The end started at the beginning.
In the beginning, there was toast.
In Texas, north of Houston.
My father and mother were together, my sister was young but older than me.
I had just been born. I could hear my father crying at night sometimes, something about the past had
broken him emotionally. We were on a farm and life was beautiful.
Then, my father called an old friend of his, David Strumpf, his name could've been different back then,
I'm not sure, on the landline. And shortly after the unthinkable occured.
Someone had broken into the house and murdered my sister. Then my father. My mother was in a dark room
with me and I was put into a dark space, probably a closet. She then went into the other room after leaving me in there
and I heard a bloodcurtling scream. My mom had just been murdered.
I was completely silent throughout the whole horror and the next thing I remember hearing were sirens,
a brief flash of the memory of an orphanage, and David Strumpf looking down at me with an angry face with other
people around him. After that the next years of my infancy are blocked out. I don't know what happened to me
between the trauma of hearing my family be butchered and the first memory I had of a house with some toys in it
in a room with light shining through the window. They said I was 2 at the time. I think I was a little bit older than that.
I know I was sexually abused during the blackout time, I know records were altered and my name was changed.
What I don't know, but do suspect, since they are a religous cult is that some type of satanic ritual was performed
on me as an infant before my real life ended and this fairy tale that is "Steven Martin Strumpf" began.
Heh, Steven Martin, Steve Martin, a joke, Absentia. Maybe I'll get to that in a later chapter.