I was only a child when I was first exposed to my first tastes of society's irrefutable system of destruction. I was only 6 years old when all hell broke loose in our quaint little house in the town of Renoria. I started seeing a pattern between humans and a higher power at a very young age. Some people will believe it's God, Others will believe it's Satan or Lucifer. The hippies will tell you it's the universe that is twisting in its infinite flexibility. To understand my story, I have to take you back to my childhood, and I must prepare you, some of the contents will be dark and gruesome. I must tell you my story for you to understand why I became the Blainehauzer serial killer.
It sounds rather quiff, but I assure you that it is a heavy burden to bare. A title that not everyone understands, being a serial killer. I am the culprit and they are the victims. That's the way society would have it.
However there is not one person who has ever stopped to ask themselves WHY I have become what I have become. That's right, have you people ever thought that I am the VICTIM, and all of you, are the culprits? No of course you have not. Because you are all so self-centred and caught up in your own worlds that NO-ONE but yourselves matter. You want to live in your quaint little houses, with your quaint little families, having quaint little atmospheres created inside your chipped castles of glass, wearing a stained glass mask to hide the toxicity that you carry within your blackened hearts, filled with greed and envy, without a care for your fellow human being.
Aaahhh yes...Gone are the days of fresh air and children's laughter, with houses firm as it is safe, and the people's futures were certain, with healthy food and free, clean water. I could go on about this for hours, but I will not bore you with the endless ranting. My soul is filled to the brim with hatred for this poisonous society. Anyway...let us get back to where we were going.
I was born in a very rough part of the world. For the sake of peace I will not disclose the location but you should know that every person there is like a one man army. My mother had a very poor taste in men, and my father was a failure who pertinently tried to absolve himself with a more devious act then he previously did. This did not make him a good person, infact he was my first taste of hatred. As far back as I can remember violence has been a part of my life. This particular event I want to take you to now is one of my, well let's call it a trigger event. The fights inside our quaint little home was often aroused by my father's perverse love of womanhood. No he was not a cheater, he was gay, and he is the reason I hate gays. Yes I said it, it is my right to do so. They make good friends, but they also make good victims. They are very fun to...play with. My father was trying on my mother's clothes this specific Tuesday morning, 20 January 1994, which also happened to be the year of a new regime for our country, with which the apartheid regime has been cast out, and also ironically, my birthday. A terrible one at it, but I survived to see another day. My mother caught my father trying on her clothes, and a violent fit of rage ensued, with which she beat him to a bloody pulp. (Yes you heard me, GBV goes both ways. Disclaimer I do not support GBV. Let us make that clear, senseless beating and killing of the opposite gender is not at all how it is supposed to be. I am an artist, and my victims are a craft.)
My mother smashed my father around, she stabbed him in the arm with a screw driver and tossed him around the place like a wet cloth. In a strange and unsettling way it was satisfying to watch, but the adrenaline also filled me with a certain fear that was created and cultured by a school system that taught us to be slaves and live in fear,but we will get to that later. That day was the day I prayed to a being that I did not know. While windows were shattering around me, my brother was cowering in fear in his bedroom, he turned out very weak considering what we went through.
When I saw my father being abolished and tortured for his perversity, I knew there was more to life than must be questioned. This was only one of the incidents.
Let me fast forward a few times. My father being a gay, was a complete and total asshole. He was what we today call a "transgender" man.
Yes, the identifying of trans bullshit has finally stuck it's head out and the filth now have a "community" called LGBTQ+, with cute little rainbow colours and putrid misled men and women wanting to fuck eachother up the ass during very colorful street parades, trying to justify why they should also have rights. According to me the only right that they should have is certain death. They are only one group in society that has poisoned our once beautiful planet to the core.
My father has molested myself and my brother multiple times in our life, sodomising us and diddling us like diddy, and acting like we were his personal little toys. When we would tell our mother about it,she would brush it off and say that we are lying. Until one day she saw my father's real colours. The ornamentalist psychopath. I was only 7 years old and sick with tonsils. I could not eat because of it. He then decided to shove a knife to my throat saying that he would kill me if I do not eat my food. The adrenaline pumping through my body invoked a fear, a rush of pure anemosity pumping through my blood. I used my chair as a weapon, crushing his foot beneath it, and that is where I got my very first taste of pure hatred. My mother had started recording him when we saw that this would lead to a court case in divorce. And the longer it went on the longer his true colours were revealed. I think the main question here to be asked is not why he turned into this beast but WHAT turned him into this vile fucking animal...