Florence Collymore
No Other Choice

This story is dedicated to all victims of violence.
PREFACE: I AM A VICTIM

Being a victim is a mix of all kinds of different feelings. You feel yourself miserable, scared, stupid, weak, and disgusting. All emotions are vague and you cannot distinguish even the vividest difference.

No matter what victim you are.

A victim of domestic abuse.

A victim of sexual assault.

A victim of physical dominance.

A victim of bullying.

A victim of child abuse/neglect.

A victim of hate crimes.

A victim of people/sex trafficking.

A victim of terrorism.

And I must forget to mention many other types of victims.

I’m sorry for all of you. Truly sorry. However, let’s not forget that we have one another. We are actually all the same. We need help. We need family around. We need to be loved. I know that most of us don’t have it, so why don’t we all be the most lovely family in the whole universe. We are all capable of giving true love. We all know how the other person may feel. We all know each other at some point. Let’s not wait when our past abusers change, let’s be loved right away.

If you know a person who experiences abuse in his/her life, do not stay aside and help. You know what it is to feel that pain. It’s crucible and unbearable. Those people deserve to be treated well.

I want you to know as well that we believe you. We believe each word of yours. We believe each action of yours. Don’t be afraid to tell us your story because we know that your story is the right one.

Please, I’m begging you, don’t be afraid to ask for help because only you are capable of breaking that vicious circle.

Amen.

Lessons I learned from my family:

I learned that in order to get love and appreciation you need to cook, clean the house, wash dishes, and not show emotions.

Passing out is the best way to escape.

Learn morse code and how to unlock locks without a key.

Go to the gym to be strong.

Upper body strength is the most important strength.

No one cares about your dignity.

Meditate, it's the least you can do for yourself.

Don’t judge people, you don’t know their story.

It’s OKAY to be alone.

You can come back from rock bottom.

Domestic violence can take many forms.

A shelter is more than just a place to stay.

Finding someone to talk to is vitally important.

You cannot change them.

Don’t talk about your feelings with them.

Have a plan. Always.

Try to get into college.

Don’t listen to them.

It’s not your fault.

You don’t have to be a good girl, but it would be helpful.

CHAPTER ONE: CONFESSION

Good evening, guys. Or morning. Or afternoon. My name is Wrat Walker. Never have I ever heard a name uglier than mine. I have been living in Scranton, PA my whole life. My life always gave me miserable and challenging tasks. Beginning with family and ending with the job. Honestly, I didn’t handle them well. Destiny punched me in the face hundred and hundred times. And I just accepted it. I can’t say that I’m hard-working, conscientious, and so on. I was born in a family where the annual income was less than $4000. Imagine yourself. In a family where nobody cares about you. Neither mom nor dad. Thus, I feel like I can blame my parents for my ending-up place. Warning. You will either understand me and accept my actions or consider me insane and be happy for what I’ve got.

The first thing I want to say is that I’m writing this book for relief. I want to tell my stories to someone but I can’t. I’m so fed up with my family that I wanna kill each of them. And I will. I promise. When you finish reading this “book”, they’ll be all already dead. And I will be in jail because I committed those crimes and I must be punished. I’m a good citizen and respect the law. But also I didn’t wanna be a fraud like my family. I am not a coward. I am eager to possess all the virtues of a good man, so I am willing to begin with honesty.

Each chapter’s gonna be about each member of this messed-up family. Each chapter’s gonna end with the way I murdered them. I hope it’ll give you some food for thought. Maybe you will even come up with interesting ideas on how to murder annoying-you people. And last but not least, I know that there are even worse families than mine and that people suffer worse and so on. I know it. And I know that I’m not special nor unique. And I know that I’m not the main character as well as you. Let’s be honest. So just feel free to enjoy this life and kill those who bug you. But be careful with your choices and know that punishment will chase you if you do not come clean.

