From Blood’s History: Hatred
Once, in 1913, I hated.
It was a true and violent hate. A hatred which consumed me and beat at my thoughts relentlessly. This foul emotion centered on a young man by the name of Edward White, who lived in his parents’ home after he served several years in the Navy. He had returned to Cross with a carnal taste which centered around rape and violence. His parents knew of his predilection and encouraged it.
Their baby boy could do no wrong.
I learned of his habits early in June of 1913, when I received a letter from a young, female friend of mine. She killed herself before I could speak with her in person.
I went and visited Edward and his parents, to talk with them about these accusations. Knowing the woman was dead, Edward happily admitted to the crime, and his parents demanded I leave after confronting their child.
Instead, I chained the three of them to the kitchen stove and set fire to the house.
The fire brigade arrived two hours too late. No one, it seemed, had noticed the fire.
Her letter sits in the drawer beside my bed, a reminder of the monsters who hide among us.
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