Four imposing statues adorned each side, their countenances twisted and malevolent. They resembled the demons described in the ancient tome known as the 'Vere le Ru,' a forbidden grimoire of dark sorcery. I had once regarded it as a mere work of fantasy, a flight of imaginative fancy. Little did I realize its origins lay in grim reality. The book delved into the realms of sacrificial rites, forbidden rituals, and detailed accounts of the nefarious arts. While humanity possessed no capacity for wielding magic, we became unwitting tools in the hands of those who sought to spill our own blood in homage to the Gods of Pure Evil.
The room itself bore witness to a dance of light and shadow, with darkness cloaking its corners and candles flickering at the center table. Four candles burned with an eerie glow, casting ghastly shadows upon the altar. A torrent of questions swirled within my mind, yet fear rendered me mute, stealing my voice. I trembled, apprehensive of what awaited me in the imminent future. My sisters, their hands urging me forward, propelled me into the heart of this grim spectacle. As my back pressed against the wall, a creeping dread seized me as I beheld crimson droplets trickling down its surface. Blood—what abomination was this chamber? I stood on the precipice of madness, poised to plunge into an abyss of the unknown.
The tremors beneath the earth's surface jolted me from my stunned state. My captors released their grip, allowing me to witness the unsettling transformation of my younger sister. Her countenance took on a sinister aspect, resembling that of a deranged serial killer. As her words pierced the air, a profound sense of despair washed over me, extinguishing any remnants of inner radiance.
Why do the dark clouds stay in the sky, refusing to go away?
Come to think of it, humanity is a failed species. They try to hide their insecurities with false senses of pride. They're unable to control their emotions and their desire for comfort has corrupted them beyond repair. They would prefer to live their lives in blissful ignorance of the truth than to endure the cold, hard reality that humanity is a plague that is destined to be cleansed from this universe.
Speechless and bewildered, I stood frozen, incapable of uttering a single word. Would it be permissible for me to vanish until I could reclaim my sense of humanity? The weight of knowledge had propelled me to the precipice, leaving me with no path to retreat.
Recollections flooded my mind, recalling the events that unfolded prior to this dire juncture. The wicked laughter emanating from my sister's lips, her aura oozing menace—she was no longer herself. Within that vessel, I could no longer discern the sister I once knew. The burden I carried had become overwhelming, rendering existence a formidable ordeal.
"My father's voice rang out, filled with desperation, 'Why do the gods turn a blind eye to our sacrifice?'
My mother's words joined his, 'I thought this was the child you desired!'
My sister continued to cackle, a mirthless symphony that bewildered my father, prompting him to inquire further."
Izumi's insatiable curiosity had always been her undoing. Despite the stern prohibition against venturing into that part of the house, her hunger drove her to disobey. Little did she anticipate that what lay ahead would alter the course of her life irrevocably.
As she surreptitiously eavesdropped on her parents' conversation with the gods, fragments of their discourse reached her ears. The mention of a forbidden tome, the "Vere le Ru," piqued her interest. Father, placing a lifeless deer upon the table and meticulously arranging four candles, their flames dancing in a specific order, an inverted cross at the center. Izumi's heart raced within her chest as she strained to remain concealed, invisible to their watchful gaze.
A sudden hush fell over the room as her parents knelt upon the floor, the candles intensifying their glow. An ominous wind swept through the chamber, causing beads of perspiration to form upon her parents' brows, their expressions fraught with trepidation. Izumi sensed that something was amiss, yet the true nature of the unfolding ritual eluded her comprehension.
As Izumi delved deeper into the forbidden book, her trembling fingers traced the descriptions of the curse mark etched upon her skin. The knowledge of its ominous power sent shivers down her spine, confirming her worst fears. The mark represented a twisted symbol of dark sorcery, an embodiment of judgment and malevolence waiting to be unleashed.
The cursed mark resembled a gnarled and contorted tree, its branches reaching out in every direction, as if grasping for souls. At its core, a black vortex consumed light and life, enveloping its bearer in an eternal darkness. It was believed that those marked by this curse were forever bound to its malevolent influence, their minds and souls susceptible to corruption.
