Twenty-Two 

Wielding a large kitchen knife, D.O. stares pensively at his uncle's bedroom door. 

D.O. often thought of himself as a long-term planner. He is a creature of delayed gratification. He did not mind waiting, as long as the result of his patience was worthwhile. He decided at a young age that killing his uncle would be worthwhile. Every beating he endured, every sleepless night doubled over in pain had culminated in this moment. Just a little longer, he would tell himself, when you are older and stronger, you will make him pay. 

At fifteen years old, D.O. is not taller, or healthier than average. Those years in captivity had robbed him of adequate development, but he is blessed with decent genetics. On days when he is particularly bored, he would sneak off and goof around in the forest by his house, where he would climb trees to stay active. When he felt very angry, or very violent, he would punch tree trunks until his knuckles bled. But the pain, to D.O., was worthwhile, because it made him strong. His uncle, in the meanwhile, became older, heavier, and weaker. His alcoholism, combined with his aging, made him slow and sluggish. In the last years of his life, the beatings became increasingly infrequent since he had trouble going up the stairs to D.O.'s attic. Most of his days were spent wasting away in front of the television. 

This is how D.O. found his uncle--slumped over in his armchair, with bottles of liquor