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It's okay. I've been studying my whole life.
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Any particular reason?
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Happy little boys don't conventionally dream of slicing up bodies.
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Do they usually find their fathers
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lying stone-cold on the garage floor
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with a perfect splatter of blood projecting from their left temple?
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How old were you?
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Seven.
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Does it matter?
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Did that moment turn me into something I wasn't,
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or have I always been this way?
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Enough studying, time for action?