Izumi's existence became marred by ceaseless fear and paranoia. The weight of her parents' agreement with the gods hung heavily upon her, a burden she was ill-prepared to bear. Yet, she knew deep down that she had to find a way to protect herself from the impending horror. Unbeknownst to her, her destiny had already been sealed, and the events set in motion on that fateful day in her childhood would shape her life irrevocably.
Driven by a desperate desire to defy her predetermined fate, Izumi embarked on a treacherous journey, seeking answers and solutions beyond the confines of her reality. In the face of imminent darkness, she clung to the fragile flame of hope, determined to unravel the secrets behind her cursed mark and find a way to outwit the gods themselves.
Little did she know that her path would be fraught with danger, testing her resilience and pushing her to the limits of her strength. With each step, the line between her humanity and the encroaching darkness blurred, leaving her to question her own identity and the true nature of the world she had once known.
As Izumi ventured further into the depths of her own personal nightmare, she braced herself for the trials that awaited her. The battle against her own cursed existence had just begun, and she vowed to fight, not only for her own survival but for the chance to reclaim her humanity from the clutches of the gods' cruel whims.Finding for answers that would never come. And then, my father spoke. His words were callous, laced with a blasphemous disregard for life. "Why do you care?" he sneered. "The Gods have been feeding you all this time. You should be grateful that Jogo was the one who sacrificed for us so we could live a lovely life. We torment him because we feel no sympathy for him anymore. From the moment we knew that he had the cursed mark, he had lost his purpose, he is nothing but a tool—a sacrifice for the goods!"
My mother chimed in, her voice dripping with the same cold disdain. "Jogo, you were a sweet child, but we had no choice. We didn't want to live in a world of hell. We had to lower your hopes of living, so you would just die already. So, we could just sell your corpse. We weren't allowed to kill you, but I almost did. You were lucky I had self-control left inside of me."
I sat there, stunned into silence by their callousness. The Gods may have wanted my soul, but what good is a body with an empty soul?
As the flames flickered on, I was left with the harsh reality of my existence. My parents had used me, toyed with my life like a cruel game, and left me with nothing but confusion and despair. What was I to do? What was I to say? For now, all I could do was stay silent, lost in the darkness of my own thoughts.
I fell to the ground, trembling and disoriented. The chaos around me was deafening, the panicked screams of my family filling my ears. But in the face of terror, I heard my little sister's laughter ringing out.
"Fools," she mocked them. "Both of you are true monsters! Look at me! You sold me, your own daughter! You will remain accursed for what you've done!"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My sister, the one I had always known as Izumi, was now a stranger to me. Her voice was filled with madness and glee as she continued to taunt our parents.
"Hahaha! You believed it was big brother Jogo who bore the cursed mark? It was all part of my grand design," she crowed triumphantly. "I desired to strip him of his happiness, to subject him to the suffering you two inflicted upon me. And you unwittingly played your part, for you are the true monsters here!" Big Brother was the cherished one in this mansion, and I yearned to seize that felicity from him. I hesitated not in executing my dreadful machinations. Look at yourselves now! You were the architects of Big Brother Jogo's disfigurement. You extinguished the flame of his aspirations, his life, and his dreams. Who, then, is the true monster in this lamentable tale? The answer lies within both of you!" We merely carried out your bidding, to torment Big Brother Jogo, for he was deemed superfluous to this family. Both of you are adept at gaslighting, masters of manipulation. You have destroyed your own child, and behold, you resemble naught but discarded refuse—worthless trash that should be discarded."
Her visage turned towards mine, and she posed an inquiry that rendered me mute. As I listened to her deluge of words, an overwhelming sense of shame enveloped me. Had I truly burdened my family to such an extent? Had they genuinely sacrificed my well-being for their own self-indulgence? Nay! They sacrificed the entirety of our household for the sake of wealth. This entire household teems with chaos. Izumi...
My sister's gaze fixated upon me, and she uttered a question that left me bereft of words. "Why do you cling to this fleeting existence, dear Brother Jogo? The world languishes under a malediction, and we, too, are cursed beings. What purpose does it all serve?"
