1956, Rural Texas, USA:

My name is Soren Melns, I am currently 16 years old... or was, from the earliest I can remember till now I have never been happy. My mother died during my birth and my father never forgave me for it. I was lucky he even let me go to school, without it I may not have been able to endure all these years.

Father isn't like those stereotypical alcoholic abusive parents who just beat their children to the brink of death, no he was smart. He had a good job, upper management at a realty firm, he kept the house clean and never showed anything other than a smile in public. However, he was a completely different person when he got home. He didn't let me stay out longer than 3 pm, just enough time to make the 15-minute walk, or 10-minute run, from school.

If I was late by even a minute he would use a bag of soap and hit me until I no longer moved. If I was late by more than 15 minutes it would be his old high school cricket bat. He would hit my legs until wasn't able to walk and I would limp around for the next week. If anyone were to ask I'd have to say "Yesterday was leg day" or whatever excuse I could think of at the time.

I wasn't even allowed to associate with people at school, if he found out I was talking to people he would lock me in a dark closet for 2 or 3 days. I don't really know how long, time is hard to tell in the dark, but I usually hear him go to work a few times so I assume 2 or 3.

He always buys me the latest clothes and got me a clean haircut, it goes well with my handsome face. He makes me go out looking nice, he says my looks reflect him and if I don't look good he'll make sure I'm never seen again. I don't doubt his threats.

If my shirt is untucked or my tie is crooked I earn a few licks from the cricket bat. Around the time I turned 14 and got into high school I started to stand up to my father, at first it only made the beating worse. But there was just one day, one time, when he went on his usual beating spree, I got a good hit in. I gave him a black eye, not going to lie I thought I was going to die that day.

I didn't, I woke up in the hospital with my father by my side holding my hand, he looked concerned. Of course, his concern was fake, apparently, he had told the paramedics he had seen me getting jumped and saved me, that's how he got the black eye. Amazing how stupid people are when they have blind trust in a "good man". But after that, the beating came less often, but just as severe.

I had already learned not to tell people about the abuse, no one would ever believe me, my father was just "too good of a man" to do something so cruel. He would often help at the homeless shelter and volunteer at church services. Anything to keep up appearances.

The first time I tried telling someone that's what I was told, he is just "too good of a man". The first, and the only person I told was a police officer when I was 12 years old. Turned out the officer was a good friend of my father from high school, he yelled at me and told me how much my father worked for me and how much father had loved my mother.

I take back what I said earlier, I did have one point when I was happy, starting a few weeks ago I started taking care of a kitten found on the side of the road on my way home from school. I made sure not to get into trouble so father didn't find out about the kitten. I kept him in my room since my room was mostly empty except for a desk and a bed I had to keep him in the closet so father wouldn't find him, the one father usually locked me in.

I knew I shouldn't have kept it, I knew the kitten wouldn't have a good life with me. He was never able to leave my room but I couldn't help it, it was like a bright light in my darkness.

It was my first glimpse at love and happiness even... if it was from a small animal that just loved me unconditionally because I gave it food. I even named it, Little Black, I know unoriginal, sue me. But it was simple since it was really small for a kitten and had midnight-colored fur.

It was the best month and a half of my wretched life... that was until father found him...

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As I walk into my room, just in time from school at 2:58, I open my closet door.

*pssst* "Come here Little Black" I goad.

From inside the closet, I hear a small *meow* and see a black kitten barely 4 inches tall trotting over to me happily. This brings a stupid grin to my face, smiling ear to ear as I hug the little guy. My stupid grin quickly falls as I hear footsteps approaching quickly.

*BANG* My door is kicked open revealing my father's angry figure "Stupid fucking kid, what the fuck is this report card, 2 B's, 2! Are you trying to make me look bad!"

I stand up quickly hiding the kitten behind my back I look at my Father and say nothing. I try to give as close to my usual bland face as possible.

"... Boy, what is that behind your back?" He looks angry... really angry.

"It's nothing." I urge.

"Show me!"

"No" my bland face turning serious as I hide my fear.

"Fine, your choice"

He pulls out a cricket bat from seemingly nowhere 'Fuck, where was he hiding that?' I think as I quickly take a step back.

He walks at me and swings... not at my legs like usual, I want to defend myself but I'm holding the kitten so I can't. The bat hits me on the shoulder and I start to fall over, I move the kitten to my front and curl into a ball to protect it. But unlike usual he doesn't stop hitting me he just keeps swinging.

'it hurts'

"Let go of it you stupid fucking boy, I don't wanna leave too many bruises in one day." He says with a slight grin on his face.

'I don't wanna die, I don't want the kitten to die' I look up at him a little bit of blood dripping in my eye.

"Oh, the boy is growing balls, going to try and hit me again? Looks like I'll have to beat some sense into you." He raises the bat to swing again.

This time I watch as the bat is coming at me and grab it.

'That hurt'

I'm pretty sure my hand is broken from catching the flat side of the bat, but I don't let go. I quickly put down the kitten with my other hand to grab it with both hands. My father tries to kick me off but I just tighten my grip and pull harder.

Blood fills my left eye as I somehow get it from his hands and kick him in the leg from the ground. He falls over and I manage to stand up, still in pain, I stand over him looking down at him.

He puts his hands up to protect himself "Boy stop now or you will regret it later. I will MAKE you regret it."

I look him straight in the eyes "No... This is enough..." I raise the cricket bat and I swing at his head.

And I swing

And I swing

My vision is dyed red

but I keep swinging

Again

and agian

and again

and again

I keep swinging until I hear a small *meow* next to me.

I see little black is nuzzling my leg, I break down, my arms give out and I fall to my knees. I kneel on the ground while hugging little black and I cry, I cry next to the meat pile that used to be my father. I cry there until I hear sirens in the distance.

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On that day I was arrested, I was forced to stand trial for my actions, I was forced to witness all my father's friends and coworkers testify against me saying I was lying about the abuse. Testify that the man who tortured me my whole life was a good upstanding man, that I was a psychopath who premeditated my fathers' murder to make it look like self-defense. That all my injuries from that day were merely my father trying to defend himself.... and they believed it.

I became the youngest person to be executed in America in almost 40 years.

As for where I am now? I have no idea, it feels like I have been here forever. There is an ocean of darkness and I have nothing. I've sat here for what feels like years thinking about my life. About my father. About what I did. In all that time I have not ONCE regretted my actions... I just hope Little Black is okay.