All human life should be loved, after all every human life was born out of love. So what about me? A human life that was not born out of love.
Does that mean I don't meet the necessary qualifications to be loved unconditionally? I would think it does, after all from the moment of my birth it was made apparent. The day my mother's eye's met mine which had seen the world for the first time she wrapped her hands around that tiny little neck of mine.
Of course I only know this from the story's I've been told from those who were present at the time. Of course there was another thing I was always told.
I was always told how horrifying it was to see such small hands wrap around an even smaller neck.
Whenever I heard that story I didn't feel any resentment for my mother, after all I would say her reaction was perfect reasonable. Rather whenever I heard it I felt anger towards my grandparents. The one's who would not let her terminate me.
Though I know they did it for their own religous reasons I never understood it. Why would you stop your daughter from bringing life to something she loathed? And if you we're going to do that then why would you loathe it just the same. Why bring something to the world that you knew you would hate?
The son of a rapist and the son of a thirteen year old girl.
At the age of eighteen my mother took her life. Many say that their first memory we're their fifth birthday, a party, the playground, and so much more.
My first memory was finding her body.
Whenever I watch movies where they show dead bodies I can't help but mentally complain about how unrealistic it is. Though prehaps they are realistic and the state I found her in was so horrific everything looks like a mockery in comparison.
One of the most shameful parts about dying is that your bowels release fecal matter that was stored. I don't know how many day's I spent in that stinky place. Due to the summer heat the decompression and fecal matter to not suprise didn't create a very pleasant smell.
It didn't help that she moved out at sixteen, of course it wasn't really moving out and rather her parents payed for a trailer in a cheap park and sent her an allowance.
Though eventually the smell got to the point where it was investigated. I remember the officer throwing up, looking back on it he looked quite young he must have been new. The second thing I remember after that was an older officer grabbing me and gently carrying me out.
My grandparents wanted nothing to do with me despite them technically being my legal guardians and somehow they got what they wanted and I was sent away into a foster system. It's as bad as they say, though as if all the negative karma I accumulated came to bear fruit I never found myself in those abusive homes that are far too common.
Eventually I got into a pretty decent family, they had a nice house, decent jobs, and they had two biological kid's one girl and one boy.
At that time I was thirteen so the next year I started highschool, my grades were average after all it wasn't like I was a genuis or anything. Never got into anything athletic either and so with no connections outside of my "siblings" I faded into the backround pretty easily. Admittedly though it's better than being bullied, I've seen it happen and unlike in the movies where they get shoved in lockers the bullies pretend to be friends with the bullied and use that as a gateway to belittle them and get things from them.
And while I did fade into the backround that only lasted until sophomore year, during that year my "grandmother" wrote a book.
It was a book about her dead daughter, it described what happened to her, her life after what happened, and how she met her end.
It also included me, I was described as a cursed child who came from sin and therefore my very existence was of sin. It was so preachy that I could gag. In all honesty though I couldn't care less, it's obvious they think they're trying to unveil some dark truth hidden from the public but unconsciously they just want a cash grab. I heard when it first happened they got so many donations from their church out of pity.
Religon truly did leave a sour taste in my mouth, after all why would any god let that happen to a little girl? Now that I'm older than my mother when she had me I'm astonished she held back from getting rid of me.
But in the end her not getting rid of me and her death led to that book, it was an overnight sensation. A gut wrenching story, a tragedy, a horror that happens all over the world. Everyone talked of it as if it was a thriller story, as if it wasn't based off a real girl, off a real son, off a real "family".
Sadly for me people pieced things together pretty quick, and in the span of a week in my sophomore year I was labeled "Adonis the son of a rapist."
But rather than bullying or disgust from others it garnered me pity, pity and avoidance. Of course the ladder didn't bother me much as I had the presence of an ant before.
The greetings my "siblings" gave me in the halls at times came to a stop and even at home they tried to avoid me. The same went with my "parents" they made an effort of keeping me holed up in my room. They bought me books, bought a TV for my room, a consle, and instead of eating at the table with them they encouraged I go eat in my room while studying.
I suppose another lucky thing about that was I never had a real connection to them anyways, they payed for my needs and enough of my wants that I could live a comfortable life and they got a reputation of being a perfect little family with a foster son.