CHAPTER TWO: MOTHER

Meet Her

This is the worst part of my life. My dear mother. She drives me crazy. I can’t even describe it in words. Or maybe it’s just because I’m illiterate and never got a chance to learn English properly. This book I wrote with a dictionary by the way. So much hate I hold in myself for this human. It’s not a woman. It’s a literal snake that day by day eats your brain and soul, and nervous system.

Her name is Mia Walker. She is 56 years old, was born in my hometown, works as a cashier, is a heavy smoker, abuser, and for sure has a bunch of mental problems, including schizophrenia. She wasn’t diagnosed but if she had had the chance to live longer, she would have been diagnosed for sure. My mommy didn’t achieve anything. You clearly can see it because all her personal background fits in three sentences. She didn’t get into college for the first time, the second time, and the third time. Appreciation for trying. Her biggest accomplishment is being a clean freak. I know what I’m saying. She’s really proud of this title. She finds her worth in this and definitely wants everyone around her to be just like her. Irrational, right? She doesn't think this way. Mia seriously rates everyone by their cleanliness. And will judge you if you’re not like her. It’s actually really weird considering her lifestyle.

She’s a smoker. A heavy one. But listen, she is insecure about her age. I know that a lot of old people are concerned about this and they want to be young, and so on. But she smokes a lot. And when I said it, I meant it. Honey, how do you expect to look good when you smoke like a chimney? It's out of any basics of logic. But I’m not a bitterly resentful kid when a mommy didn’t give me candy. No more objective adjectives. I want to speak in a language of facts. So here we are. I wanna tell you the first situation that inflated my hate towards Mia Walker. Please, hear me out. Educate yourself on the topic of domestic abuse. Every 4th person is abused in some kind of way. It’s not just a story of my life. It’s a story of every 4th person on this planet.

Don’t You Ever Dare To Lie

I was 8 years old. It’s been 9 years since I hold this memory. I perfectly remember every single detail from that day. If you can relate to me, I’m sorry. Understand you. It sucks. But we have to handle these problems if we want to be successful, right? We don’t need mommy issues as well as daddy issues. But the problem is I’ve already got them. Nothing in my control anymore. I’ve got so many problems because of this person. And something tells me that it’s not okay to enjoy my life only if my parents are out of my sight. But let’s already start with a problem.

Have you ever been to any sport/hobby clubs? Parents love to send their kids there. But not mine. I always begged them to send me to Art School, Music School, and so on. We had money. Enough money to live well. We are middle class. Not impressive and obviously not the reason to show off. But, damn, they didn’t wanna spend a single penny on their own children. I, 7 years old, begged my mom to send me to basketball. It lasted over 8 months. And finally, they did it. I turned 8 and was so happy like I got a ticket to Disneyland. So a friend of mine and I went to our first training. Her mom escorted us. And, honestly, it was awesome. I still love basketball, and I guess I would still play if I wasn’t 5’2. Are you kidding, God? It’s like the minimum height. No space to get lower. So obviously I wasn’t that appreciated in those whole situations but I was a kid that didn’t care about anyone’s opinion.

We actually wanted to do basketball only because of the fact that we would be able to skip school due to competitions. Spoiler: I’ve never been to a single competition. But don’t worry. I was okay. It’s not the last reason to cut myself.

I don’t want to beat around the bush anymore. So read carefully, maybe you’ll think that it’s not a reason to kill your mom. If you think so, I will cut your throat. Literally. No one has the right to beat a child. You are a grown-up. You are several times bigger than me. You are several times older than me. Shame on you, freak. I’m sorry if you can’t find an equal rival and is willing to beat a kid who can’t even handle her own emotions due to age. But it did not bother you because you are a psycho, fake mother. Damn, I still beat around the bush but I’m trying to make you even more curious. Have no idea if I did because, again, I’m not a writer.

Winter

December 10

Wednesday

I even remember the day of the week. Impressive, isn’t it? I know. I remember every day when my mom beat me in a new way. Special days.

That day I was in my room with my sister, doing homework. The doorbell rings. I’m going to see who is there. Trying to look in a peephole. Mommy. Mommy with a right hand in gypsum. You will find out later how I remembered which hand. I open her door. See her crying and do not know what to do.

