My Name Is Callan Ubico

Introduction

It all started one early Saturday morning. The sun was shining, the flowers in the garden were blooming with life, and the children were playing  outdoors with a luminous sense of glee. I lived in an orphanage in the middle of nowhere, where the wind picked up quickly, and the only sense of society were those who lived in the same complex as I. Things seemed fairly decent for someone like. Someone who... Appreciates the value of nature and the surrounding environment. Although someone like I constantly liked to christmas treat my life with the idea of being one with nature, I figured that life was simply dreadful. Those that I lived with were vile, savage creatures. The children would often curse like sailors, and our caretaker was none the better. Ms. Dumon had an issue with drug addiction, and it grew to influence the younger children who had already lost everything at a certain age. Ms. Dumon never took any drugs in front of the children, but most of the older children such as myself figured as much when we realized that her attitude began to change one day. Ms. Dumon was once a lively young woman who enjoyed the company of the youthful, and made a vow to care for the children who've ultimately lost the ones who they'd once cared for. It's quite funny really, most of the children's stories followed the same pattern. First there would be an argument between their parents, then a brutal battle, one would accidentally kill each other, and the one who survived the conflict either disappeared because of their grief or committed suicide because of their grief. Not all of their stories were the same, I could count as an example of such.

My parents: Karen Stelar and Michael Stelar.

Both had gotten along just fine and in High School, were considered a power couple. They were both lovely people who happened to get along with almost anyone they met. My mother was an exquisitely beautiful woman with luscious hair, a slender body, and had the soul of a pure angel. My father was a man of broadness, had an oddly tender voice, and he too had a soul of a pure angel. My parents and I were close, and when I found out that they had been killed, I was simply broken. My outlook on life changed, my attitude changed, the way I spoke to people changed. During their night out while I was fast asleep in my room, they were driving on a newly made highway that crossed a lake. Due to it's design and supposed sturdiness, the people of our neighborhood had nothing to worry about. The highway had become a more sufficient way of transportation, and those who often drove on it found it to be a proud landmark due to its odd placement. 

One stormy night, it was 10:39 PM, age thirteen, I had received a call on our landline that my parents had recently purchased. At the time, whenever my parents left for the night, they were often back by nine. My parents were people who never gained the habit being late, not even for a second. When an hour had past from their expected arrival, I of course began to worry... I didn't sleep for that entire night... I then received the call...

"Hello, is this the son of Karen and Michael Stelar?"

"Y-yes, ma'am.."

The woman on the other line had went silent for about fourteen seconds until she muttered out the words that pain me to this day.

"Is your name Bryce?"

"Y-yes ma'am.."

"Bryce, I have to tell you something that..."

She went silent again until I heard the sniffling, meaning that she began to cry.

"Bryce... Your mother and father were recently involved in a massive car accident on the Crosslake Highway... The rain made the road slippery and... And it caused another individual to crash into your parents..."

At that moment I dropped the line and ran all the way towards the highway entrance to see what had happened.  Our home wasn't so far away from the highway, and so it was only about a 10-15 minute walk from the house to the highway entrance.

When I arrived, I saw police cars from all directions at the scene. I eventually saw my parent's car... The car was absolutely destroyed.. Destroyed beyond repair...

The policemen and anyone else there at the scene was unaware of that I was my parent's child, and so I was able to sneak into the scene of where my parents lay.............I then saw their bodies torn to pieces, limb from limb, blood covered their chests, and part of my mother's head was missing....... There was no way for me to wash that scene from my head even if I tried.... It was.... A gruesome scene.... I was scarred for life, and in a way, the car became the inanimate representation of what my soul and heart was like.

Broken, beyond repair...

I cried for days on end, and I was alone for about a week until I was taken in by the orphanage. Three years now, here I am... Still broken.

Back to the current time, Ms. Dumon has been acting much more ferocious and violent over the time of Spring. She began to curse, her face started to turn whiter as if she was dying, and her English became slurred.

On the same Saturday, a boy named Jason Wallace who was approximately eight if I recall correctly, was acting like a hooligan. He began to throw dirt at the younger children and started to call them fairly vulgar names. Interestingly, he had a worse mouth than most of the children who I thought were already horrid with their language.  On this day, the day in which was shining brightly, immediately became a nightmare for the belligerent child.

Ms. Dumon, who was already fed up with the boy's nonsense, decided to punish to boy in a much, much, much more brutal manner than normal. For some nonsensical reason, Ms. Dumon had pulled out a whip from her room, marched over to the poor child, tied him up on a nearby pole, and whipped him until every aspect of his body began to bleed. Every second of the torture, the child screamed, and told our caretaker to stop the hellish acts.

"HOW DO YOU LIKE IT WHEN SOMEONE FUCKING BEATS YOU! HOW DO YOU FUCKING LIKE IT YOU LITTLE PILE OF SHIT! YOU THINK I'M GOING TO STOP? I'LL NEVER STOP UNTIL THE MARKS SHOW YOUR SPINE!!!"

And that's exactly what happened... Ms. Dumon had been beating the poor and helpless child for over 4 hours, and the screams stopped only after 2 hours. The other children and I had known that Ms. Dumon had tortured the child to death, and even when he was dead, she still continued to beat his corpse relentlessly. That day was a very dark day for the other children and I, especially when we'd walk outside and see the beaten and bloody corpse just sitting there, already beginning to rot. 

It was at that moment I began to fear for my life. That same day, I made a huge decision..

At dusk, I had made arrangements to leave the orphanage for the sake of my well being and safety. The caretaker I had once known and loved had become a beast in a slender woman's body.

... I left the next morning with all of my clothing, my knick knacks, food that I stole from the orphanage, and my broken soul, which was now more shattered than it was before.