Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-5858924-20150701060556

From the moment, I entered this world I was put under a strict watch. Between my two parents, I'm not sure that there was a second where a set of eyes had not been following my every move. Now I have an idea of what you must be thinking. "That's how all parents are. It's just because they want to protect you." Now I would agree with this if not for the threats to kick me out of the house or the times where they said they would chain me to my bed post. Now you could mistake this for a light hearted joke if not for the times where they've gone through with it.

I hardly remember the first time I had been collared to the bed. This is because I was two and a half years old. I'm not even sure what I did, but obviously they thought it warranted a punishment. These penalizations only got worse as I grew older. When I turned five they started chaining me up outside regardless of weather. Rain, sleet, snow, or hail, if I couldn't keep my room clean or forgot to do the dishes I was outside. Living in a farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere we didn't have neighbors to report this abuse.

My parents have always been extremely religious. They would walk through hell on a Sunday before they allowed their kid to grow up anything but another perfect god-fearing individual. I would say that the worse part of all this torture is that I didn't know any different. I excepted what they were doing was normal because I knew no other way of life. My parents did not allow me to have friends and considering the farthest town was three miles away I couldn't make contact with anyone because I wasn't able to leave a one-mile radius of the house. The tracker that my parents got placed into my arm for my sixth birthday ensured I followed this rule because if not it was three days without food.

At fifteen my parents got me a computer. They figured that if I was going to live a life the way they had taught me I needed to learn self-responsibility. This computer had strict filters put into it to ensure that I couldn't contact others or view any websites that would shame our lord and savior. Basically, all I was left with was a few sights where I could study God's word. It took me a while but eventually I figured out how to bypass the filters. After all, the strictest parents breed the sneakiest kids. Fifteen years without being able to contact anyone outside of my parents had left me with this huge craving to talk to anyone besides them. As a result the first thing I did was visit as many sites as I could that would allow this. The most popular ones that showed up were Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Youtube. Of course, I signed up for all of these and started hours of browsing.

There was something weird about the people on these websites. They didn't seem normal. They were smiling and laughing with their families. Some of them were on trips to places away from their home. They had posts about crazy things such as alcohol and parties. The more I browsed the closer I came to the realization that these people aren't different... I am.

My whole life I had been lied to and it took every ounce of my self-control to not barge into my parents room and ask them to explain these things. No, that would only get me punished. I needed to be careful about this. I found undetectable programs that allowed me to hide whatever I did on there. That way, when my parents did their weekly check they wouldn't find out that I knew. After all, the strictest parents breed the sneakiest kids.

Eventually, I built up the nerve to start trying to attend parties or small gatherings posted on one of my websites. I figured out where my tracking device was and ended up cutting it out. It was painful, but it couldn't compare to some of the pain I've already lived through. I placed my tracker on my pet lizard and let him roam around when I left this way I could leave the one-mile zone and my parents wouldn't be aware of it. After all, the strictest parents breed the sneakiest kids.

At these parties, I didn't know much about what went on outside my little dome so I did a lot of listening and not a lot of talking. Through listening in on the conversations, I learned a lot. Kids complaining about how the two weeks they had been grounded was torture, or how it was the worst thing in the world when their parents made them mow the lawn and clean the dishes. These people didn't know what torture was. They haven't felt the pain I have. They know nothing of what it's like to truly suffer. The privileged pricks.

At that moment, I came to a conclusion. I wasn't raised wrong they were! All of them! People like that are a filth upon the world, and like I was taught growing up filth will not be tolerated. Filth in my room, filth on the dishes, and filth on the floors were all to be eliminated. Why not the filth of the earth?

My victims are getting to be in the forties. Police are left without a clue as to who the killer is. A number of suspects have been locked up, but the killing continue while they're in jail. I don't think they'll ever find out that I'm the one doing the killings. After all, the strictest parents breed the sneakiest kids. 