I CALL YOU DEAD
"Jason, you're nothing but a waste of space!"
My father's voice bellowed through the house, his words sharp as knives, slicing through my already fragile heart. It was a refrain that had become all too familiar over the years, echoing in the empty spaces where love and understanding should have been.
Nineteen years ago, I was a fifteen-year-old boy, grappling with the weight of adolescence and the ever-changing emotions that came with it. The world was a storm of uncertainties, and I struggled to find my footing, seeking solace in the arms of the only two people who truly loved me—my mother and sister.
As the full moon approached that fateful night, I felt a storm brewing within me, a torrent of fear and confusion that threatened to tear me apart. My body ached with an unfamiliar pain, and my instincts screamed that something was about to change—something I could neither comprehend nor control.
That fateful night, the sound of rain pattering against the windows masked the distant growls of my father's rage. He was a man accustomed to wielding his anger like a weapon, striking out at those he deemed weak or unworthy. Time and time again, my mother had been the target of his fury—a silent martyr, bearing the brunt of his frustration and bitterness.
As the full moon rose in the stormy sky, my body began to tremble with the first inklings of the transformation. Pain coursed through my veins, a fire consuming me from within. I knew I was on the verge of becoming something dangerous or uncontrollable. And yet, in the midst of my own turmoil, my mother's desperate cries reached my ears, pulling me back from the brink of surrender.
Driven by a primal need to protect her, I felt the beast within me awaken, and I fought to maintain some semblance of control. Bursting into the room where my father was unleashing his wrath, I stood there, a monstrous version of myself, fueled by a wild rage that mirrored his own.
In the chaos that ensued, I lunged at my father, desperate to save my mother from his violent grasp. But in my frenzied state, I lost control, and the beast took over. My claws and fangs, once intended to protect me, became the instruments of destruction that I had feared. In my blind fury, I struck out at everything and everyone in my path, my mother and sister falling victim to my uncontrollable wrath.
When dawn broke, I stared in horror at the lifeless bodies of the two people who had loved me most. The cold rain outside seemed to mirror the icy despair that gripped my heart. The very people I had sought to save now lay dead by my hand, and the weight of that terrible truth threatened to crush me.
Unable to bear the sight of the home that had once been my sanctuary, I fled into the wilderness, haunted by the knowledge that the first lives I had taken were those of the ones I held most dear. The enormity of my actions and the resulting grief cast a shadow over my soul, and I swore that I would never again allow myself to love or be loved.
As I ran, the memories of my mother's gentle touch and my sister's infectious laughter faded into the distance, replaced by the overwhelming guilt and shame that would come to define my existence. At that moment, I became Jason the Broken, a man forever haunted by the tragic consequences of a single, devastating night.