Evil is Hereditary

I think evil might be hereditary.

Ten years ago, when I was only nine, I watched as my father cut my little brother into pieces and cooked him on the stove.

I had forgotten about this incident till just yesterday, when something about cannibals on the news unearthed the dark memory from deep within my brain.

It was just the three of us at the time. Mom had left to be with another man, a man I would later learn was the real father of my little brother.

Dad had just stared at Benji as he ate his Mac and Cheese, his face growing redder and redder.

Suddenly he slammed his hand on the table and before I knew it was at Benji's side.

I didn't cry when he stabbed him, just stared in shock as the knife went into his little chest over and over.

It wasn't until he started to cut him up that I started wailing, an uncontrollable howl that went on and on as this red-faced stranger I no longer recognized as my father sliced bits of my sweet little brother away.

When there was nothing left of Benji but raggedy bits of flesh and sinew I finally stopped crying. I tried to run out the kitchen door but my father grabbed me by the collar and made me sit down as he cooked all the bits of Benji, one by one.

I don't think I would've forgotten the incident, as horrific as was, except that bastard made me eat Benji too.

After 'dinner' my father sent me to bed, where I closed my eyes and convinced myself it had all been just a bad dream.

When I awoke the next morning I was convinced that was all it was.

After going downstairs and seeing no trace of blood or bones I knew it was nothing but a horrific nightmare.

But then Benji didn't come down to breakfast.

That's when I blacked out.

I woke up with no memory of the incident. My father said Benji had run away. He told the cops Benji had missed his mother so terribly that he ran out in the night and we hadn't seen him since.

When I was questioned I just agreed with what my father had said, because what other explanation could there be?

I had always wondered what happened to my little brother. Until yesterday, anyway.

Now I finally have the answers. The answers to all the questions I've had over the years.

Now I know why I always had an overwhelming urge to bite my classmates in grade school. Why in high school when my friends were staring at Milly Anderson's boobs I was staring at her arm, thinking it looked deliciously similar to a chicken leg. Why I hit my girlfriend over the head and stored her body in my freezer, taking out chunks of her for special occasions.

Now I know none of this is my fault.

Because I think evil might be hereditary.