They always say start at the beginning, so I suppose I should.
My only issue is knowing where it all began. My alcoholic father? My self-loathing, self-deprecating mother? The first man who took advantage of me? The person in the mirror who became the Hunter?
This isn’t intended to be bitter- even though there may be spots- it’s intended to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. I think it really started when I looked down to see you walk up from the dark of the basement steps.
This is part fiction, part embellishment, mostly truth, as is every memory.
It all started that day.