Hey guys. :) I opted  instead of making a prologue I would make interludes that gives you peaks at Death's character and why he is how he is.

Thanks for reading.

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I was young. Maybe 7 or 8 when I first killed someone. Two people particularly.

I had locked the doors to my home back then. Barricaded the bedrooms and tied the fools to their silly little bed. How could a measly child as I had done any of this?

Simple, they were drunk, the woman and that man. They drunk more than they ever could hold. Always ending with them brutally angry at each other and at me.

That was normal. They were actually nicer when they were drunk. They could only hit me for so long when they were inebriated before they passed out. I had become so accustomed to it that I actually thought it was a good day when they drunk themselves to unconsciousness.

They would say we do this because we love you. Love you so much that you need to be better than everyone else. Better than us.

So they made the Rules.

-No telling anyone about what happens at home.

-No Failure is accepted.

-No Real Friends are allowed.

-No Questions.

       -NO Losing.

Looking back I couldn't remember when it all began. I assume it had always been their it just became worse as I aged. Much, much, worse.

I learned that their are two ways to make someone do as you wish.

One with rewards. To give them reason with positive reinforcement to do as you ask.

The second is with fear.

The promise of pain is an extremely powerful tool. Pain is simple but fear breaks the mind. Coiling around your very soul. Tightening until ,if your not careful, pieces crack and fall away.

Their abuse was breaking me. I couldn't understand it. I could not understand why would these two giant like figures in my life hurt me so much. With every bruise, with every cut they inflicted upon me, I asked myself 'why?' over and over and over again. Until the why had changed into 'when?' When will this torture seize?

They say the only thing that separates Humans and animals is the ability to question the information that it gains. To make decisions based upon those questions.

I was questioning the very foundation my life. Pain was the reward for my hard work. Pain was normal, right?

The funny thing is.

Fear of pain had become such a daily occurrence. I no longer feared it.

Children have the most simplistic view of death. Its not uncommon for them to smile at funerals not because they are happy but because in this stage of life they aren't afraid. Why be afraid of death when you cannot even understand your own existence as living? The piety of death wasn't established yet.

My young mind though knew exactly what it was.

They had taught me how to pretend so well. How to lie to others and smile when in pain. It wasn't intentional of course. It was survival.

I couldn't question their abuse.

I had no understanding of their intoxication with torturing me. I just accepted it. Just as you cannot question gravity. I did not question their treatment of me.

At least not at first.

Sometimes I see my life as it could have been, had they been loving and caring parents. But that is only a dream within a dream. No matter what I did. How hard I tried. Or who I impressed. They did not care to reward my effort but to punish me and say I wasn't good enough.

My family was actually quite famous in our little town. My father was a business man and mother a lawyer. We were technically well off financially.  We had large house and a spacious back yard. Our closest neighbor was miles away. We were after all the model family of the town. With myself being the rising young star of the town.

I was exactly how they wanted me to be. A child who followed the Rules. Who did better then any other child my age or years ahead of myself, and made it impossible to say I could have done better. But they still said those words.

My mask had become so well made I did not know where I began and it began. I would forget myself when at school and pretended my family was like the others kids parents.

I had thought my 'parents' would somehow stop it all and tell me they loved me if I just did a little better. They never did.

One night, they had told me the truth in their drunk stupor. I wasn't related to either of them. I was just there so they could put on a perfect little display of a happy family. They adopted me when I was two or so. I understand this now. The words they had said made little to no sense to my young mind. But one thing did. The words my 'mother' had said to me after that decided everything.

"Your going to be a big brother. Teach her to follow the rules like we have taught you."

To another child that might have been merry news. But to me I felt cold.

"Sister?" I had thought.

"Rules?"

"Sister?"

"Rules."

"They will make her follow the rules. Rules hurt." I realized.

"NOOOOO!!!" I had screamed in my mind.

This was moment was when I had broke the barrier of right and wrong and entered that grey undefined portion of morals.

I knew the only way to stop this was through action.

I came up with a plan to stop anyone else from having to follow the rules.

They had recognized the change in me almost instantly and they only beat me harder, fed me less, tortured me more. As well as expected more from me.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I needed to stop them from making another person like me. And empty shell of a being that didn't know what living meant.

Months had gone by and they were preparing for the other child to arrive. So they celebrated even let me eat a little more than normal. A few friends of theirs had even came over.

When they had finally fallen asleep drunk to high heaven. I went and watched them sleep. I had never had the courage to do something like this before. I usually would sneak from bed and eat a little food that I could find. I had learned not to leave any evidence long before. But this night I watched as they held each other in each other arms for the first time.

Only now can I conjecture that they loved me. They were just psychotic about it. Don't be mistaken that doesn't excuse their actions.  I just can't help but feel that at least within their twisted minds they believed they were helping me.

I watched them for a time before I accepted what I was going to do.

In the house we had plenty of supplies that we never would need. It was just so they could keep up appearance when a guest were over. A rope was easily found in a supply closet as well as duct tape.

The rope was tied around the bed with them in it like the twirl of a candy cane. I had made it as tight as it needed to be.

I didn't want them to free themselves. I tied the rope in such away that it would tighten even more if they began to struggle with it.

I went into kitchen and grabbed a few supplies that I would need. All household materials that are used in daily cleaning. I opened much of the liquid cleaners and spread them along our carpet floor. I soaked almost all the furniture I could. I even went as far as breaking most of the valuable items that were located around the house.

I remember contemplating if this would kill me as well but the urge to save any future children from this agony was well worth the hollow life I had.

I then barricaded my parents room with myself inside.They were still sleeping soundly under the affects of their alcohol. I took one of the the bottles by the bed and put paper through the top. I also took the lighter and phone off their nightstand. They were just as heavy fans of cigars as they were of alcohol.

I laid against the wall facing towards their bed watching them.

I dialed 911 but let it sit their without pressing call.

I began about the task of binding my feet together with duct tap. I made it tight enough that I couldn't even run away if I wanted to.

Then I took out a match that I had been carrying since the beginning. I looked at it slowly and lit it. I watched as the flames flicked with the air. It was intoxicating marveling at the little flame that would set me free.

I lit the paper that was inside the bottle. It caught quickly on fire and was slowly burning through. I threw it at the wall behind my parents.

Few moments in my life seemed like they slowed to a stand still but this one slowed to the point where I could see each individual waver of the bottle. As it wavered through the air. Just as it made the sound of breaking glass. I saw the fire bleed across the wall.

I had become a statue as I watched the fire slowly build. I could my parents starting to wake but I didn't say anything. I was watching the flames. It reached their bed. Black smoke was accumulating now. The fire alarm was going off as well. But it was too late.

Even I could not do anything to stop it.

I called 911 at this moment and did what my parents had taught me we so well how to do.

"Hello 911, What is your emergency?"

"Help a fire. Murderers are here." I told them in a hurried tone.

I then snapped the phone in half.

Looking back up and I saw that my parents had awoken and noticed I was on the floor. They were about to be covered in flames themselves but they didn't speak They just looked at me and I them. No emotions of any kind showed on their face or mine. It was like they had expected this somehow.

The flames then consumed them. I heard their screams. It was piercing at first but just as quickly as it began they were no more. They were dead just like that. I relaxed against the wall. I could no longer breath. I didn't fight it either. I didn't scream. I just slowly melted in to a warm dream.  A peaceful dream about what could have been but was never to be.

I would like to say I died then. It would have been better for everyone. But like all stories they come in many parts. Mine is just a little more exciting than most.

Sometimes I wonder if I might have sent three souls the afterlife that day.  The third being the one I wanted to protect the most but that is a question of morals for another day.

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