Chapter 4

Looking down at the red haired guy, whose head is under my feet, I finally remembered this friend's name.

"It's been 2 years, huh. How was it, Aamon?" I said with a grin not leaving my face.

Realizing that I was squeezing his head with my foot to the ground, I released him to take a breather.

I'm not worried that some of them might die because I only hit them in their most pain sensitive parts -- such as lips, throat, groin, solar plexus, shin, and nose -- that will cause excruciating pain while not leaving severe injuries.

Still not receiving any reply, I crouched and picked him up by the hair. I can't help but be disgusted at his bloodied face -- blown out lips, broken teeth, lumps, and bruises.

Slapping him multiple times, he finally opened his eyes. "Hey, I'm asking how are you, you little bitch."

"Wh-why... a-are... y-you... toin' d-dist?"

"Initially, I just wanted to see you guys. But getting here made me remember some painful past. You could say that it was because of the smell."

"B-but... da-dats... thoo (2) yis a-ago... If i-it's your wa-wallet... W-we've al-already... *Cough* g-ave back... y-your money... f-fav (5) thayms da a-amounth... back then."

"Ohh shit, you're right," The realization hit me and I paused to think.

"Maybe because your guys sent my helpless upperclassmen to the hospital?" With the saddest face I could muster.

"Yo-you f-fuc..."

Before finishing his sentence full of unnecessary pauses and inaudible words, I slap him hard to make him alive and awake, taking another tooth from his messed up mouth.

With a calm voice, I continued. "Please, don't make me decipher your words."

…

Has it been 12 years since I witnessed the first act of violence in my life? Seeing my mother getting hit with a belt by none other than my father.

At first, I wasn't quite sure what was happening.

My mother is a good maternal figure and a partner, so what warrants such treatment? As much as I wanted to stop it, the small body of a 6 year old was just another punching bag.

My father wasn't like that before. Like my mother, he's a good paternal figure and would always prioritize his family above all else.

It turns out that my mother caught my father cheating with another woman, and in their own room at that. My mother didn't even try to confront him for that and just asked for his reason. Hower, it seemed quite a shock for my father, for his true nature to be revealed.

Ever since then, he would always beat her. And as a naive little kid, I would always try to help my powerless mother and receive his wrath together.

But even so, my mother never got angry. She still had the warmth of a mother in her smile and the love for my father in her eyes. Accompanying me to school, readying the food on the table, taking care of the house, and working for our expenses. All while doing so my father -- who was fired from his job and became drunkard -- beat her every time she got home after work.

Getting enough of it, I stopped going near my mother whenever she's being mistreated.

Still confused at their irrational behavior, I started watching and observing from the sideline.

A useless, crazy and abusive father. A hardworking, loving and kind mother. Such an unreasonable show of violence and affection given the way they treat each other.

Day after day, night after night, again and again, the same scene that played out for half a year. I even consider taking my life at such a young age because of boredom.

-- However, something that I will never forget happened.

While I was sleeping in the middle of the night, I suddenly woke up for unknown reason. So, I went down stairs from my room to get some water and moisten my dry throat.

As I walked towards the kitchen, I was stopped on my track and my knee went numb. Falling on my behind, my eyes were wide open from disbelief as I tried to process the information in front of me.

My mother that I thought of as a saint was now holding a bloodied butcher knife she just bought earlier morning.--

"A blade so sharp it can even cut through bones like butter," as she jokingly said.

-- Below her was my father, lying on his stomach, with blood gushing out of the long vertical cut on his back.

Noticing my presence, my father slowly lifted his head with difficulty and turned towards my direction, just to see my shocked expression. He looked me in the eye, seemingly asking me to look away. But at that time, I wasn't on my right self as I watched my mother continue her onslaught.

Blood splashing everywhere, painting the kitchen red.

I could see beads of tears falling from my father's eyes as he muttered the word "sorry" before being beheaded by my mother who had a huge crazy smile on her face to which she did herself next.

Their heads, rolling to my feet, I could see no life behind their wide opened eyes.

I just sat there for 2 nights and 3 days, staring at their lifeless head and body without moving from my position. Not drinking or eating anything. Just me and my family.

If it wasn't for a relative visiting our house, I would have died from hunger and thirst.

...

--House [My room]--

After taking a shower and throwing my rugged hoodie in the trash, I lay on the bed as all my energy left my body. "It seems like I push myself too hard."

Looking back, I can still remember my childhood like it was yesterday.

After being adopted 12 years ago, did I only understand everything?

Hearing my new parents at that age -- who are also my relatives -- talking about taking me in as their son because they could get our house, portion of my previous parent's money and financial support from the government, did it only hit me.

The true beauty behind everything. A simple contradiction that stems from being a human person.

My previous mother, who was a saint, had assumed the visage of a devil. My previous father, who was a harbinger of violence, has embraced the essence of care. My new parents who are like angels gracing my front, while simultaneously, demons haunting my back. -- They are "perfection".

They are my god, my goal and my savior. --

-- They rescued me from the clutches of suffering and bestowed upon me the gift of enlightenment.

Because of them, I have witnessed the transformation of the highest order.

And so, they deserve my utmost respect.

...

--A month after the bully incident--

--School--

"Is there anyone else who wants to join the basketball tournament this coming intramural?" shouted by the representative of the sports club.

No one raised their hand since those who wanted to join, like me, already did so earlier.

Actually, I have joined in all the events they presented to us. There's no reason for me not to as I want to showcase the beauty of my talent to the spectators and the terror of it to my enemy.

After giving their final speech, the sports club left our room.

"Woah, you're amazing Theo. You joined all the events. Are you serious?" The guy sitting in front turned to face me.

Most of my classmates' attention is now on me, probably waiting for my response.

Can't blame them. I just transferred to this school last year, after all. Unfortunately, there's no intramurals because the school gym was being renovated at that time.

"Haha, I just wanted to experience all of it since they all look fun," scratching the back of my head.

…