Even now, I can remember how it began. Some things have faded, but the beginning remains crystal clear. The beginning of what I must ask, but I do indeed know the answer. The beginning of the obsession, of the need, the joy, the madness. The beginning of the hatred that will someday swallow my soul, if I even have one anymore.
It began on a bright day, in one of Dublin's parks. It wasn't much of a park to be sure, but it was enough for me. It was my birthday, and it was the happiest day of my life, and also the saddest. We had never gone anywhere to celebrate anything, but now dad had the money, and it was time for celebration. I was the youngest and so I choose where we would go and what we would do. I wanted to go to the park, and I wanted to play hide and go seek. Not much of a celebration, but enough of one for me.
We hadn't been there very long when it happened. We were playing and I heard my mother cry out, then her voice was gone. I thought she was playing a joke, until I found her, bleeding on the cement and dirt. I cried, and she reached out to me, saying my name softly. Blood, thick and red came out of her mouth but she still tried to speak.
"Farf… you must always… live a good life.. please god, for it was he.. who.. did this to us… brought.. us here…" And then she died. Her eyes went gray and clouded. She left em behind with her message, God had done this to us, and he had done it on purpose. My mother was dead, and she her self had said that he had done it. God had betrayed me. But still somewhere in the park was my father and my sisters, and they did not know what god had done to us. I had to tell them, to make them understand that God had killed my mother. My rock against the storm, my sheltering arms were gone. My light before the dark had been extinguished, and the one who had done it was the one she loved most. She held him up above everything else, even over her family. She once said that he had kept her from harm all the days of her life, and that in the end she would go gently to his arms. He had tricked my mother. I called for my father but there was no answer.
I ran frantically through the park, and found my father and then my sisters all dead. I was alone. Except that I wasn't. I heard a noise behind me, and turned to see a man, he carried a long knife, still dripping with blood. I knew who he was right away, he was god, and he had killed my family, but he wouldn't get me. I lost my eye that day, but I gained much more. I learned that many things hurt god. I left the park bleeding, covered in my blood, as well as god's blood. I was 10.
Later that day a priest told me that god wasn't truly one person, but he was everywhere, in everyone and every thing. He told me that god could be hurt in many ways, and that the worst way to hurt god was to make others bleed, or to kill them. Thinking back on it, I believe that he thought he would make me into a model Christian, but really all he did was give me rather good career advice. That day I started cutting myself.
That was how it started, the need. The hunger, the ecstasy and the hatred. That was when I began the slow process of dying, turning into a mad man with no rational thoughts. But I don't mind anymore, this slide into depravity is all that excites me, all that makes me want, all that makes me need. The beginning gave me true life, and a purpose.