It was another day. Another day of another person's funneral. Why do people die? And if they do then why do good people only die? I was still a teenager when my father had murdered mom because he had found I wasn't his child. He was coming after me but my mom's sister had saved me that day. The police had taken him in jail and put him in death sentence for killing my mother. He deserved it. I don't know why I'm happy about His dead.. That day when it was raining like ashes and still dark. I was almost evening and I got eager to meet my step father. He was in jail. I sneaked up at his cell with a kitchen knife. He was still breathing heavily and all relaxed. How could he be so calm after murdering my mother? I didn't say a word but just stabbed the kinfe into his chest and his eyes. Blood spilled into my body with a great taste of agony. I grinned wider as I continued on stabbing. He was silent and numb. He was definitely dead. My mom had died beacuse of him. So he had to die. Even though my mom's sister had stopped me, I took care of her before coming here.