We have to stop meeting like this. Anyway, I'm on my fourth mission. My job is to read Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway. An interesting read if you get the chance. If I was to draw a comparison between my story and Hemingway's, I'd say manipulation is a big factor. Little by little you gather a piece of the insane puzzle I call my life. Hopefully you're entertained for that is my goal. And hopefully I gradually grow in my writing. Now my friends, on with the story. Also, don't be afraid to comment whatever you think. Whether you believe it's good or bad, I'll be waiting to read them:)
WHEN THE KILLER WAS BORN Believe it or not, I was raised to be the perfect child. My emotions were to be in check, my opinions to myself, and my voice always to a low tone. I couldn’t disagree or that would be disrespectful, I only speak when asked to speak, and no one was to know what happened to me within the household. “Bedouens, are you afraid of me?” my mom asked one day. Yes, I was terrified of her, but I can’t say that. She’d kill me. “Why do you say that,” I replied buttoning up my school shirt. My mom was in the bathroom. These are my earliest memories so I don’t recall everything. “Because I want you to be,” she responded. Well it worked. When I was around my mom, I could hardly breathe. I recall how one time in church, my stomach started to ache. But my mom told me to stand on my feet for God, so I did and didn’t sit back down. My stomach was killing me to the point where I started slowching. My mom noticed and asked me what was wrong. “I’m okay,” I lied. My mom went back to praising God, But a few seconds later, she noticed me clenching my stomach. “Bedouens, tell me what’s wrong with you now,” she demanded. Out of fear that she’d hurt me more than this stomach ache, I told her. “My stomach hurts that’s all,” I answered. She told me to sit back down and that If my stomach was hurting this whole time, I could of just taken a seat. “That’s dangerous Bedouens. You never know if it was something that can kill you. Don’t put yourself through pain like that,” she told me. My mom is a haitian woman who has a heavy accent. And she gets angry, really fast and stays angry for really long. Back to the time when she was in the bathroom and I was getting ready for school, I didn’t know how to tie my shoes at that time. So, she called me over to the bathroom so she can tie them for me. I have no idea why but I took my time getting to her. Once I reached the door of the bathroom, my mom got impatient with me and pulled me and struck me in the stomach. Not just anywhere in the stomach though. She hit me between the lower part of the chest and upper part of the stomach. I felt like my soul had left my body. I instantly fell to the ground, looking dazed. I assume I looked dazed because right after, my mom apologized. “She never apologizes, this must be serious,” I thought to myself. There was one more time I could remember when my mom apologized for hitting me. If you don’t know already, I’m visually impaired. But I can see better out my right eye than left. Now I believe it’s due to me being more right dominant but when I was younger, I blamed my mom. I use to lie a lot because my mom made this rule. If you tell the truth, you won’t get a beating. I tried telling the truth and still got a beating. So at least with lying, I had a better chance of escaping a beating. I don’t exactly remember what happened, but one day, my mom was beating me in the bathroom, and hit me in my left eye with the belt. For a few seconds I couldn’t see out of my left eye. She stopped when she noticed and ran to get me an ice pack. She apologized and stopped beating me. Now I’m sorry if all those stories bored you. Honestly, I don’t like going back to this day. This is why I like to hurt other women. Particularly ones I start to like. I have a phrase for why I’m sadistic and it goes like this; “If I love you, then I must hurt you. Because the one who loved me, was the same one to hurt me,”. Anyways, again I digress. It was night time, my little brother and I were watching tv. Scooby doo was our favorite cartoon. My stomach growled, so I entered the kitchen to fix myself a bowl of cereal. My aunt was on the sofa behind my brother. It’s a tradition in our family to have the captain crunch cereal in a jar instead of a box. I grabbed the jar and accidentally spilled all the cereal all over the floor. Hearing the commotion, my mom ran to the kitchen. “What happened!” she yelled. Shaking at the sound of her voice, I quietly answered. “Sorry, I dropped the cereal,” I answered. I don’t know why she got so upset, maybe it was a bad day at work for her or something. Because the next thing she did was grab me by the throat, and drag me to the bathroom. I couldn’t speak, because I was trying to apologize the whole time but I couldn’t breathe. But that wasn’t the worst part, that’s not what turned me into the monster I am today. She grabbed a bucket, filled it up with cold water, and proceeded to hold my head under said water. When your body isn’t getting any breath, it will try anything and everything to get that breath. But I was just a little boy, my mom was way stronger than me. I feel like crying right now but I won’t give her the satisfaction. I thought I was going to die. Whatever death was at that time, I was about to meet it. Not being able to breathe was the worst feeling I ever felt and for it to be done by someone who says they love you. That made it even worse. She stopped eventually, but that night, she didn’t apologize. Maybe because there was no physical scar for her or anyone to see. But her or even I at the time didn’t know the mental scar it left on me. Not so much now, but there are times when I can’t breathe when i sleep and feel like I’m going to die right in my bed. There are times throughout the day when I feel someone’s hands around my neck, squeezing my life away. And there are times where all I feel is a cold wind blowing through my chest as if there was a whole in place of my heart. That is when I feel like losing, losing control. Over time, I’ve gotten better with controlling the urge to hurt people. Back then, the only way I would be satisfied, was if that girl I liked, would die by my hands. But after the eighth grade incident, I had to learn how to tame myself. And being sexually sadistic allowed me to. Here’s how it works, If you’re a guy, I’m not sexually sadistic toward you. I’m just extremely competitive, like if we were to box, I will give my one hundred percent. And if we ever had beef to the point where you wanted to fight me, I would let loose on you. For females, if I find you attractive even the slightest, I’ll want to hear, feel, and watch you suffer. I wouldn’t want to kill you, not anymore at least. I know, scary. That’s why I broke up with my first and only girlfriend a couple of months back. A lot of little boys messed her mind up, she was extremely insecure, but I stuck around. Because I saw something in her. I saw a strong, vibrant, woman. But I broke up with her for three reasons. One, she drained me of my character. Two, I no longer had time for her, and three she might of said she’s okay with my sadistic side, but she’s not as submissive as she believes. So to not harm her, I left her. And if you’re in my class, you would of seen me crying in class. I was crying because that same girl I saw as this beautiful flower just waiting to bloom, proved me wrong. I went to an alternative school because I got banned from Upper Darby School District. That alternative school raised me, they helped me becoming the independent man I am today. They gave me the values and morals I carry with me. They became the family that I so desperately needed. And my ex, she knew this more than anyone else. Well on Thursday morning, the coordinator of school banned me from ever visiting them. The coordinator is like a mother to me, that entire school is my family. They’ve known me for five years straight. And when I heard that I wasn’t allowed to come back because of some spun up lie made by my ex and her friend, I was furious, saddened, and disappointed. My ex, due to some petty, devious, and childish behavior, ruined my life. By taking my family away from me. She can spread all of these rumors about me sending nudes to her underage friend all she wants, I don’t care because that’s not true. But to have the audacity to lie to my mother, to my family, to the point they fell like they have to protect there other children from me, that really hurts. And I hope she’s reading this some how, I use to respect you. THE END
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bEDOUENS PHILISTINMy stage name is t.m chozen. It stands for the messenger chozen. And to the world, my stage, boy do I have a message for you. Archives
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