After his parents death Cole travelled to his Aunt's house and lived with her. School was torture. Whispers everywhere. He always would catch a snippet of gossip about his parents' death, his silence. The chairman of education's son would torment Cole. Every second. Every day. Every week. Every Month. Every year.

"Your mom and dad are dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Maybe you killed them.

You killed them.

You killed them."

He killed them.

He killed them.

He killed them.

His words plagued him day and night. They didn't leave. They couldn't leave. Was he right? Sleepless nights. Falling grades. Cole's Uncle, an alcoholic. Mental scars from school. Physical scars from home. Silent tears were no longer enough to numb his brain from the world. He snapped.

Before the tormentor could say a single word, he threw a fist to his face. When Cole was done his knuckles were raw, covered with blood.

A phone call to home.

Aunt's screaming.

The Alcoholic in a rage.

A knife.

A stab. Crimson covered his leg.

Repeat.

The teaser kicked and punched. He had a gang now. He won everytime. Stolen money. A false phone calls to home. More screaming, more beatings. Now his Aunt mirrored the teaser. He killed them. He killed them.

He.

Killed.

Them.

The tormentor fell down the stairs one day. Cole stood at the bottom of the stairs. The chairman saw him. It made no sense. The chairman dragged Cole to his office. Suspension. The Aunt picked up a bat. She swung the bat. A dull thump. Cole's unconscious body was dragged out to the road. He wasn't dead. He wished he was.

The Aunt's door.

Locked.