Hello there. Before this gets started, just know that I’m not going to stress myself over insisting this is real. I guess… it all comes down to what you believe. Or what you want to believe.
Anyway, nice to meet you. My name is Syn. You may think it’s a strange name, but later it will make more sense to you. Due to the fact that they weren’t married before she was pregnant with me, he was convinced that I was the offspring of the devil to make up for the sin they committed. My father became a Satan worshipper. So, needless to say, I didn’t live a happy childhood.
When I turned four, his cults finally acknowledged me, and saw me as a sign. They thought I was to be a ritual sacrifice. Time after time after that, my dad would carve and burn Satanic symbols into my flesh. He would take matches, kitchen knives, scissors, whatever he could find to permanently embed the horrific signs into my skin. When I started school, he made me wear an arm cover so nobody would find out. I had no friends, no family to turn to. I was forced to stay with the monster I called Dad until the military finally found him after tracking his cult for a long time. When the military officer who rescued me saw my arm, he decided it would be best for him to raise me instead of sending me to an orphanage. This man’s name was Christopher Olson. He allowed me to continue wearing the arm cover because he knew there was no possible way to remove them. The scars were permanent, would last forever.
As I grew older, I started to feel more comfortable around people. I wasn’t as wary nor as shy. I got friends. I joined sports teams. I had a girlfriend. During my last year of high school, I was living the good life. When we graduated, I decided it was finally time to show my girlfriend what I was hiding behind my cover. I loved her more than my own life and hoped to marry her sometime in college, since we were going to the same place. But when I showed her, she was shocked and angry. She called me a monster, told me that the devil should condemn me to hell. She refused to let me tell her my story about how my father had abused me and cut these symbols into my body.
Anger overcame me more than I knew possible. I was so filled with rage that I could really see red. It was then that I lost complete control of my body. The anger was controlling me. I grabbed her by her throat and slammed her against the wall. My heart told me no but my mind and body told me otherwise. I smashed her head against the wall, rendering her unconscious. I went down to the kitchen, still possessed by my own emotions, and grabbed a knife. My eyes bulged out at what I knew was going to happen. I tried to stop myself but couldn’t; I stabbed her to death, and there was nothing I could even do.
This happened over and over, with person after person. Each time I had less and less control over myself. I even ended up killing Christopher, the only father I had ever known. I was forced to leave town, knowing that the police were going to track the mass murders back to me eventually. I was a monster, an enemy of myself. I hated that I literally couldn’t control it.
I’ve now resorted to locking myself into the tiny apartment I own now. Nobody can contact me, so I can’t hurt them. I’m almost out of food, but I’ll die if that’s what it takes to stop myself from killing anyone else. I won’t prove my dad right. I’m not… I can’t be the offspring of the devil. They’re safe; I just have to die as the price.
So, before I die, I wanted to tell my story to you. Please don’t think badly of me. Really, it’s not my fault. I’m condemning myself to hell to save you. I suppose I deserve it. After all… isn’t wrath a sin?