“Is everything okay?”, I asked.

“Don’t ya see?”, she answered as I was drunk and couldn’t notice her.

“Why did you freeze? Bring those bags in the kitchen.”

I take the bags. They are heavy. Sister comes to help me.

“What happened mommy?”

“Try to think logically. There is ice-crusted ground outside.”

I was so naive. I thought she just talked with me. But she just laughed and after that made jokes about me. Jokes about what? About my curiosity?

“You slipped on the ground,” I said and tried to hold back tears.

At that moment she hit me in the head. I was used to it. Nothing special. But this hit showed that she certainly slipped on the ground. I laughed after that. A grown-up woman slipped on the ground. Can’t you look at what you are stepping on? Thought my curious head.

Hitting wasn’t even the worst problem. The worst problem was that I had to take care of her because of her broken arm. Others refused to do it and I had no choice. I had to cook, clean, vacuum, dress her, wash her hair. I hated her and all this stuff. My school and homework did not bother her. How was I supposed to do all this stuff when I was 8 years old? I did not know how to ride a bike. What did you then expect me to cook? Ravioli? If I made a mistake, she would hit me. If I said something wrong, she hit me. She hit me every single day. I wish I had had a tumor because of this. I would have died and no more suffering. I was 8 when I had those thoughts in my head.

That day I had practice at 4:00 AM. I packed my backpack and waited for my friend to call me while my mom was doing something noisy with some man in another room. Did my mommy think that I was not hearing anything? Did she think that I was 2 years old and would not remember it? She was moaning and screaming so hard. It wasn’t my dad. She cheated on him all the time. And beat me each time after cheating so that I don’t tell my dad. It’s her way of coping with the immoral actions she performed. Some people go to psychologists but she chose this option. I was little and had no idea why she was beating me because of what she did.

So practices, in order to escape hell, were my dream as soon as I got home from school.

This time I was even happier to get out of the apartment.

When I reached the spot where my friend and I always meet together, I was thirty-five minutes earlier. So I had to wait. It was winter. Minus fifteen degrees. Extremely cold, considering that I didn’t have a winter coat. I was wearing that spring coat for 3 years. It was a bit small for me and definitely not for that day’s weather. Lucky me, she came ten minutes earlier. But she wasn’t alone. As she told me, she came with an excellent idea. This idea was to skip basketball practice. I, as a kid who had never before even had thoughts about it, was shocked. How dare you skip basketball practice.

“But we wanted to skip school because of basketball! You don’t think clearly!”, I said.

“Yes, I know our plan! I wanted to skip only today's practice. Nobody is going to find out. We’re gonna go to the cafe instead. What do you think?”, she enthusiastically answered.

“I don’t know. It’s too risky. I don’t want my mom to beat me because of this.”

“She won’t beat you because she’s not going to know it. Nobody will tell her!”

“Are you sure?”

“Like never before!”

I agreed. I don’t know exactly why. I just thought that it would be extremely cool to go to the cafe on a weekday. I had no money though.

So we went to a local cafe and when we took off our clothes and the waitress came to us to take an order, only then I said that I had no money. My friend had some, but it wasn’t enough to order anything for two people. We apologized and left the cafe.

“Why didn’t you take the money?”, my friend asked.

“Because I am supposed to be practicing!”

“Don’t you have pocket money for situations like these? My parents always give me money if I urgently need something.”

“Sorry but no. They don’t give me money at all. Mom said that I should earn my own money already.”

“But you are in third grade.”

Cool, isn’t it?

“She doesn’t care.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s rather buy hot tea on the street. I’m sure we have enough money for two cups.

So we bought two cups of super hot tea. Want to say ahead, I don’t like tea. I hate it. But I didn’t wanna upset my friend because she was buying it, not me, and being mean and picky is bad.

I actually didn’t drink it. I split some tea each time she turned away.

But it was a good day. Definitely. I don’t spend much time with my friends because my mom doesn’t let me, so I really appreciated this opportunity.

