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1989. Sent to bed

 I remember our old house as an idyllic dwelling. A huge lawn ran up to a pond and there were trees either side. I remember it being sunny a lot when we lived there. It probably wasn’t. It was probably dreary alot of the time. In reality the house wasn’t idyllic but it was a decent semi detached house with a drive, garden and a garage. Pretty impressive how my parents afforded to buy it despite being so young. My dad showed me what happened to the fish we had in winter time. It wasn’t pleasant. I’m surprised a heron didn’t get them as a nice afternoon snack. There was a big wooden five bar gate that my dad had installed to keep me and my brother from drowning in the pond. Easier to do that than fill it in. We also had a rabbit but that ran away one firework night. My Mum would have been inside running the house and looking after us two. Not an easy job and I dare say she realised she had alot more to offer- not that I’m saying being a mum and running a house isn’t worthwhile work, but
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1993. A life defining moment- and not in a good way

 I can trace all of my decisions back to one moment in 1993. I can trace how I am as a person to this moment as well. This was the first time I started to change; to realise that our world is not perfect. I realised that actually, it’s a bit shit. A lot shit. This event is something that I still think about pretty much every single day. It doesn’t shape my day to day decisions but it has shaped who I am.  My brother and I were one school year apart. I think my parents had by this time forgotten how difficult it is to have children. Young ones anyway and decided to have a third. Personally I think any more than two and they start to gang up on you. Although my brother and I were pretty much self cleaning by this point so maybe they thought it’d be easy. I feel I’m making light of a difficult situation but I’m probably skirting around the issue before I write about it. Maybe I’m nervous. Despite this being probably one of the biggest things to ever happen to me, I’ve never written about
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1992-ish

 I know nobody will read this. That’s not the point. It’s an exercise in telling my story. It’ll be long and honest. It may even be brutal- depends on your tolerance of brutality I suppose. If nobody reads this I’m fine with it. I’m going to change the names. They’ll kill me if I don’t. Can I make one point clear- I’ve never murdered anyone- despite the title of this work. I have murdered insects though- which doesn’t seem to carry the same punishment, even though some would argue that it should. My message to them- how would you police it?  It didn’t start in 1992 but that’s where I’m starting. I would have been 8 years of age. Sun streamed through my arched window throwing shards of light onto my bedroom wall, blinding you if you happened to get in the way. My brother was outside, stuck to my Mum’s side- a trend that was to continue throughout most of his adult life. I’ve started here because I think it’s when I most felt at peace despite being only 8 years of age. Mum was outside an
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