Welcome to The 4th part

Once we were back to one bullet, it was spun, and I was forced to pull the trigger at my mother's head.  The hammer fell on an empty cylinder; as the gun was grabbed from my hand, I was backhanded into the wall, and off he went to his room, leaving me on the floor bleeding and sobbing, wracked with almost losing the ability to breathe I looked at the clock it had just turned past midnight.  It was December 17, 1974, and I had just turned 6.

Happy Fucking Birthday to me.

That began 11 years of physical, emotional, and other abuses.

Over the years, I stayed away from that house as much as possible, staying with friends and family or even just staying under a bridge for the night once in a while.