In the face of her words, I found myself grappling for a response. For too long, I had wandered through the abyss of anger and desolation, devoid of any flicker of hope. Yet, in that very instant, a realization coursed through me—I did not yearn for death. I craved life, to carve my own path bounded by this wretched realm. It was time to emerge as the person I was destined to be.
"Big brother... I know not whether this stems from pity or mere caprice. I reveled in toying with you. I wished for your suffering to deepen! That is why I proffered you hope—that is why I aided you. And it is I who bears responsibility for your tenacious hold on life, isn't it, dear Brother Jogo...?"
Silence enveloped me, my words swallowed by its vast expanse. I remained bereft of a retort, as was often the case. It mattered not. I held no sway in her presence. From the outset, my existence held no worth in this world. If I were to plunge off a precipice, none would impede me; no one would salvage a discarded fragment such as I! This family, bereft of value, has been reduced to naught.
My world crumbled beneath the weight of her devastating words. I... I no longer recognize the essence of my being. The person I once was has dissipated, evaporated into the ether. Here and now, I shall bring an end to it all. How did this blissful family metamorphose into a living nightmare?
She remained unperturbed, her countenance betraying no discernible emotion. Yet, this is not the younger sister I once knew. She has forsaken her very essence—her humanity has been relinquished. She has become grotesque, more unsightly than even myself. It transcends mere physicality; her moral fiber, too, has been tainted. I know her not.
Rising from the abyss of my desolation, I resolved to depart this accursed horror.
I gazed at her, caught in the delicate tendrils of a beautiful yet devastating flashback. Its remnants shattered me, leaving behind a desolate perspective of the world—a somber landscape devoid of any flicker of illumination. Within, there was no ember of hope. The world itself questioned my very existence. What purpose remained in striving? What purpose remained in lingering within this malefic household?
Most individuals possess a fleeting understanding of their own selves, navigating through existence with callous insensitivity towards others. It matters not what guise we assume; all of us are savage beings, driven by the impulse to kill, to steal, and to dominate. Welcome, then, to the realm of humanity.
A bolt of lightning rent the sky, followed by a deafening thunderclap. In the aftermath, my sister launched herself at our father with untamed ferocity. As I surveyed the ensuing chaos, an otherworldly orb lingered above us, its gaze piercing, fixated upon the unfolding spectacle.
The walls of the room seemed to pulsate with a grotesque vitality, and I recoiled as blood trickled from their porous surfaces. In every corner, unblinking eyes adorned the space, watching our plight with morbid curiosity. A statue within the room stirred, awakening from its slumber, I couldn't understand the language coming out of its lips.
Miraculously, the bones of a deer materialized from the ether, assembling themselves into a skeletal form before my mother's disbelieving eyes. At first, it struggled to stand, yet somehow found the resilience to persevere.
Malevolence permeated the air, suffusing it with a sickening stench, and even Izumi's once ethereal beauty now contorted beyond recognition. It was impossible to discern whether she remained human or had metamorphosed into something altogether different.
Days stretched on, and they subjected me to an unyielding assault, both in mind and body. They cast me aside, ignoring my presence as if I were naught but an invisible phantom. I existed on the precipice of collapse, teetering on the edge of oblivion.
My heart thrummed within my chest, corresponding to a wild creature relentlessly striving to break free from its cage. My legs, erstwhile as heavy as stone, now carried me with the grace of a gazelle evading a predator. Each stride propelled me closer to the door, yet the distance appeared to elongate ceaselessly before me. The sound of my ragged breaths reverberated through the air, an anxious melody that only served to heighten my terror. The very walls themselves seemed to constrict, eager to impede my escape. Despite the suffocating pressure, I summoned every ounce of my will to forge onward, consumed by an overwhelming desperation to evade the horrors lurking behind me, only to be confronted with a ghastly tableau that nearly brought me to the precipice of sickness. My skin stretched taut, every bruise and stitch throbbing with agonizing pain.
The cockroach, a repulsive creature of decay, devoured the once-fleshed corpus, leaving naught but a heap of skeletal remains in its wake. It was my younger brother, Yukihitsu, whom I beheld in this abhorrent state. A surge of terror gripped my very being, rendering me utterly bewildered and powerless. Fending off the relentless urge to expel the contents of my stomach, I could only manage to retreat from this infernal nightmare.
