In my life I've only known one thing.











Death.









It surrounds me at every waking moment. I think about it and what it has done to me. It has polluted my mind since my birthing. The day my mother died. She wasn't strong enough to have me, a child, come into the world. Why was she so weak? Why couldn't Father have died in her place?








Allow me to formally introduce myself before we journey any further into the twisted reaches of my mind. I am Asylum, or at least that is what Father associates me as. I cannot remember my true name. When I was born, Father referred to me only as Death. That is all I am. He could never forgive me for what I brought about with his beloved wife. Sixteen years....SIXTEEN....I spent under the moniker of Death. How may a child live that way? It was thankful for me that Father never sent me to a school to learn or the children would have furthered the breaking of my mind.







I feel as if I've taken you for a loop and I apologize. This is a lot to take in at once. Allow me to take you into a place where I know things will become clearer. My memories.




_____________________________________________________________

[Birthday]

It is December 20th, five days before Christmas. My childhood home is not like any other. There are no decorations nor is their a tree. The only gifts around the house are the stacks of money sitting on our kitchen table. Father and I lived in a mobile home in the Shady Acres Trailer Park down in the country of Mississippi. Never learned the name of the town we were near, because Father said not to. He never wanted me to remember places because we traveled so much. Our home is trashed and dirty. Bottles of alcohol lay everywhere, broken and used condoms litter the living room where our broken television set resides in front of a stained couch. Food is thrown around throughout as nobody has cleaned a thing. Father burst into the door in his torn and muddied petticoat. His cheeks were rosy red and the smell of liquor covered his breath. A bit of slop dripped from his lips, I could not tell if it had been vomit or the remnants of a whore he picked up nearby. This was a usual day for Father, but a different one for me as I sat at the table with a party hat on my head.











Today was my 8th birthday.








Father looked at me with his hateful eyes. He belched and I felt as if he was about to vomit, but thankfully he kept it back.







"What do you think you're doing?" He said with a distasteful tone.






"I....umm....today is my...." I could barely speak as I kept my head down afraid of the next moment.






"I know what today is...Death." He lurched towards me, stumbling around the mess of the room. He closes in and places his hands on my shoulders. I never look. Father is two inches from me, his breath almost makes me want to vomit.






"Today is the day you took the only thing in this world to make me happy. Today is the day you caused my world to shatter."He grabs a bottle and throws it against the door causing it to break. I never flinch. "Just like that. You made me the man I am today, Death. You piece of shit. I hope you find peace with yourself, because I will NEVER find it for you. You ugly fucking twat!"






I keep from looking at Father, you never look an angry bull in the eyes as I once thought. This was a moment I wish I could take back. To actually look the bull in the eyes and grab it by the horns.






"LOOK AT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!!!"







I ignore him, hoping his drunk episode will cause him to pass out from exhaustion.







"YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!' He yells as he throws me from the chair. I land onto some beer cans on the floor, but my hat stays on. Tears form around my eyes, but I will not give him the time of day. Father is not happy with me.



"Why won't you look at me? Why must you torment me every day looking like her and then keeping me from seeing that face. You think it helps me? You think its the only thing keeping me from hurting you, that I will somehow forget what you did? That's a fantasy world you live in, boy, and I am nowhere near it." He stands over me like a God would his people. Father grabs a broken bottle on the floor and lunges at me. He places the bottle inches from my neck and whispers in my ear.






"I could kill you right now. I could end it all right now. To be the man to kill Death, that's a one way ticket to heaven. Now why wouldn't you die, boy?"







I can't look at him. I can't give him the time of day. I don't want the pain.






"Answer me!!"






The lord is my Shepard. The lord is my savior.






"YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT!!!"






Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, in kingdom come.







"I WISH YOU'D DIE!!! WHY CAN'T YOU DIE!!!!"







He shoves the broken bottle into my neck, but it just crackles and breaks into bigger shards. Father falls over in tears and breaks down. He is on the floor next to me with broken shards in his hand. My neck is fine, no pain, no wounds. This is how I've always been. An unbreakable physical force. I do not feel the physical pain. I lay next to Father, holding my head sobbing myself. Not for Father, not for Mother, but for Myself and how I wish I could die.









This was my 8th birthday and the 100th time my Father has tried to end my life.









To be continued.