From a very young age, I knew it didn’t take much to die—or to take someone’s life.
One day, you see your mother, and she tells you she’ll be back in an hour. She leaves you with a kind, elderly neighbor. By evening, you find out she might never wake up again.
A small boy who shared a bed with you is beaten to death one day by your orphanage guardian. You wake up to find only his bloody t-shirt in your hand. The guardian tells you he’s gone to heaven, and if you say anything, you’ll go there too.
That night, you pick up a knife. You’re too young, too tired, too hurt to understand why Bob—the boy who shared his candy with you—disappeared like that. He was a little puffball with a toothy smile. To this day, you never forget that smile.
You hold the knife to your guardian’s neck while she
