Mommy Issue
Pathetic, miserable little shit.
The little closet became his sanctuary, a cocoon of darkness where he could escape the tumultuous world outside. His small frame trembled as the cacophony of anger and bitterness enveloped the room.
The muffled shouts of his parents seeped through the cracks like venomous serpents slithering beneath the door.
His heart raced in sync with their furious exchange, each word a painful sting that etched itself into his fragile psyche. He pressed his tiny hands against his ears, desperate to block out the cruel symphony of their discord.
The darkness around him seemed to grow denser, wrapping its cold arms around him like a shroud of protection.
Tears welled up in his innocent eyes, the saltiness mingling with the dust in the closet.
He wished he could make it all stop, that he could banish the anger and replace it with the warmth of a loving embrace. But he was just a child, trapped in the suffocating grip of a world that seemed to have no room for his tender heart.
As the voices outside escalated, his breath quickened, each exhalation a whisper of fear. He felt so small, so insignificant, and pathetic in the face of their anger.
Hours stretched by, and the intensity of their argument gradually subsided like a fading storm. Eventually, the room fell silent, the air heavy with the residue of their anger.
Until...
Whispers.
The child remained nestled in the darkness of the closet, his small form tense with a mixture of fear and confusion. The absence of his father's booming voice was both a relief and a source of uncertainty.
But then he heard more whispers.
His heart skipped a beat, and he strained to make sense of the faint, muffled words that danced on the edges of his consciousness.
At first, he couldn't decipher their meaning, the syllables blending together in a dissonant chorus. Then, with a sickening jolt, the child's innocence was shattered as the truth unfolded before him.
The whispers weren't just any conversation—they were intimate, laden with a passion that he couldn't comprehend.
His mother's voice, once filled with anger and resentment, now took on a different tone—one that sent a shiver down his spine. The words twisted and curled around him, painting a vivid picture of a world he was too young to understand.
His mother's laughter now echoed with an unsettling resonance.
The child's breath caught in his throat as he realized the unthinkable: his mother was engaging in a lustful escapade with another man right there in the same room he hid, the same room where his parents' fights had raged.
In the stifling darkness of the closet, he felt trapped—captive not only to the physical confines of the space but also to the raw emotions swirling around him. He clamped his hands over his ears, desperate to drown out the damning whispers and moans that threatened to consume him.
As the forbidden encounter continued, the child's world shattered into fragments of disbelief and heartache. The sanctuary he had sought within the closet had become a chamber of torment, a place where the harsh realities of adulthood intruded upon the purity of his childhood.
Cheater.
He understood what it meant now. He understood the names his father screamed at his mother now.
A tramp. A whore with the clap. A slut who slept with any man she saw.
And even him.
His father called him a bastard. He called him a son of a prostitute.
He understood now. It was his mother's fault, after all. That was the reason why his father beat her, screamed at her, and even put his hands on him.
She was the reason.
That bitch.
BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!!
She left.
That woman left with her new lover, leaving him with his father. And after that, no one else was there to be punished besides himself. Without his mother around, he had to take on his father's anger.
He couldn't help it.
He understood.
His anger festered like a venomous serpent, coiled and waiting, nurtured by the very soil of his father's bitter loathing. Each of his heartbeats stoked the flames of his malevolence. The seed of his father's hatred had taken root within him, a dark bloom that thrived on resentment and spite.
It twisted his thoughts, warped his perceptions, and cast a sinister shadow over his every interaction. He was becoming a mirror image of the very source of his torment, the embodiment of the acrimony that had poisoned his world.
As he grew, so did his rage, an all-consuming force that threatened to consume him whole.
Now he remembered.
The first time he pulled that trigger... it was because he had noticed something in his first victims' car.
A boy.
Why else would a man and a woman go out of their way, outside the comfort of their homes, if not for their clandestine affairs?
Risking being caught outside in the open, bringing their son, and subjecting the boy to their immoral behavior.
He pulled the trigger.
Dirty whore.
Dirty whore.
Dirty whore!
He saw the boy awakened. He saw him try to awaken his mother... and then uncle.
And he ran away.
Like the boy, he ran.
But he came back.
He came back six years later for another killing, another couple. Different location... the same situation inside a car.
He shot them. He stabbed the woman dozens of times... and then shoved random things he found around the place inside her vagina.
This time, it was deliberate. Planned. Premeditated.
He became a real murderer.
No one could stop him. Running rampage for a whole 17 years. Until he was caught one day. Funnily, not because of what he did. It was because of his drug usage over the years.
When he walked out of the prison, he was not as young and strong as he was. And right after, he lost his ability to walk. He had to stop.
He couldn't go back.
That was what he thought when he slowly closed his eyes by the end of his life. He was relieved that he was never caught. But still, what a pity.
He died.
He thought it was over.
But he was wrong. It was actually just a new beginning for him. Here, in a world of his own. He didn't know how or why he was chosen. All he knew was that he had the power to continue to be himself.
To do whatever he wanted to those worthless women. Treating them like what they were.
He could continue punish them for their sinful deeds.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
THUNK!
The man opened his eyes after a serious blow to his head. Impossible. No one should be able to enter this level of his consciousness. He had full control of this realm!
And that was when he saw him.
A man with a golf club resting on his shoulder.
With a look of disgust, he mocked, "Where I came from, your condition is called a severe Mommy Issue."