I can't really look back at my past without at least sobbing and pitying myself. This life, this innocence that God so dearly gave to every human that has ever born, was took in the most satanically devilish way as possible. Is as if I was made as a mistake; an ugly outcome to two drunken lovebirds who just happens to meet up and decided that it was Zeus time. Abandoned; nobody that I knew so far in that point of my life can qualify to get the badge of "father" and "mother". Life is a series of abuse. Each and every stage gets deeper and deeper to the maze of life. Each and every day I woke up as if disillusioned from a halcyon, an unrealistic dream of a family I can call my own. The pain only grows the more old I became, making it something of shackle in my hand, weighing me down.

I remember when I was in kindergarten. I remember the pale white beige walls filled with ABCs and 123s and many people who soon fade to the obscurity of unfired neurons. I remember when someone put down a spider in my desk and I cried seeing it. But a man, chivalrous enough to do the impossible, puts it away from me. That was Marco. He looks like a man that any woman can comfortably anchor their feelings, their qualia, and feel secure in his quite well built arms. He is a bit shy, socially challenged, but nonetheless seem to look like an honest, can-do-no-wrong guy. He always smiles at and greet people. He is a bit taller than me if I can recall. He seems like the perfect man, the perfect groom for me. But, I was wrong; sorely mistaken. It was one of the biggest mistake in my life; to let him into my life.

I remember when I was in primary school. I remember the grades that the teacher gave me, the report card that had to be taken by myself and my caretaker, as well as skateboarding. I only knew my uncle. He looks like a fat bloke with Winston Churchill like stature with an exceptionally twirled moustache. He owns a skateboard manufacturing company and bought me my first. It was turquoise with an orange stripe stretching vertically from the nose to the back of it. It was quite liberating to own something that isn't exactly endowed at birth; a trick my "father" did to save his face from begetting me; a fact I learned later in life. Marco excels. If I can give an analogy, in academic terms, he was like Michael Jackson. He helped me to get good grades whenever he got into the same class as me; three times, if I can recall.

If I want to recall.

I remember when I was in middle school. I remember I was a key player in the social dynamic of that institution. Echo Creek Academy, if I'm not mistaken. I was quite the centre of the attention there, getting to parties, socialising, and cool stuffs all around. It was at this time I got acquainted with Janna. She has this aura of mystique surrounding her. Her way of living, of talking; there's this snarky elegance to it, some sort of je ne sais quoi. I realised then, I fell in love with a woman. The qualia, so new and verily odd thing to do. A storm engulfed my inner self as I got to grips of the whole situation. Do I love her? Do I need to love her? I can't say. I remember when I tried to confess to her. She always had that lovingly annoying attitude at people's emotion, which I can do without at that time. I can never say it to her, until later in life.

I remember when I had my first kiss. That sensation, neurons overflowing from axons to dendrites with minerals and signals, as I dock my lips with Marco's, my first love. He confessed to me when we were in 8th grade and he decided to take us to the movie theatre. I was so scared looking at that film I hugged his arm as tightly as I can. Little that I knew that I want that off my body more than ever if I knew the course of my life. After our first date, I took him to the school prom and decided to make the move on him. Then, that. He knew he wanted me so bad. His face, so tense and young, expresses interest to me, in a form that he might've not known at that time. I just smirked at him. I was happy with him.

I remember when I was naïve like a small child as that demagogue told me to undress for "scientific reason". I remember the cold December night when he came to my house. His face, battle scarred, came to me as if he wasn't the boy I dated before. His smile, so... disgusting; its repulsing. I remember his growling demand; "Take it off now." I remember how he fondled me; like a kid in a natural museum, he touches everything he saw. I was terrified. At least in human terms, since he looks like an adult, it can be considered paedophilia. I can remember the blood gushing from a place I so deeply want to give to anyone who wouldn't leave me for someone they knew the night before; a one night stand, it seems. He slowly get his hands to do his ritual, using me as a sacrifice to Eros. I can scream as his magic increases in me. I am being raped.

I can remember his aura when he left. A fragrance of regret, suppressed sexual desire and vengeance. I remember the messy hair and the pyjamas ripped on the floor. The smell of Durex and Fiesta, haemoglobin and sperm marinated my whole private part and my bed. The scissor, which he accidentally left beside me, lays open at about 120. I snip myself from those magical chains and call 911. Ambulance came to my house and whisk me away to a nearby hospital. I told them, as objectively as possible, the whole story. But instead of a cavity check and a pat on the back, they put me in a padded cell.

Sick fucks!