- This chapter contains descriptions of violence that may be upsetting for some readers. -

I was born to an abusive family. There is no way around that fact. From a young age I was forced to work multiple jobs to feed myself and my younger siblings. Over the years, my father ripped this money from my hands multiple times, spending it on gambling and drinking. He would come home wasted and beat me senseless, spouting crap like, "Don't be a hero, you little brat! Those pricks don't deserve that money. You thieving little shits are so worthless." My mother on the other hand, wouldn't speak for months at a time, worn out from bad life choices. Despite that I didn't care. She nor my father had ever wanted me. It was obvious that they had wanted a daughter, for the sole purpose of selling her. After me, their first failure, they failed two more times with my younger brothers, and then my mother became infertile. From then onward the family declined rapidly.

I turned 9 just recently. Unlike normal kids who would probably still be playing around, I was somewhat unique. My mental maturity was stupid for a young kid, and I totally agreed with this myself. If I had to approximate, I would claim my mental age to be around 16 yet physically I was still very feeble and weak. Nonetheless of how weak I was, thanks to my mind, I was able to push through for my siblings and worked multiple jobs a day to protect their innocence. And today was this month's payday, which meant I would give them have a good time for at least one day, this month. Our house was rather secluded away from town but it wasn't the worst conditions to live in. The shabby cottage was worn from many years of wood termites and erosion, however it worked in sheltering my siblings and I from the rain.

Breaking away from my thoughts, the small cottage lay in the distance. Rumbling echoed in the sky, foretelling the impending rain. I fastened my pace and arrived in front of the door. Before pushing the door open, I practiced the superficial smile that hung upon my face. Beaming brightly I stepped in and looked onto the sight of my siblings with their throats cut, and dried blood painting the walls. My eyes dragged around the room noticing the rampage that had destroyed everything within, and the puddle of viscous blood that stuck to the floor like honey. My stomach churned and I felt lightheaded. BANG. A loud crash resounded from behind the wall to the only other room. My senses heightened as I crouched towards the doorway, each step creating a small squelching sound. I peeked around the wall and there was father, covered in blood from head to toe, searching for something as he yanked out another floorboard.

"Did you kill them." I asked. Father instantly looked in my direction, and I knew the answer just from his eyes. An expression between joy and madness danced on his face.

"I did... They hid it though. Its not my fault. I'm not going to jail, because I didn't do anything wrong. They hid my money. I needed it." he replied anarchically.

Thoughts rushed through my head as I tried to scramble the pieces of my life's meaning together. What do I do? They are gone. The realization that they were dead settled in. But I did still have a purpose and it wasn't complicated either. Revenge. I left the room my father was in, leaving him to his preposterous ramblings. There embedded into the wall, was what was left of my mother, and a sharp, ever so alluring knife. I gripped the handle and measured its weight briefly before stuffing it into my pockets.

I walked back into the room where my father resided. "Father, I'll help you. What are you looking for?"

"You'll be helpful, finally. Pull some of these boards away from the floor and help me find our backup money. Better late than ne..." The man dropped to the floor and shook the cottage so much it could have collapsed. Protruding from the back of his head was the knife, covered in a new layer of blood that gushed from the wound. Dead without a doubt.

Rain poured down onto the cottage, as I continued searching for the 'backup money' that man had mentioned. Eventually I found the money and alongside my recent pay, packed some basic belongings, and walked off into the storm.

***

At the age of 16 I developed a sense that allowed me to see beings. I could tell they were alive, from the constant scream and roars that they would make. It haunted me through my teenage years and caused me a severe lack of sleep. These Beings had no physical form but I could see them in the form of a hazy cloud that would change their appearance multiple times a second, forming into differently shaped, aesthetically satisfying shapes. There weren't many of these beings normally, however after I had interacted with one, it would stick to me like a moth to a bright light. After that point I decided to never prove I could see the clouds again, fearful of their roar that could constantly rip into my ears. The first cloud however, wouldn't leave my sight, constantly hovering within a 20 meter radius of me.

The beginning of my life was rather unique, but my school life was as any other. A state of seclusion and unhappiness, as I pushed through a basic education. Previously I had steeled my resolve, that I would live for myself from that point, with no care for any other. It would be a sad life, but one worthy for myself; a murderer. People distanced themselves from me regularly in school, with even the teachers never meeting my gaze. I knew that I had been isolated and given the name 'mute', however I openly accepted it. The reason being, I didn't care about them! To me, school was just a place to gather information, so that I could thrive later in life. I wasn't stupid, and I devoted myself to revision or work, which resulted in my grades almost always being between 95% and 100%.

After school, when I was 18 a surge of great luck occurred. Or not! War preparations were made, and I was conscripted into the army as I was of age to fight. At the beginning all the people around me seemed happy, with talks of the war only lasting a few months or a year at most. However that assumption was wrong. Everyone around me died and I was the only survivor of my unit who wasn't crippled permanently over the next 6 years. That time was wasted in my eyes, with little to no reparations for my service, and no medals to prove my part as a loyal soldier.

The economy was in a downtrodden state after the war, from the heavy taxes employed by the government. Despite this, employers were still greedy and wanted the best results out of their money in an employee. Me, a boy with no prominent background and great grades in school but 6 years of military service with no rewards was often deemed a bad choice as an employee. They would throw me aside in search for others. The best I could make from my situation was a construction site laborer, for minimum pay.

After a while, the economy got back on its feet, however my situation never got better. I spent the rest of my young adult days into my middle aged days as a cheap laborer, with little pay. I knew my situation was terrible however I couldn't improve it at this point in my life. The only entertainment that I had was the cloud that stuck around my head and kept me company. I began to talk to it out of boredom, and many times I thought I heard it say something back but they were just grumbles. And eventually I reached the end of my life...

I lay connected to a heart monitor and new that the next few hours would be my last. It was an uncanny feeling, yet I welcomed the end with open arms. I closed my eyes to rest, but the normal darkness that shrouded my vision dissipated into a blinding, ethereal light. This is what happens after death I thought. Its not too bad. But the light dimmed, and something appeared on the horizon. It approached me in the blink of an eye and I recognized it instantaneously. The cloud formed into a hand and offered me a second chance. No words were mentioned yet I could feel the intent emanating from the being. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours, as I wondered about the possibility of the events being a hallucination before death. Well no foul in believing. I stretched my hand outwards and grasped the demons hand, accepting its proposal. "I accept" I muttered, as my hand dropped to my side and my heart stopped beating. The old man was dead, and the Devil born from his sacrifice.