A Peaceful Man

A Peaceful Man A Peaceful Man

Status: Finished

Genre: Memoir

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Memoir

Summary

It's a real life story. Full of obscenities, as life always is...

Summary

It's a real life story. Full of obscenities, as life always is...

Content

Submitted: February 18, 2010

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Content

Submitted: February 18, 2010

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I still hold to being a peaceful man. No one can change my perspective on that; not even the people who loved me… whom I have destroyed. I was born in Argentina, in the capital, Buenos Aires. My memories from my birth are surprisingly vivid, which I would later explain to a douche bag psychiatrist, who would then feign the necessary interest to feel as if he had earned his pay. That’s another story, however, and we’ll get to it. For now, I’ll elaborate on my earliest memory. I was extremely cranky, and I did not want to go to sleep. The usual car ride hadn’t worked, and I was eager to get to bed. My parents were also exhausted, so they put me to bed whilst I was crying. I remember not having any hard feelings towards them, because I somehow knew the crib I was placed in, would definitely do the job. I remember wooden surroundings, as if I were in a log cabin. Years later, I would find that to be true. My parents did, in fact, own a log cabin which my father built from the ground up. My parents were shocked to find that I had so accurately described the cabin, considering I was less than a year old. That wasn’t my most vivid memory, however. It was the spider. I’m not sure if it was a dream or if it was a silhouette created from the light in the other room…all I knew is that it was huge, and it was coming for me. The next earliest memory was that I outside of the cabin. I was considerably older, at least old enough to walk. I remember we had a babbling brook very close by. I loved to find and collect stones from it. I could barely move because of all the winter apparel, but I was having a blast nonetheless, reaching for those stones. I don’t remember the cold. I don’t remember anger. I don’t remember feeling any kind of hate. That is the reason I am writing this. I’d like to believe that I was once innocent, before the life I was about to embark on would take my last shred of decency; but who the hell am I kidding…I’m a monster.


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