When I got home, mom was in her room, lying in the bed. I said hi and went to my room. In a minute she called me. I was terrified. She could beat me again because I was too loud with my books.

“How was your practice?”

“Good.”

“What did you do?”

“We were practicing different techniques-”

“You weren’t at practice. You lying. Your coach called me. You didn’t show up.”

“Mom, I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. It will never, I swear, will never happen again.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She stood up and my heart just tore apart into many pieces. But I didn’t run. I stood there ‘cause I know that if I had run, It would have been worse.

She grabbed my hair and with all her strength threw me on the floor, pulling me to the front door. And started beating me with her hand in gypsum. That’s how I remember which hand was broken. By the way, it was painful as never before. Roughly twenty times in the head and way more in the stomach, hands, legs. She repeated something like “For what we spend our money? You know how much money you waste. Bitch. Asshole. Slut. (Slut in 8 years old).”

Then she was hitting the door with me. And then threw me out of the apartment. The door closed. I thought my dad was at work and when he came back he would open the door. But he actually was at home. He heard everything and didn’t help me out. I was able to get home in the morning when he went to work. And instead of daddy’s love, I got a big smack in the face. Crying I got in and, lucky me, mommy was sleeping. I packed a backpack, changed my clothes, and went to school. WIthout breakfast because there was no food at home.

No Escape

I don’t want to get into details of my “poor” childhood. I honestly feel like I had a lot of reasons to kill her. This and previous stories are just the most highlighted. Maybe tearful at some point. And I don’t want you guys to feel compassionate towards me but I doubt you are going to do that.

Anyways, situations like the previous, perhaps less severe, have happened on a daily basis. I was so sick of all of it. I was a child. I wanted happiness and childhood, and my parents’ love. Why does a mommy, who gave birth, didn’t sleep, didn’t get an abortion, want her own child to suffer that much? And it is not just about me. Over millions and millions of children get treatment like mine. Worse or a bit better. One question still is not answered “ Why then did you keep kids if you hate them so much? It’s stupid.”

The second huge TOP-reason why I killed my mother is below. But I want to point out the fact that everyone is different, and different situations are perceived differently. So you maybe won’t agree with me but it’s okay. That’s all.

It happened in the summer of 2017 when I was 16. Those days were literal hell. My mom, my dad, sister, and two brothers were at home. Agnes was 7, Steve was 17, and Elon was 36. Elon decided to spend a summer with us but rather he didn’t. I didn’t and still don’t love any of them. I’ll tell you why in the next chapters. Right now it’s all about the woman that against my wish pushed me out of her body. Let’s be gentlemen.

I was always a rebellious girl. I like it about myself. But unfortunately, I had to get rid of this trait. She didn’t like when I was curious, adventurous, and so on.

That day on August 13th I ate the last piece of bread and didn’t wash my one plate. How ridiculous it didn’t sound, it cost me a lot.

Where to begin? Let’s come back two days earlier. August 11th. Mom’s vacation ended. She went to work, and I was the happiest person in the world. Just imagine spending all the days with your mommy ‘cause you have no friends to go out with. My friend with whom I went to basketball did not want to have anything to do with me anymore. I guess you know why. But the happiness wasn’t too long. She came back in 3 hours, crying and screaming. I was frustrated. I didn’t want to ask her what happened and I didn’t. But the situation became worse. She didn’t go to work the following day and the day after the following day. As I found out later, she quit the job, or better to say she was fired because the manager made a remark. It drove her insane and she started screaming, breaking stuff around, and attacked a couple of customers.

How did I find it out? I went to that shop to buy some groceries and the manager said that I’m not welcome here and it’s better to leave. I asked why and he told me the story. I was super disappointed and furious. I wanted to throw up but it wouldn’t have changed my status in that store.

When I came back, my emotions were on the highest level. I started yelling at my mom. Don’t make me bad in this story. I was yelling because I was the only one who had the job. A 16-year-old girl will take care of herself and her family. Steve didn’t work, even though we were the same age and live in the same freaking house. Elon had a job but he didn’t help us. He just loved spending summer with us ‘cause he didn’t have to pay his own bills. But it’s not our topic right now.

