I bet you think that I must have had a bad childhood for me to do things I do, but I didnt. I was never bullied, I was happy my parents loved me, the only problem was i didnt love them.
They just annoyed me, they were like flys around a bad smell, going on about responsiblity and love. All the vomit inducing lectures.
Although I do have my parents to thank, as it was them who started me off.
It was a lovely day the sun was shining and all the animals and people were out enjoying the rarity that is the british summer, and i was having an argument with my parents about money (of course!) they were so controlling and I just snapped and stormed off, that night as my loving mother and father were asleep in their bed, I was trickling petrol over the whole house. I knew what i was doing, I had researched it on the internet. If you want to do something well, i.e murder who have to make sure you are calm and collected, and that you do your research and also have a cover story! Anyone worth their salt knows this.
I knew this and i was only 13.
I was so excited, the smell from the petrol was cloying in my nose, the acrid stench burning the back of my throat. I was commiting murder and first-degree arson.
I did make sure that I was being left alot of money first, otherwise this would be for nothing, and of course I was being left £1.6mil enough to keep me going for a few years!
My cover story was an intruder had broken into the house and stabbed my mother and father not realising I was in the house and proceeded to burn the house down, and me just escaping in the nick of time.
The moment I took the Knife and slit my fathers throat was the best in my life, the first spray of blood hitting me in the face made me so jovial. It was warm and hot, his eyes flew open and the shock in them was by far the best emotion I had seen on my fathers face. Then he died and I did the same to my mother.
Then I lit the match.