I had always hated fighting, partly because of the fact that I couldn’t fight my way out of a paper bag. But that day I had to fight, I would’ve died if I didn’t it was either me or her. There wasn’t much talking done that day; they just got straight to beating me senseless. That’s when she came over to me, Butch, the head honcho of my class. Even though she was a girl she was strong, really strong, standing at 5ft 7” and with a face resembling the scars and bruises on my rear end. She didn’t speak, she just threw me around. Eventually she had pushed me into an open road, and then into a nearby grassy area, her whole gang following and ranting behind us. She had given me a few bruises along the way and the pain was unbearable. One of her brute friends tripped me over and I fell on a large rock impaled in the floor. My ribs were now aching more than any part of my body. I thought this was the end. She crouched down beside me and whispered,
“wat’ you gonna do now devil child, kill my ‘ole family like dem killa parents a yors?!”
I slid my hands along the floor on my way to covering my bleeding face and felt a loose stone in the grass. I picked up the stone and held it tight so no-one could take it off me. She kept on beating me as if I was nothing, until I was couldn’t breathe properly. I glanced over at the stone in my hand and thought “it’s me…or her…”
She paused to take a breath (I don’t think she had ever beaten up anyone for this long) but when she came back it was too late, I had had all I could take. I was so hurt and angry I wanted to kill every person in Butches crowd… unfortunately, my arm knew that too. I swung my arm with all the might I had left in me and knocked her to the ground. As it turned out the stone that I fell onto wasn’t the only stone lodged in the ground. There was another, and that one caught Butches head instead of her ribs, sending chunks of her still developing skull into her lifeless brain.
Butch’s gang dispersed immediately, running off in all directions without even checking if she was still alive or not (not that she deserved any sympathy from anyone). I raised my weak body and slowly came around to see what I assumed was a dead body, just lying on the floor. I felt proud of myself at first but slowly came to realize what I had done.
I had always hated the fact that ‘they’ were my parents, but now I was just like them, and I hated myself for it.
I was arrested a week later and put on trial for the murder of Rudy ‘Butch’ Gibbons. I then spent the next 9 years of my life in a prison cell on charges of murder in the second degree.
I was a weak minded geek when I went to jail, but prison had changed me and I came out ready to kill again, this time as a strong minded man (teenager).
THEM
I was born Gordon Damien Rice, of parents Leenard and Limahk Johnson. Leenard, my dad, was originally born a woman named Darleen Johnson and my mum was a refugee of the name Kahlim, deprived of her childhood by war and famine. Although raised in different families, my mum and dad were actually both brother and sister, although they never really got to find out.
They met each other near the end of their school years and got married straight away. It was their hatred for love that brought them together. They were both very bad people but without each other they never would’ve found the motivation to kill as many as they did, as horrifyingly gruesome as they did it.
Their first murder was actually in their school years where they first discovered their passion for death. It was a janitor that they killed first because back then boys and girls weren’t supposed to be in school together, but that was the only place they could meet as there were also under curfews (a popular thing in their time). The janitor had caught them together and threatened to inform ‘his’ headmaster but they were going to make him pay. So they snuck out at night bludgeoned his wailing body, drowned him and left his useless corpse on a railroad for the early morning express.
Killing people gave them a great sense of fulfilment, maybe even joy. I had always known that my evil was inherited, but maybe an earlier generation could tell me why ‘they’ turned out how they did. So I went to pay my grand parents a visit.
My grandfather was dead and my grandmother was a drunk frail old woman and when I met her she told me of the times before they were split up and how ‘they’ almost died in a fire when they were young. I think they did die, and realizing their potential for evil, the devil sent them back. And now…. I’m just like them…..