When I was yelling at my mom, I regretted it 100500 times. She became insane, I swear. She took the knife under her pillow and wanted to stab me. Lucky me, I ran away and closed myself in my and my siblings’ room. Not lucky me, in the room, was Steve. He didn’t care that mom was with a knife. We all knew that she loved Steve and wouldn't hurt him. I begged him not to open the door but he was bigger and stronger than me. Steve hit me three times in the head so that I almost passed out and did open the door…

When I saw Mia, I eventually passed out.

I woke up, as I then found out, 9 hours later. All in bruises, cuts, with mind-blowing headache, stomach ache, and toothache. It was August 13th. Almost midnight. Everyone was sleeping and I was in the corner, sobbing and cursing my life. I didn’t eat enough or even I can say at all for three days. So obviously I went to the kitchen to find even something small. My metabolism slowed down a long time ago, so I didn’t need a lot of food. I was extremely happy when I found a piece of bread and some butter in the fridge. It was everything we had. I swear I enjoyed that ‘sandwich’ for 10 minutes. Small bites and careful chewing. Then I went to bed and was woken up at 12 AM.

My mom hollered at Agnes. She thought that the youngest one had eaten bread. Agnes was crying and mom started beating her. She didn’t have rules. She hit her in the same way as me. Mia is a genuine misogynist. Brothers were loved and taken care of whereas my sister and I were constantly abused in any possible way.

I was still a human being and I didn’t want to end up like my parents so I decided to plead guilty. But damn, I am the only one who works and I can’t get food. I’m not guilty. But she didn’t think so.

I quickly entered the kitchen and told everything. I even tried to assure her that I earn money and that I can eat what I want in this house. It would have been so much better if I just had shut my mouth and accepted that it’s my fault.

“Mom. I’m the only one who brings money home. I didn’t eat for a couple of days and it was just a small piece of bread. One small bite.”, it’s everything I said.

“I’m going to work and there’s nothing to eat.”, she said really quietly. I was impressed.

Maybe it’s the end of our constant brawls and clashes. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

“I was supposed to buy groceries but I passed out for nine hours and woke up at midnight.”, I said super calmly in order to not provoke her.

She was provoked by those words.

“So that I’m the bad guy here, right?”

“No, I didn-”

“You freaking piece of garbage. I raised you, feed you, didn’t sleep–”

“And beat me every single day! When was the last time you said something good to me? You never raised me! I’ve been working since I was nine–”

She didn’t listen to me until the end. She lunged at me, started choking. Mia was stronger than me as well as taller. I couldn’t compete with her at all. I was just really and genuinely hoping that she would choke me to the death. Although I didn’t wanna die like that, not to mention that it’s a lot of suffering, it was better than keep living with them. But this bitch did not want me to die. Who’s then going to take care of all of them? So she almost choked me not the point when I die but to the point when I pass out. I learned that passing out is the best way to escape. I did it a lot. And learned how to do this. But be careful because if you live in a toxic household, after passing out you probably will end up in weird places as well as me.

I woke up tied to the radiator. She freaking tied me with handcuffs to the radiator. And honestly, the most disgusting thing was that she had sex in those handcuffs. Bruh. In retrospect, it was funny though. But at that moment I realized that no one was home, I was unconscious for just an hour, and I’m late for work. It’s the last thing that I wanted. I was so freaking afraid that I’m gonna lose my job that I started crying and screaming. It lasted for four to five minutes. Then I realized that It didn’t help me. I was 20 minutes late which is a lot but at the same time it wasn’t enormously late, so maybe I wouldn’t lose my job.

Lucky me, I know how to unlock locks without a key. I actually even know morse code. When you are growing up in a toxic household, you learn everything that can help you to survive. But also it is cool to show off for a bit around your classmates. I always told them that my dad taught me that. Everyone's dad taught someone something. And I didn’t want to be an exception.

