At World's End

Entry 128

Born on the 286th floor to a whore mother and a drug addict as a father, I couldn’t say my life was easy by any chance.

I was forced to stay away from home because my dad kept beating me at every opportunity and my mother didn’t care to do anything about it.

Instead, she busied herself with fucking around the neighborhood to get by.

Of course, it didn’t take long for their lifestyles to catch up to them.

In a tower were medical services was akin to gold, it was best to try and avoid most actions that would be readily inviting sickness.

Unfortunately, my so called mother and father didn’t understand that.

My father died when I was six.

He forgot to pay his debt and with no money to do so, the local gang he normally got his stuff from, took him away and mutilated him.

Even though he was allowed to return home alive, he soon succumbed to his injuries and died in pains.

Same for mom who died when I was 9.

She ended up fucking the wrong man and died with a broken bottle stuck in her head.