Of course that image they built was ruined now with the book's release. The pity at school that I got became even greater overtime instead of dying out. Instead of eating lunch alone people would come to my table talking about that book, talking about my mother.
It was annoying simply put, but one thing it did help me with is sneaking out of class. The security guards tossed me a glance, gave me a sad look and turned away.
Ah, so that's how it was.
Everyone was doing this because they associated my mother's death with me already. They all must be thinking that I'll end up dying in a similar manner.
It was almost funny, I wondered what would come next after the pity fades. Prehaps then the disgust would come after they see I keep on living despite my sinful existence.
It seemed that unconsciously I had already decided to keep on living.
In my junior year my foster family got in the habit of locking the doors before I got home and pretended not to hear the doorbell. Every time this happened I went away doing random shit for hours and when I came back the door was unlocked, of course by then it was night so I head straight to sleep. I supposed they assumed I had already eaten.
Of course I knew that was also false.
The book sales increased and eventually in my senior year a movie was announced for the book. They asked me to come in and film a credits scene though it was more of an interview than anything.
At first I was going to decline but eventually.. I've dawned upon a relizization of something.
No matter how much I pretend to not care doesn't change the fact that I do.
"And so in about.. well two hours I'll go and film that interview."
The rain poured down as we waited under that tree that was somehow so leafy it managed to keep us dry, by we I mean the girl I just told my life story to up until this point who I met randomly under this very tree.
"Damn.. your life sucks ass dude.. but it could be worse couldn't it? Pfft! Imagine if you were raised by your father or something! Now that would make for a good book! Well book and movie now."
I couldn't help but stare at her in shock, is she not hearing herself? Is that not a well.. fucked up thing to say?
"What? Why you looking at me like I killed yo momma? Ain't she kill herself?"
Dude.. I wanted to say something so bad but the years of no social interaction made me weak to confrontation.
"I mean.. well.. she.. wait.."
Did my mother kill herself? Suddenly that day flashed back in my mind. Though it was of no use as the memory was too foggy to get details of what exactly the scene was.
So instead I thought back to what type of person she was. She was someone who managed to raise her rapists child to a decent age without hitting him at all.. excluding what happened when I was born.
And for two years she raised me on her own in the run down trailer. She never put her hands on me and in fact the most she did was give me those fearful eyes, those yells whenever I came from behind a corner.. the.. well maybe she did put her hands on me sometimes.
But still, everything considered she was someone who was strong willed and managed to keep on living despite everything. So why did she decide to "kill herself" when she eas eighteen years of age? Simply put there were hundreds of reasons, she could have thought her years of youth were gone, maybe she couldn't stand my presence anymore but couldn't bring herself to kill me, maybe this was her punishment towards me.
Yet those didn't add up either, after all there's signs when people are preparing to kill themselves, they get happy and she was never happy. Could it be that she just had a mental break and met her end?
I couldn't help but sigh, I was overthinking this. The story was simple, my mother killed herself for a reason unknown to me but most likely a reasonable one given her circumstances.
"You thinking about how she possibly didn't kill herself, correct? Shit if I was you my first thought would go to her folks. After all they're making bank off of her life and death!"
In the next moment I found my hands gripping the collar of the girls shirt as I slammed her against the tree.
"You don't have to keep hinting at it! You obviously know something so stop beating around the bush."
A small smile appeared on her face as her eyes narrowed, that small smile turned wider before becoming a toothy grin.
"Whoops! You caught me! Well before anything I should introduce mys--!"
Once again I slammed her against the tree, why was I doing this? I had no idea it was as if I needed to be told she was just crazy and spouting nonsense.
That smile never left her face, though it dimmed turning more gentle. Only then did I notice the girl who I thought was of similar age to me had a heavy coating of makeup on, as if to conceal her real face.
"You know.. you really do look just like her, other than those eye's of your's."
My grip released instantly, as if mocking me the rain stopped and the clouds cleared almost instantly. The tree let up as water fell from it as soon as the rain had stopped leaving me and her soaked. When I looked back up she was wiping of her wet face with her shirt leaving a huge clay like layer of makeup on her shirt.
Lifting her head back up the girl who seemed to be in her late 20's to at most early 30's gave me a bitter smile.
"My name is Valeta, and I was your mother's lover."
Before I could process her words she spoke once more.
"And your mother did not commit suicide."