"Che Cosa Avete Avuti Nella Vita, Segue Nella Morte"

By April Dominello

Parte Uno: Vita; Come La Corruzione Comincia

I was corrupted from day one, a sinner from the start and you know what, I don't feel any regret or shame at all. They say no one could love what the devil made, that God banned me and cast me among the demons. Was I so screwed over that my family couldn't love me for who I was? Well, fuck them then. Maybe that's a reason I became who I am today.

Let's start from when I was brought into this hateful world, when I was thought to be pure, though we all grow into sinners sooner or later. A stormy, dreadful night is when I was conceived; the time was the late 1930's. My mother went into labor without warning and suddenly had become ill because of it. At home, in the 1930's, doctors would come to you instead of you coming to them. They've become lazy in the present days. My bastard father seemed to care about my poor mother, as she gave birth to me.

I had ruptured her stomach, they say, and caused internal bleeding. I had killed my own mother. Maybe the only person who would have truly loved me. I was told I didn't cry when I came out. This child's fate was death; I was the cursed baby whose life would be tormented forever. So what happened now, who would care for me? Not my father, he couldn't take the responsibility. Thus I was sent to his younger sister; my auntie.

This family was even more fucked up then what my past family could have been. My aunt would drink all the goddamned time, and leave her four kids to fend for themselves. The eldest, who was fourteen, was our mother figure, as she would take care of us as though we were her own children. No one complained when strangers came into the house, or when we heard strange noises in the bedroom. We knew what she was doing, but kept our mouths shut. She was a fucking whore.

I lived with them for twelve years, twelve painful years of my life. I was always looked down upon by everybody. I was the weird child, the one who killed his own mother, and always got into fights with others. I had no friends, sort of say, so I took my interest in animals, but it's not that happy go lucky type. I'd torture them with great glee, because you know what, they weren't fucking human and I could get away with it. I sucked in school as well, because I just didn't give a damn about learning English and pointless History. I never paid attention in class, got bad grades, and beat the shit out of everyone who got in my way.

Even my family treated me unfairly. Ever since I can remember, they had always been saying hurtful things to me and I grew with it my entire life. The eldest son, who was about fifteen at the time, was the worst when it came to teasing me, and he got on my nerves big time one day. We were in the kitchen and that asshole kept pushing me and calling me the 'Devil's child," saying I ruined other's lives. In uncontrollable frustration, I pick up a steak knife and rammed it into his side, a sickeningly sweet sound of metal going into flesh.

The thick crimson blood flowing out of his body and onto the floor turns me on. As it seeps onto my hand, I enjoy the pain that he is feeling. God! I'm fucked up royally. I felt invincible from my cousin's taunts and everything seemed as though I'd never be hurt again. Just a simple stab cured all my problems. I gave him a wicked smile, blood soaked on my hands, and pulled out the blade. Words cannot express the sight I saw, the feelings I felt when I heard the steel emerge from the skin, causing an almost thick like sucking sound.

My cousin's brown eyes showed no emotion, as he collapsed on the floor. I thought I'd killed him for sure. Good! Stupid fucker shouldn't have screwed with me from the start. That's when the whore came home. His mother, out of all people, happened to walk into the room just as he went down. Screaming and crying, she grabbed me by my hair and practically dragged me across the floor, only to throw me into the basement cellar. I didn't even get a chance to fight back. I would have killed her, just like I did her son. I was angry with her, at the family, hell and even the whole damn world.

I had some time to think about what I did that day, and those hours grew into days. Was she planning on starving me to death, or just torturing me? I went without food or water and slept most of the time, until I lost track of the days. My aunt had officially disowned me. I didn't even try to escape once while down there. I had no where to go, and my life was over; I had nothing to look forward to. I was an outcast and it thrilled me.

My cousin surprisingly lived, but he'd never be the same again. I crippled him, he'd limp for the rest of his life. I can't recall when I did see the light again, but who I saw coming to get me, did not make my day. The light actually hurt me this time, as I wanted to stay covered by the darkness, stay in the everlasting blackness. My aunt had called the police on me and they'd come to take me away from this house. As I'm being hauled out, I see my aunt's now eight children gawk at me, my almost dead cousin on the couch, bleeding, as doctors attend to him.

I laugh at their pity. "Fuck you all! Your all dead to me!" I yelled as the cops took me away.

