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 o...
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