March 1st, 2225
Today is the three year anniversary of my grandfather's death. I'll tell you about that now, as I have nothing else to talk about.
My grandmother died during the Christmas holidays. My grandfather, drowning in grief, came to live with us. He was always crying and talking about how his life had been ruined by whatever killed Grandmother. He had once been quite friendly, but now he was often cruel. Several times I came home from school to find him splayed out on my bed.
"Grandfather," I would say. "Grandfather, that's my bed. Get off."
Grandfather wouldn't hear me the first few times. When he finally did, he would yell in my face, saying that he was going to stay, and it didn't really matter, nothing mattered now.
I would kick him, saying "Grandfather, get off!"
Grandfather would sit up and swing at me furiously. "Go away! I'm here! I'm here now, and I'm staying! You leave."
I would say, "It's my bed! You get off now, or else!"
He never seemed to understand that I was threatening him. At that point, I would go away and work on my poison. But it wouldn't be ready for a while, so I decided to do something else. One day about a month into his stay, Grandfather demanded that I bring Grandmother to him. And I did. Literally. I got a shovel and dug up the box they stored her ashes in. When I brought it to him, he smashed it open. Of course, I had to clean it up, and he still wouldn't get off of my bed.
When I finished my poison, I slipped some of it into his champagne glass. He died that night.
I was seven years old, and I had killed two of my grandparents, and one of my classmates. You could say that they started my career. My system, where any and all who dare defy me meet their end. My way of dealing with threats, which will ensure happiness forevermore.
-Coriolanus
