His home, the home of his childhood, small and remote, standing in a cleft of the undulating hills, just as it always had, just as it always would, he...supposed. White washed walls and red tiled roof welcomed him back.Nothing different, nothing changed.The gate was still swinging in a lazy arc, faintly creaking, the noise being carried on the breeze that always came up the valley. The same breeze as always, that brought the tang of salt from the briny channel, a mile on the other side of the. His mother and father had said they loved him, even as they beat him when they caught him torturing some of the animals. He hadn’t meant to kill his mother. She’d been nice to him. She’d even laid with him – laid with him more than she’d even laid with his father. Of course, he couldn’t let the whore keep his baby. It wouldn’t do; it would invite the whole town to look into his business.He’d only meant to knock her unconscious; he figured he could knock her unconscious and then just pound her. More

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