Where do they take me exactly? Well, anyplace that a demented, young boy like myself would be dragged into; jail. But it wasn't exactly jail, because I was too young at the time to be there for life, it was a jail for delinquent boys. Many people believe that places like these will help out troubled kids, and to most, it did work, but I knew their trick, I looked passed it. I ignored the messages that they were giving the kids, and never gave into the advice. I was too far into the reaches of hell to be saved.

I went along with it, pretending to take it all in, pretending that I was understanding my faults. Those idiots actually believed I had changed. After a year of putting up with this bullshit, I was able to go home. But I had no home, or so I thought. Out of all people, my father came to take full care of me. It had been twelve years since I'd seen him and I didn't care either way, but I was glad that I wouldn't be on the streets or in that brain-washing hell forever.

Traveling to my father's house required us to go across the sea on boat. I'd never seen the ocean before and let me say that it was quite an experience. My aunt never had the time, or the effort to take her poor kids out to the sea, but once I saw it, I fell in love. It was everything I'd seen in pictures, or heard about, but the smell was something completely different. The salty air filling my nose and the windy breeze against my face; I was in heaven.

I took quite a fond interest to the design of the ship in which we were traveling on. I had always liked how things worked or were made, so I took my time in studying the structure of the ship and everything that made it go. Sadly, this would be my first and only time on a boat for quite some time, I'd never had a chance to go back on one until my desperate escape.

Years had passed, I was now seventeen and my high-school years were almost over. My father never knew, or cared what I'd be doing. He was too busy drinking, like his damn sister. He knew how I was in school, or so he thought, but he never took an interest in my personal life, which was for the better. My senior year, I dropped out of school, because it was my choice and found it to be quite dull, but that doesn't mean I still didn't communicate with the people there.

In school, I never was the "Jock," or the "Popular" one, I classified with more of the loner type, or those who don't give a damn about anything. I was the rebel, the one who smoked, drank and got into a hell of a lot of trouble. Surprisingly, a lot of women had a thing for the bad boys and I abused it. I'd play cool around them and afterwards, ruin their reputation. Those poor girls had it coming to them.

My father had always thought that my weekdays were filled with the school hours, but truth is, I was out partying and doing other stuff that wasn't exactly learning material. I thought I'd be safe from any of the lies that I told my father, but when the notice from my school came in, he was furious. I came home at the right time when school was out, he was sitting at the dinner table, drink in hand, paper in the other, with anger in his eyes.

"What's wrong with you? Graduation was less than half a year away, how'd you fuck it up? You ruined your future."

"I have no future," I yelled to him.

"Oh that's right. I forgot, you're cursed," mockery in his voice.

"Ever since I was born, I've been damned and I shall be like that forever."

"You think God hates you, that he's disowned you?"

"There is no God, only humiliation and pain in this world."

My dad looks at me with sadness and anger and shoves me, hard. "Don't you ever disbelieve in him boy. If God's exiled you, then why has he given you food, shelter and a loving family?"

I laugh. "Loving family? What your drunk ass, slut of a sister and her filthy trash kids?" I set him off, but keep going. "I've never had a family. This God of yours let mom die and none of you could have done anything about it."

A bit of advice: Never piss off a father who is under the influence of alcohol, especially if he's a bit on the emotional side. "If she never conceived you, she'd live."

Finally, my father said something to spark my energy and I spit right back in his face. "Yeah, I killed mom and you know what, I don't care anymore. I'm happy I murdered her."

"Piece of ungrateful shit," he yells, punching me flat in my face.

I guess I deserved that, thinking. I lick my lips, tasting the copper flavor of the warm, red liquid. "That's right, I killed mom and God let it happen. He cursed me for it and sent me to hell. This is my hell, and anyone who crosses my path, faces the same wrath as me."

Something snapped inside of me when my father began punching at my body. It's not like this is the first time that he's beaten me though. I'd come home with bad grades, he'd be drunk and he decided to teach me a lesson. I would try to hide my report card, but he always seemed to find them, no matter where I put it. It wasn't illegal to beat your child back in the day, but the way he was doing it, sure as hell would've put him in jail.

I put up a lot of my dad's shit while he was drunk, even when he wasn't, but I've just had about enough of his abuse. Since my cousin's attack, I was pretty calm when it came to violence, but once again, I led to the anger and frustration that I built up inside of me. "Get the fuck off of me," I yell, pushing my father back. I was standing up for myself.

