Blood Stains

I was born David Kallaway. My parents were Carlton Kallaway and Sheila Kallaway. My father was a raging drunk. He was abusive. He'd beat mom, and I was introduced to the back of his hand more times then I can count.

When I was 7, he crossed the line. He came home belligerently intoxicated, yelling for a reason I can't remember. I was frightened, so I hid at the top of the stairs, looking down at the pigsty of a living room where he and my mom were. She tried to calm him down. He was holding a bottle of vodka, and he broke it over her head. She collapsed on top of the coffee table, and I heard her neck snap as it hit a miniature carved elephant statue my grandmother had handed down to her.

He didn't pay any attention to her. He just bolted to the bathroom and started throwing up. I crept down the stairs and approached my mother. She had no pulse. She didn't breath. I knelt there, terrified by what had just occurred. Then I looked up.

It was my first time seeing the Master. He stood over me, and in the back of my head, I could hear his voice.

Punish him.

I didn't think twice. I grabbed the wooden elephant and entered the bathroom. He was still there, kneeling over the toilet bowl, heaving. I raised the statue with both hands, and brought it back down on the back of his skull. Again. And again. And again. He stopped moving, but I kept going.

My arms had grown tired by the time I had realized what I'd done. I had killed my father. My hands would be stained with his blood forever. I took the elephant and left. I ran as fast and far as I could. I was on the run for days. I think I might have run all the way into the next state. As I ran, I tripped, and the elephant fell off a bridged and was washed away in a river. I sat there crying for hours. The police found me there.

I was put into an orphanage after that. And god, was it it terrible. The woman in charge was a horrible person, who looked down on all of us. She was overly strict, and kept a paddle with her for when any of us misbehaved, even a little bit. Then there was the closet. The worst troublemakers were locked inside for hours at a time to put them in their place.

I stayed there until I was 13, praying that someone would take me away from that hell hole. But it never happened. And then the stupid boys I shared a room with pulled a prank, and placed all the blame on me. I can never forget the malice in that woman's eyes as she dragged me to the closet. She slammed the door and locked me up there. I banged on the door, begging and pleading to be let out. This went on for what seemed like an hour before the door gave way and I fell to the ground.

I looked up, and there he was again. He stretched his arm toward me, and in his hand was the wooden elephant. He then vanished, and at that moment the woman came in with her paddle, screaming at me. I heard his voice a second time, and I did as he said. I threw the elephant ans hard as I could. I make a sick crunching noise as it hit her knee cap. She dropped the paddle and fell to the ground, clutching her leg and screaming in pain. I grabbed for the paddle and brought it down on her throat, over and over again, until her head had been completely severed.

The other kids saw it, and I was taken away to a juvenile detention center. I was locked up in a cell with a boy, about a year older than me, named Derek Quanford. He said to call him Quan for short. He said I looked like I had been trying to escape something. I said that the only thing I was running from was myself. He told me that he had been running from an evil puppeteer. He said that she had turned one of his friends against him, and he had no choice bu to kill them. That's how he ended up in there.

We stayed there for 3 three years. Then the new arrivals came. There were two of them. They walked up to the table where Quan and I were sitting. They demanded that we give up our seats. We refused. They insisted. I was having a bad enough day, so I decided to give them a good punch in the face to let them know who's boss. The one I aimed at grabbed my arm as I swung at them. My entire body was suddenly freezing them, and frost was forming where their hand was. They brushed the hair from their eyes, and I could see now that their eyes were pitch black. Quan kicked them away from me.

He appeared again. He encouraged us to fight, so we did. He helped us to escape. He then made us an offer we couldn't refuse.

I spent the next four years killing the people he told me to. I never enjoyed it. To be honest, I was kind of afraid to kill.

I don't even know why I'm writing all of this. I guess I just want to get all this off my chest before I die. I'm getting my power back, but the chest pains are getting worse. I won't make it much longer.

I can hear O'Zalia's voice now. He's telling me to keep going, and to not give up. Can't make any promises there.