And one more piece of advice for you, always bear with yourself a hairpin. I had it. Without it, I dare to guess, I would die tied up to the radiator because I know that nobody in my family would have helped me. They were all in alliance with my mom. I even thought that I should not have exposed myself and let my sister be punished. But I’m not like them. I can’t let an innocent person be punished for my misdemeanor, albeit it was really tempting.

So I just used my skills and freed myself. I got to work 56 minutes later. The manager asked me why it happened. And I told the truth. I do not want to lie anymore. I do not want to do what people tell me. It’s enough. Enough allowing other people to “bridle” me.

It was that moment when I started planning how to kill my mom. With a lot of pain and suffering.

How To Kill Your Awful Mom

I wanted everything to look like suicide. So later I realized that I won’t be able to torture my mom. Because it obviously is gonna look like a murder. Saying in advance that I, at the age of 22 told the police all the truth. I have a life sentence in prison. But this story is gonna be told sooner.

Two weeks after I finished my plan. With hindsight, I comprehend that the plan was perfect. It was August 31st. I was going to push her out of the window. No bruises, no cuts. No one would understand that somebody pushed her. No evidence on her body. But it had to be performed at night in order to not get any witnesses. The most complicated part was the pushing. She was bigger and stronger than me, so I needed to trick her to come to the window but also she needed to lean over the windowsill. At least 30% of her body needs to be outside. In other cases, I would not have nailed the pushing.

It was the night of September 1st. I stole my mom’s phone. So she started looking for it.

01:13. I’m in the kitchen. Hear her steps reaching the kitchen. She enters.

“Do you know where my phone is?”

I had to make her furious. I couldn’t lose this opportunity.

“I don’t know where your phone is. You always leave it in visible places, try to use your brain.”

“What did you say?”

“TRY-TO-USE-YOUR-BRAIN”

She hit me two times in the head. Great! She went to the exit. It’s the moment, do it, Florence.

“Look what I got!”, I shouted, showing her phone.

She turned out, saw the phone, and furiously ran to me. At that moment, I threw the phone out of the window. She leaned over the windowsill exactly as I wanted her to do. And I did my job. It was super easy to take her legs when 45% of her body was outside.

No one woke up. I wrote a farewell note. Explained all the suffering in her life and that she couldn’t live like that anymore. I also wrote that a dad could take care of us and we didn’t need her in order to survive. I made her look better. I didn’t want to do it, though.

I only want to say that it could have been performed way better but I’m not an assassin. I did my best, truly. And it worked. I killed her eventually, and everyone thought that it was suicide. No job, no food, her husband beat her. Everything was perfect. I’ve never been so happy. The only thing that upsets me was that Steve, Elon, and Agnes were frustrated because of her death. Like, guys, she was an awful mom. Everyone noticed that.

We didn’t have a funeral. It was too expensive, so we just buried her in a 20$ coffin. Sorry, but she didn’t deserve any better. Eventually, everyone forgot about her and we moved on.

CHAPTER THREE: FATHER

Meet Him

This guy is insane. He is the first reason why I hate men so much. Especially white males who think they are the kings of the world. All the children actually are accidents. Moreover, he said it to each one a lot of times. I have no idea why. Just wear a freaking condom. Or if you do not have money, just avoid sex.

Abel is 63. He’s got gray hair from his 40s, a crazy wrinkled face, and a stupid-looking countenance. Typical short man (something around 5’5), curses every five minutes, bad-spoken. He literally can’t put five words together. He is a rapist, junkie, and abuser. He got a degree in college and even had a great job as an engineer but it didn’t last long. He became an alcoholic and several months later a junkie. He awfully hates women, blames each thing on them, and just feels like men are better than women. He says that we are extremely emotional, not hard-working, too soft, and are created to give birth to children and be a good wife.

His degree is his biggest achievement. Albeit, he sold it to a random guy to buy drugs. I don’t know how he managed to do it because his name is written there but whatever.

