Are you proud of yourself you pathetic son-of-a-bitch?

You are the one who put me here on such a bright sun-shiny day facing the hangman's noose. I have no fear of him though, or his death trap.

Why should I? I am not the criminal in this case. You are!

For the first five years of my life all I heard from you was "I hate you! I wish you had never been born!"

Not one time did I ever hear the words a son lives for.

Were they too hard for you to say to me? Would they somehow have made you feel like you were lowering your drunken self?

Those three little words that would have made such a huge difference in my young life were simply "I love you". But, you never loved, or wanted me, did you?

It is not that I was a problem child. Far from it. I always tried to obey your every command and fill your every wish.

I even ate all my vegetables, and whatever other slop you occasionally bothered to throw my way. Did any of my efforts ever bring one enjoyable moment from you? None that I recall.

All I ever got from you was complete rejection and being smacked around for the slightest little mistake I dared to make.

Nothing would have made me perfect in your eyes and I am not even sure being perfect would have changed the way you treated me.

So, from an early age I knew all you would ever be in my sight was my biological sperm donor.

Then I turned six years old. Do you remember what happened on my sixth birthday? I do. I have never forgotten that day and I never will.

That was the day I was entertaining myself playing on the swing in our backyard. My birthday and all you did that day was ignore me. Oh but you sure drank your beer, didn't you?

Any way, that night you called me up to the house and I came running as fast as my two little legs could carry me. But, I guess I wasn't fast enough to please you. There you stood, in another stupor with a two-by-four in your hand.

Suddenly, for the first time, but certainly not the last time, I felt the wallop of that plank of wood right up alongside my head. It hurt really bad too. It also split my head open.

Not that you cared as the blood ran down my face. All you said was "Next time I call your name you better not make me wait for you to appear!"

And, if it wasn't the two-by-four it was a baseball bat. Usually right smack dab in the pit of my stomach with enough force to double me over and take my breath away.

Is there any reason why I should not despise the very thought of you? I can not think of any.

These attacks with your two-by-fours and baseball bats continued until I was ten years old.

How I wished I could have died at that age. I prayed every night for the peace of leaving this world to come, but it never did.

And, do you know, no, I am sure you do not know, or care why death would have been a preferred option for me when I was ten years old?

That was when you first introduced me to your newest toy. The single tail. I was ten years old. Ten fricking years old the first time it sliced open the flesh on my back. And, to make a sound meant I got it worse.

Now, all these years later I still carry the grotesque scars from those beatings you so boastfully administered.

Running around shirtless was never a pleasure I could enjoy no matter how bright the big yellow ball shone in the sky, neither was going swimming, or anything else a boy likes to do.

No, I always had to keep the crisscrossed scars you delighted in giving me covered up so no one could see them. Could not have that could we?

Looking back now I understand why you never took me to see a doctor either no matter how sick I was. No, that always ended up in another whipping. Didn't it?

Then I turned fifteen years old and big enough to stand up to you. The happiest day of my life was July 4th of that year. Oh yeah! I finally claimed my independence from you in the only way it could have been declared.

I know you will never forget that day, any more than I will. And for the longest time, since I could remember, I actually smiled when that bullet pierced your ice cold heart and shattered it into tiny little pieces at my feet.

Tired of your abuse, and with no one else to protect me from your reign of terror, it finally stopped. Remember? I always tell this part of the story with a special glee on my face. BANG! BANG! I shot you down. BANG! BANG! You hit the ground. I lived.

Through all the terrifying attacks you put me through. I lived!

So what if I was arrested for killing you. Who cares if I was tried, and as an adult no less, in a court of law? Yes I was convicted and yes I was sentenced to death. But, like I said who cares?

For six long years I have rotted here in my 9 by 6, gray-walled home and thought long and hard. Oh, I have spent every moment in this cage thinking about my short 21 years on the face of this Earth.

And, through it all do you know what the one lesson in life I learned was? Any man can be a father but not every man can be a Dad. You sure as Hell never were!

So, now, even as beautiful a morning as this is, and although I certainly do not want to die, I will willingly march up these wooden steps to the platform I will take my last look around from.

Once there I will proudly stand on the trap door and not resist having the noose placed snugly around my neck. And, I will swing with a smile on my face.

There will be no fear shown. None at all. No, I am not afraid of my fate.

And do you know why I welcome death and what I am going to do after it happens? I am going to hunt you down like the rabid monster you have always been.

The bottomless pits of Hell are not deep enough for you to hide from me.

And when I find you I am going to spend eternity torturing you in more terrifyingly cruel ways than you ever put me through.

You better run for all you are worth you pathetic son-of-a-bitch!

'Cause, ready or not, here I come.