But such was not the culmination of my grief. I refused to allow acceptance to mark the end of my sorrow. I appended an additional stage—an insatiable thirst for retribution! Existence is but a mirage, and humanity, a deluded puppet in the hands of its own folly. They bask in the illusion of eternal life, yet in a mere century's span, they shall succumb to the void, forgotten by those they once knew, while the world moves on, indifferent. Pray tell, does this existence hold meaning? Do you recoil in fear of death, or do you embrace its embrace? It is simple—they choose to live. Humans remain oblivious to the purpose of their existence, yet they persist nonetheless. Too bad, they never truly live; they merely subsist, surrendering themselves to the universe—a foolish cosmos devoid of comprehension, ignorant of their very existence.
Venturing forth into the backyard, I retrieved three jugs of gasoline, my hands trembling with a potent blend of trepidation and anticipation. Returning to the confines of the kitchen, I unflinchingly unleashed the contents of the jugs, the volatile fluid dispersing with frenzied and tumultuous abandon. The room swiftly became saturated in this combustible elixir, its acrid fragrance assaulting my senses.
Following the trail of gasoline that led towards the exit, I extracted a lighter from my pocket, my fingers quivering in tandem with the flickering flame that sprang forth to life. A macabre dance ensued as I observed the flickering radiance creep towards the edifice, illuminating the countenances of my familial kin who, gripped by terror, unleashed a cacophony of desperate screams.
With a leaden heart, I bore witness to the inferno that consumed the place of true horrors, its ravenous tongues consuming all in their path. The frantic cries of the maids and the butlers reverberated through the air, but I found myself beyond the realm of concern. All that mattered was my vengeance, my yearning to witness those baleful beings suffer as I had.
As the flames gradually waned, reducing the house to a charred and ashen ruin, a hollow sense of triumph pervaded my being. I had accomplished my objective, yet at what cost? The specter of anguish from bygone days lingered still, and the price of my actions weighed heavily upon my beleaguered soul. However, even throughout the ruins, a new chapter unfolded—an opportunity for healing and progress finally presented itself, a chance to traverse the path of restoration and rejuvenation.
I yearned to surround myself with individuals who could recognize my inherent worth, those who would offer daily reminders of their love for me, their pride in my being. All I ever wanted was to be loved. But now, futile is the act of dwelling upon regret; the house has already succumbed to the flames. Behold me now, cowering like a craven, hiding from the repercussions that await. Imprisonment is a fate I cannot accept. I yearn for a fresh beginning, a chance to reshape my existence and explore whether the world beyond conforms to my previous judgments.
The dwelling, once a bastion of horrors, now lies reduced to naught but smoldering embers and ruins. Were I to return, accusations of arson would surely befall me. Left with scant possessions, all that remains are my notebook and pen. I am as good as dead! How does one rebuild a life in the absence of material wealth? Without money, I shall become naught but a mockery in this realm. Reduced to begging, what fate awaits me then? I know not if these disfigured features of mine would elicit the generosity of others.
With the burning of my birth certificate, I cast aside my former name and embraced a new identity—Ojo. All evidence of my previous existence has been obliterated, and my countenance altered beyond recognition. The memories of yore, a hazy mirage within my mind, fade into insignificance when compared to the anguish and torment inflicted upon me by my own father.
Once again, I find myself solitary, traversing this world of agony, with mere survival offering fleeting solace. As I contemplate the uncertain future that lies ahead, a profound weariness settles upon my weary soul. What purpose does tomorrow hold, or the days that follow, or even the forthcoming years?
Yet, despite the desolation that engulfs my present, a faint glimmer of hope persists. A fervent desire to discover true happiness burns within me, an ember that refuses to be extinguished. This marks the dawn of a new epoch, an opportunity to forge an untrodden path, liberated from the shackles of my past.
Perhaps I would seek refuge in a place far from the reach of others, where the solitude would be a balm to my soul. Yes, I would continue to endure the pain, the suffering, the loneliness, for the sake of finding true happiness. This was my new beginning, a chance to carve out a life that was solely mine.
Ojo 9/19/1998