16/05/2025
Hello, everyone.
My name is Henry.
Yeah… that Henry.
The one who made curse words sound harmless.
The one who got Jordan hooked on p**n.
The one who turned a sweet little girl into a m**h addict.
That Henry.
And I am the worst person I know.
I’ve done things—dark things—I’m not proud of.
But here’s the ugly truth: I didn’t care. Not back then.
See, growing up, life felt like hell. And somehow it was almost as though everywhere I went, I influenced people negatively. It was never my intention but I never felt guilty. It wasn't my fault they got influenced.
Not until the day I killed someone.
I didn’t plan it.
I swear—I am terrible in so many ways yeah, but I wasn’t a killer.
At least, I didn’t think I was.
The police had me in cuffs before I even realized she was gone.
Gone.
Lifeless.
Terror wrapped its hands around my throat.
She wasn’t supposed to die. I didn’t mean it.
I was drunk. High. Out of my mind.
“I didn’t know what I was doing!”
“I didn’t plan this!”
“I’m not a murderer!”
That’s what I screamed as they slammed me into the back of the van.
I panicked. Because I knew what happens to people like me.
Killers. Monsters.
The ones who cross the final line.
That day lives rent-free in my head.
Not just because I took a life…
But because that was the second time I heard Him.
And this time, I was cooked.
---
The first time He came was six months ago.
I was sitting beside my mom’s deathbed when I heard His voice.
Fun fact: my dad killed my mom.
Not all at once—but with every punch, every slap, every curse word… she faded.
My mom was the best thing that ever happened to me.
Honestly, sometimes I feel she didn’t deserve me. Or my dad. Or any of this mess.
She should’ve been left in heaven. Earth wasn’t worthy of her.
In the middle of her pain, she still poured out love.
Even when I started acting just like him… she never gave up on me.
She cared. She prayed. She cried. She tried.
Whenever my dad threw my grades in her face to break her heart, she didn’t lash out.
She just wept.
And prayed through the night—for me, and for the man breaking her.
That day, beside her bed, she looked pale—like the life had already left her.
I wasn’t there when my dad shoved her down the stairs.
But I was there to hold what was left of her.
Her eyes were distant. Empty.
When she saw me, she forced a weak smile and whispered, “I leave him with you…”
Then… she looked away.
And she was gone.
I was torn apart. And somehow, in the middle of my shattered mind, I heard Him speak:
“She is with Me now. In a place where sorrow doesn’t exist, and pain is just a myth.”
That was all He said.
I didn’t hear Him again—until the night I killed Sarah.
---
Sarah and I had just come back from the club.
It was 3 a.m.—still dark outside.
She headed for the bed, and I asked her to wait. I wanted to change the sheets first.
I honestly don’t even know why. It didn’t make sense. But in that moment, it mattered to me.
She ignored me. Just walked toward the bed like I hadn’t spoken.
And I lost it.
I hated being ignored.
So I reached for som**hing—anything—to get her attention.
The closest thing was a bottle.
I didn’t aim to kill her. I just wanted to throw it.
But when the glass hit her head and she screamed… I froze.
I stood there in the dark.
The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was punishment.
My hands shook. Not from drugs—I’d been clean a while.
This was shame.
The scene in front of me—it looked too familiar.
It looked like my mom six months ago.
Except this time, I was the one who did it.
I had become the very thing I swore I’d never be.
I had become my father.
The bottle lay shattered on the floor.
But it wasn’t the only thing broken.
Then I heard it.
“This isn’t who you are.”
The voice was soft. Not condemning.
But it cut deeper than any fist ever could.
“You were made for more.”
I swallowed hard, scanning the room like someone might be there.
But I was alone—with a mess I couldn’t blame on anyone else.
Still, I knew that voice. It wasn’t mine.
But it wasn’t unfamiliar.
My chest tightened.
I closed my eyes, and there she was again—my mother.
Lying lifeless.
“She asked Me to keep you. So I did. Even when you ran. Even now.”
I shook my head, pressing my palms to my face.
I didn’t want to hear it. But I needed to.
“You don’t have to carry this curse. The chain can break here.”
“But I don’t know how to be different.”
“You don’t have to. Just follow Me. I’ll teach you.”
I opened my eyes.
The bottle was still in pieces.
So was I.
But for the first time in a long time…
I didn’t feel alone.