My father wouldn't have it. He came after me again, but this time I was prepared. I had a knife in my pocket and took it out so suddenly, he didn't see the silver blade, and I was too quick for him. My father stops moving after I jab into his chest and touches his wound, blood pouring onto it. I got him directly in the heart, and on my first try. I'd say that was a lucky shot. He tries speaking to me, but collapses, still alive. I stare, no emotion in my face, in my eyes. I'm glad it happened, I'm glad he fucking died.

My father can't believe that his own son killed him, he had it coming to him though, and he deserved it. Now I was officially on my own, I had nowhere to go, I had a car, but no job, and no family, I was on the streets. After my dad was dead, I took everything of mine, as well as his, that I could carry into the car, and left. Time went by and I got jobs, but I slept in my car, and on the streets for most of the time. I'd travel around a lot, looking for work, anywhere that would accept me, but I had that habit of getting fired, or quitting. I just couldn't find any form of work that I enjoyed.

I had been running around like this for a long time, five years to be exact. I was now twenty-three, and still insecure, but I was handling out pretty well for myself. But I made a mistake so great that it almost haunts me in a way now, it'll never leave my memories.

I was still stealing in my days, little things, but enough to cause some havoc. Strange though, I never got caught once. It's weird how you can get away with so many things. I fucked up royally on this one though. I heard rumors of some gold being found nearby, but the only catch is that the Mafia, out of all people, had gotten a hold of it. No one knows how, but apparently they had a shit load of it. I was intrigued and one night, I snuck up to the warehouse with my car, snuck inside the place and found crates full of gold.

I grabbed as much as I could carry, due to the fact that the gold was so damn heavy, but that's what second trips are for. I was only able to grab about three trips worth because that's when they came home. I heard the car pull up and then I knew it was my time to leave, but I wasn't quick enough. They saw me run into my car, they knew that I saw, and possibly, stole the gold. The youngest of the four came after me, the stupidest of them, gun flaying in his arms; he was about ready to shoot. The naive idiot didn't see my gun and took a bullet; I let the gun do the killing for me.

I drove away with the gold in my car, now knowing I needed to get the fuck out of this city, possibly even the state. I was in major trouble. Staying up all night, I devised a plan, but came dead short. That is, until I was at the docks did my idea sparkle. A cruise ship, the "Lorelei," was docked for the night, currently taking passengers across the sea in the morning. I hadn't been on a boat since I was twelve, and this way seemed to be the only chance out, so I took it.

Carefully, I snuck into the boat. Don't ask me how I did it. I have a way of getting around things I suppose, and was able to get on the ship. I grabbed as much gold as I could and hid my car, as for not to be seen by viewing eyes. That gold was fucking heavy and it took quite some time to get on the damn ship, but once I was on, I quickly ran down to the storage room and hid. Since I studied ships in my spare time, I knew quite well everything about them, including levels.

I buried myself into some leftover luggage and other necessities, and slowly dozed off. I'm not sure how long I was asleep, but it was a pretty damn, long time. I woke to the sound of a low humming engine and the movement of the sea, we were out of that city. Secretly, I made it out of storage and onto the deck, smelling the salty air, God it felt good being on the water again. The sun was just setting and looking, I can barley make out the land that I had once lived. Goodbye Canada.

I had left my problems behind me, time to start over, time to re-do what was my life. I was finally getting a fresh start. To bad that it didn't last as long as I wished. Men roughly brush pasted me, one actually punching me deep into my stomach. The pain sends me keeling over, but not able to heal, because those same men hold me by my arms, not letting me do anything. I hear a young voice asking what happened and if I'm okay. A gruff voice responds, "Just a little seasick." Apparently, no one saw a fight.

I must've passed out because I don't recall anything until I focused my blurry eyes and shook off my headache. "Morning sunshine," that same voice spoke.

"Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want?" I mumble.

"Considering that you've killed my brother and stole our gold, I want your life for it."

Ah shit. The fucking Mafia had found me and now I was screwed over big time. I thought that I'd never be found out, that I'd never get caught, but I was wrong and now I'd pay. "I only took a handful. Couldn't you spare some to some poor bastard," a plea to some extent. One of them steps up and speaks in a deep voice, "Your forgetting the fact that you killed one of our own."