Since I was five years old, I was raped by him on a daily basis. It felt like he exactly for this purpose kept me and didn’t let my mom get an abortion. It is so freaking gross and embarrassing to tell this but I need to. 97% of all girls and women have been in any way sexually or physically assaulted. Almost the third part was raped, including me. Moreover, men, if you read this, just know, it’s safer for us to be aware of all men in order to not be taken advantage of. I say all men because you never know exactly who is going to do something with you. I know that it can be offensive but you have never been in our shoes. You don’t know what we feel, so basically you can’t blame us for that. In addition, a lot of men are also scared of other men. It makes me feel heartbroken to say that we have to adapt to this kind of world simply because we do not have other choices. So be respectful towards everyone, not just men you are afraid of. You have all the rights as long as you do not make others uncomfortable. It is that easy.

Men like dad deserve to be burnt in hell, then boiled and cut into millions of pieces. You are not a man, you are not a human if you dare to treat other people in an inappropriate and awful way. Amen.

Come Closer

I guess you already know what I am going to talk about. Sexual assault. It began when I was 5 as I said previously. Approximately 50 times I was raped by my dad. Fun fact: not only he has raped me. A lot of people told me that I am beautiful. Moreover, dad one time said to me that if I hadn’t been his daughter, he would have married me. Just imagine how much he's messed-up. After that, I always wear baggy clothes, never wash my hair, and talk with a really brute voice. It didn’t help me.

Not make women look like shit, even though most of them are shit, I was once raped by a woman. However, according to statistics, there are 99% psychos among women-rapists. Thus, I encountered a psycho. The experience was extremely weird, compared with men. But I told you that later.

So let’s kick off the first-reason story. I clearly remember that moment. Whereas a lot of other girls say that their brain just blocks all the memories from childhood. They don't remember the rape but also the whole childhood. I think I can clearly see the recollection because this is my dad, I see him every day, it has happened more than once, and I was absolutely sober each time.

When it happened for the first time, I, indeed, was sober. I could not prove him because I was a kid. I didn't even have boobs. I wasn’t mature even close. This pedofile just used me.

He picked me up from kindergarten where he was really amiably talking with my kindergartener. But I was always with some bruises and cuts and I thought that she would do something. I was sure that she would notice and take me away from this family. Unfortunately, that has never happened. I guess it is because of their salary. My kindergarten was utterly cheap and, I suppose, they weren’t paid enough. Then why did they have to care about children who were sexually and physically abused? They didn’t have to but if they did, they would save me and I wouldn’t end up like that, writing this not a book but rather a memoir. Really short memoir because my life ended three months ago when I got to jail with a life sentence.

The First Reason

He picked me up earlier. Usually, you have to take your kids at 5:00 AM. He did it two hours earlier, explaining that I had to go to Art School. I have never been to Art School. To say that it was weird, I can’t say this. I was a toddler who hated that place as I guess, everyone else. So I was happy to get out of there.

When I got home, he was really gentle. I have never seen him like that. He offered me his help to change my clothes. In kindergarten, all moms help their children to change their clothes. Consequently, I agreed. We were alone. No one was at home. He put me on his knees, which wasn’t super necessary. I was a bit big for this. He placed me in the way where I was pressed in his thigh. I was sitting like I was riding on a horse. You can imagine this because it’s hard for me to tell those details.

“I wish I forgot that moment but I remember it super vividly. Nevertheless, it’s okay. I’m a grown-up kiddo. I can handle this. Though I couldn’t when I was five.”

I felt that something was wrong. Dad had never been like this. He helped me to change my clothes. But still, he kept me on his knees, so I escaped. But he was angry because of this.

I entered the kitchen. He followed me. While he was cooking, I was doing my homework. He constantly looked back at me. It was creepy as hell. When he finished, I quickly ate and started to get ready for basketball practice. I tried to be as quick as possible but I mishandled this task. He began to ask me different questions, such as “Who are you a friend with?” “Whom do you tell about your day?”. When I told him that I’m busy and needed to go, he went crazy. He closed the door with the key, took away my key, and went to the bedroom. A 6-year-old girl aka me was extremely disappointed. Why does an adult act himself as a kid? I was like, what’s wrong with you? I want to go out with my friend. You never cared about me. Plus I started going out with friends two months ago. It sounds weird, I know but it is true.

