My cellmate recently asked me why I killed all those people. I was happy to tell him. My mother was the most wonderful woman in the world. She was beautiful, kind, and caring. But my father was a putrid piece of shit, a stain on the face of the Earth. He would always come home and beat my mother, then leave to sleep with whatever whore he had got drunk enough to stand him. I was just a little kid, so there wasn't much that I could. No matter how many times he hit her, there was still a piece of her that loved him. I was eight when my sister was born. I might not have been able to protect my mom, but I was going to protect my sister. As time went on my father's rage grew, and with his rage growing the beatings got worse. I even started getting beat. Then one day, in a fit of rage, he beat my beautiful, kind, and caring mother to death. He buried her in the backyard and threatened us if we ever said anything.
With my mother gone I became his primary target. The only thing that kept me going was the thought that if I was gone he would go after my sister. Each day the beatings got worse and worse. I had eventually grown numb to the pain. Then one night my father came home reeking of booze. He came into my room and without warning punched me full force. And as I laid on the floor he pressed his boot into my throat and it was hard for me to breathe. My 10-year-old sister heard the commotion and came barging in begging him to stop. He lifted his boot from my chest and went after her. After catching my breath I went out into the next room to find my father beating and strangling my sister. I grabbed a nearby hammer, rushed my father and struck him in the head with the hammer. He fell to the ground, and you could see in his eyes this was the first time he felt powerless. He held out his hand and begged for mercy. But why would I show mercy to a man, who showed none to us? So I raised the hammer and beat my father over and over again. With each strike of the hammer, he morphed closer to the monster that he was. And with each strike of the hammer, it forged me into a new man.
When it was over, I went to comfort my weeping sister. Her face was so broken and bloodied I hardly recognized her. Tears were rolling down our faces as I held her. And with a whimper and her final breath, she called out to me. My sister died in my arms, she had done for me what I didn't do for my mother. So I decided I would hunt down men like my father and give them the same treatment I gave him. I was 20 when they caught me, and by that time I had racked up about 40 bodies. So why did I kill all those people? I did it for my mother and my sister. I did it for the weak who couldn't defend themselves. I did it to rid the world of its trash. And if I'm being honest I did it because I liked it. Let us be honest I did the world a fucking favor.