"Oh gee, I'm sorry if I was defending myself, but if he didn't get in the fucking way, he'd still be alive." I was such an asshole.

I chose the wrong choice of words to say, because the next thing I felt utter pain in my thigh. The big brother jabbed me with a combat knife and those things hurt like hell. "Where'd you stash the gold? Tell us and you'll die quick."

"I feel honored." Wrong again. He stabs me in my other leg. I wince, a silent cry in my mind, and smile up at him, almost enjoying the fact I was being tortured. I'd rather die slow and painfully, than give these men back their gold. "If you want it so bad, then why don't you get off your lazy ass and find it."

He laughs at me, hating what I said. Leaning over my laying body, he reaches into my shirt pocket and takes out my cigarettes. "I'd like those back if you don't mind."

"You don't need them where you're going," he speaks, stealing my lighter and singeing the butt.

The duo returns with an anchor in their hands. It's silver and small, but sharp and heavy enough to cause damage to the human body. I knew what they had in store for me, so I ran for it. I quickly punched the fucker in the face and made a dash for it, running as fast as my bloodied legs could go, which was not far enough. Funny how the Mafia thought I was too weak to fight back, how they thought I'd just let them kill me. Complete and utter morons.

I gave them quite a chase, even with my legs damaged, but it ended quite shortly. My legs grew weak, due to blood loss and I fell on the floor, surrounded in my own blood. I look behind me and see a trail of red leading up to me. The trio of men caught up to me and dragged me over to the rail, the sea below.

"We could have ended this quickly, but you made it hard on yourself," the gruff voice speaks.

"Couldn't die without a fight," I say, "besides, I've always had it hard," I smirk at them, seeing blood all over me now.

My head is up now, as I'm standing erect, the duo holding my arms, keeping me up. The big brother holding the anchor. "Bon Voyage," he speaks evilly and jabs it deep into my left hip.

The pain was unbearable and I felt like passing out right then, but I stayed awake and endured it all. Piercing pain, torment so great it was worse than being beat up. A small cry escapes my throat this time; I can't help keeping the pain inside. They let me go and I stand for a second, putting my head down. I see the hook and know that it's inside my stomach as well, blood practically gushing down onto the floor. The weight of the anchor, as well as the wound in my body was too much and I collapsed on my knees.

It dug deeper into my insides, more pain jolting in my body. The blood was coming out too fast, the hole was too big and I grew dizzy. I was dying. My body knew it, and my mind knew it as well. It was over for me and I welcomed it. I was glad that my poor excuse for a life was to be over soon. No more fucking pain, no more suffering. If I wasn't too much of a pussy, I would have killed myself earlier, but funny thing is, I didn't believe in murdering myself and was waiting for someone to do it for me. This was my moment of rejoice.

"How the fuck are we going to clean this mess up?" A new, plain voice speaks.

"Dump the body in the sea and get to cleaning. Day break is hours away and we have to clean up all the blood before passengers suspect something," the gruff voice insists

"No one's going to worry about this man anyway," the deep voices talk.

I hear footsteps approach me. I'm breathing heavily, almost panting, I'm not dead yet. "Fuck!"

"What now?"

"He's still alive, barley."

"Who fucking cares. The sea will finish him off. Stop complaining and just do it already."

He sighs and a set of two hands lift me again. I can tell their having a hard time, due to the fact I've got a goddamn anchor in my body. They finally sprawl my body across the rail, my sight barley visible. Everything is a blur and I can hardly make out anything now, things are a shade of gray. Then I feel my body thrown over and I'm falling, the air whisking at my body. A small sting hits me, as I plunge into the water. The coldness and the dark comfort me.

Now, I can't breathe, water filling my lungs. Doesn't matter to me now, I'll be dead soon. Everything grows numb, due to the temperature and the pain, I'm sinking now, and I can feel it. No ones ever going to find my body. The sea is thousands of feet deep and I'll be rotting at the bottom forever. People say that when you die, your whole life flashes before you, due to the fact that everything inside you is shutting down. Well, I had no flashes of my life, I had none to cherish from the start, so why should I remember.

I saw no white light when I passed, everything just blacked out and it was over. But was it now, or was it just the beginning of a great opportunity? A chance to reclaim what I had in my pathetic life, or a chance to get away with murder?

It was a deal with the devil.