Body Count the Rat

About three and a half months after my nineteenth birthday, I decided that the day had come when I would kill a man. A boning knife was my weapon of choice on that fateful day. I knocked out my victim, and then I tied him to a beam in a barn. I slowly cut off his manhood and then I stabbed him exactly sixty times. I had just killed the man whom I hated most. He was dead at last. He was my father.