In order to get out of that apartment, I went to the bedroom where he was. I still regret that decision. He caught me and threw me on the bed. My daddy had assaulted me before, so I knew that something was going to happen. I honestly do not want to talk about it because it’s a woefully traumatizing experience for me. I can just say that he raped me that day. It was a bright and sunny day. That’s it.

What Led Me

It hasn’t happened once. It was happening all the time. I couldn’t bear it anymore. Sorry for those who understand how I felt. I am extremely lucky that the police were not able to find out that it was us. Many victims of domestic abuse end up in jail just because they want a better life for themselves and had to kill those who caused the unbearable pain. In this situation, I am thankful to God for helping me.

Constant abuse by my dad was something out of line. I cried every single day and even more times wanted to kill myself.

He did not just abuse me. He abused everyone who was surrounding him. He did it with my sister. With my brothers when they weren’t old enough to resist him. He did it with his wife. With random women on the street. He felt completely unrestrained. He could touch them, hit them if something was wrong. He was real trash. He wasn’t a man nor human. He didn’t want to socialize. No friends, no relatives, no manners, nothing. He was nothing and has got nothing. I feel woefully embarrassed that I’m related to him.

Murder By Accident

I or better to say we killed him roughly one month after a mom’s “suicide”. I almost got caught before the reprisal of my siblings. But everything is okay right now, so do not worry if you do. I frankly was relieved after that. So many shitty situations happened in my life. I got such a great immune system that even a liar detector did not work on me. I was able to answer all the questions as they wanted me to. Later about it.

After his wife’s death, he started drinking even more. Almost every day he got home absolutely wasted which actually wasn’t really surprising. But one day he decided to beat the hell out of each member of the family. He started to beat my younger sister, then me, and then he became so brave and stupid that he started beating his sons which was kind of crazy. But it was fun. For the first time, my siblings and I had the opportunity to unite because we had the same enemy. However, that man took a knife, a really sharp one, and threw it at Steve. He got the knife in the arm. Gosh, he was injured really badly. The blood started to leak. That was the moment when I knew our dad was not going to survive through that night. And I was happy to realize it. Every fiber of my body was feeling relief. It was kind of shocking to be there, surrounded by the people who wanted revenge, witnessing the scene of murdering and being an accomplice.

That man was wasted and couldn’t control himself. He passed out three times. And when he was passed out for the last time, Steve ended up cutting his throat. It was awful. You should’ve seen that scene. It was disgusting. But we were all there together. Plus he ended up suffering, so we all helped Steve to get rid of the body. That’s what families do. They help each other out. I thought that after that we would always be friendly with each other but no. I’m not living in a fairytale, so I had to suffer new pain.

CHAPTER FOUR: AGNES

Better If I Ate Her In A Womb

The sentence above perfectly describes my relationship with my sister. Moreover, it goes both ways. I would’ve been over the moon if she had eaten me. And she would’ve been extremely excited if she hadn’t been born alive. You probably guess that everyone has such a relationship among siblings. But how dare you say it before I even started digging in. So probably you are allowed to say it after reading this chapter.

She is 19, only 2 years younger than me. But it feels like she is 35 and has tried everything out here. Agnes started smoking at 11 years old, drinking at 12. She tried weed at 14 and went to harder drugs at 17. Honestly, she was almost dead because of them when I killed her. So, I feel like I was a blessing for her. She had her first boyfriend at 13, first kiss at 13, and first sex at 13. She got a boyfriend in March, and a kiss and sex were in April. Pretty lucky girl, isn’t she? Or better to use the past tense ‘wasn’t she’ because she is dead. Stupid joke, I know. You know what? I just realized that this whole situation with my family actually kind of seems like “Shameless”. I haven’t watched “Shameless” but I heard a lot about this TV show, so I feel like it seems like this. All members of the family are messed up. Each of them is an embodiment of some kind of sin. But they didn’t kill one another which is good.

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