"You fucking cocksucking fag! We raised you better than this!"
"Your father couldn't ever be more right you down right disgusting piece of shit!"
I smiled again at the memory.
My parents were always the praised ones of our small community. Everyone thought we were a go lucky family and that I would go off to a great abroad college with a full scholarship. Everyone loved us and admired our small family. They always came to the small diner my mom had ran and that I was her little helper she always used to brag.
My mother was a great cook, she was always so kind and generous but my father loved her like no other man could love a woman. She was loved and cherished by many. You could foresee the sadness and tragedy when she had gotten into a car accident and she had passed away and I had survived the crash. My father was thankful I had made it but I could see he had other thoughts. He wished I would have died instead of her, and boy don't I wish it.
What made our family so special was that we weren't the ordinary family. My father kidnapped people and my mother butchered them and I served them to the customers. We sacred the art of killing a person. But I knew it was wrong to kill the innocent. I knew deep down it was wrong to kill. But it felt so good.
Everyone enjoyed eating humans, they loved the taste of their own kind. I know what it felt like to eat a fat man. He had plenty of meat to share and gave a nice gluttony taste, and he had a lot of skin to carve. We never let a body go to waste. My parents taught me how to murder people and it made me feel special.
At school, I was a shy kid. I always kept to myself and my things. I was also selfish, very selfish. But I was also unsympathetic and I believed and worshipped the idea of karma. A girl used to pick on me when I started 1st grade, and so followed the others. I taught myself to take revenge instead of crying about the bad crimes other people committed against me. Well that's what my mother always preached to me.
My mom told me to shove that girl down the slide when we saw her at the park. She broke her neck on the side of slide walls when she fell, I made her trip over my foot and no one caught me. My mother was so proud, she had tears in her eyes.
So you see why I took her death so hard. I loved her more then life itself. She taught me everything and I continued murdering people. But never the innocent.
My father got married again to a bitter young woman. She abused me each time she had the chance. She brought her little friends over so they could rape me, over and over again until I almost died from the force.
She insulted me, she called me ugly. My mother used to call me an angel and so did everyone else.
I had light soft blonde curls that puffed in ringlets, I also had my mothers gorgeous unnatural blue eyes, pale skin with red cheeks and freckles along my nose. My stepmother called me a girl.
That bitch one day fucked me up by surprise. She removed all my hair with her bare hands, and it never grew back the same after the whole top of my head was scarred and mutated. I grew my hair longer so it covered up the bruises.
I refused to do anything around that woman, and soon I grew tougher, the girl appearance faded away and I became cold but I was nice to anyone who was kind to me.
But then a gay couple moved to town.
It had me thinking about love. I was never into the thought of love, I was never into girls. Never into boys either until I actually let myself go for once. I let myself feel and observe.
I didn't like to see the depending need women had on their men. I didn't like clinging people who had to open their mouth every time it turned silent. But then I thought about men.
It was then I realized I was gay.
I liked the aggression, muscular, pride that all the men had. It was a turn on. I had told my dad this, not expecting the wife of satan to listen to our loud overbearing conversation.
Either way it could have been her fault I turned out this way. But I didn't care. Probably the only thing I could say I appreciated what she gave to me. For showing me the light.
I fled for college after I got accepted to Seattle University. It was the first acceptance letter I got and I wanted to flee Texas as far as I can get. I wasn't going to stay away near that hellhole.
But I just couldn't leave without a bang.
So as I lay here in content, the whores blood all over body and laying down on the corpses of her followers, my dad was hanging from the ceiling in shackles, screaming for mercy, for anyone to help him.
"Oh shut up old man. You don't remember making this room soundproof you dumb bastard." I rolled my eyes as I held my stepmothers head in my hands.
"You faggot! How could you do this to your own father!"
"Momma would be so proud." I smirked.
"That's why your mommas dead boy, I killed her. You were suppose to die along too!" He sneered. "Pa, I know that." I shook my head in annoyance. "You think I'm stupid?" I threw the wench's head in the fire that burned inside a metal bin.
"You nasty little shit-"
"Do you really want to mock me right now? When I have the upper hand?" I asked.
He glared at me with pure hatred.
"You psychopath! Do whatever the hell you want, but burn the fuck in hell!" He screamed.
I pushed over the bin and walked to the front door of the basement. "If you want to talk about something burning i'll see ya in hell bitch! I hope you like your balls getting roasted!" I hissed.
"Wait! Jasper! Don't do this! Anything but this please don't let me die this way! I was kidding! Set me free! Set me free! Please have mercy!-"
I couldn't hear him anymore as I shut the door to his pathetic sobs.
Oh mom, I really hope I did the right thing.